Free eBooks Are Free for a Reason

Okay, so you've heard me talk about my love and addiction to my Kindle.  The whole reason I wanted one was due to the fact that I am a voracious reader, and was becoming concerned that my home would become a fire hazard due to the number of books inhabiting my space.  I also thought that it would somehow be cheaper for me, but I haven't quite sorted that out just yet.  Hardcover versions are definitely cheaper, but still not as cheap as the paperbacks I can get at WalMart.

Anyway, before I would indulge myself and spend a whole $8.99 on a book, I decided to check out the free ebooks that were offered.  Of course, there are all of the classics that are available to read, but there are others as well, usually by authors I am unfamiliar with.  This is not a stretch, though, because my experience with modern authors is really only relegated to about 5 or 6 names, and I stick to them like glue.

So, I decided to try a few.  What I eventually came to learn is that these free books are free for a variety of reasons:

1. The book is the first of a series, and the free book is a teaser, to encourage the reader to purchase the other 321 books in the series.
2. The book is a self-published book
3. The author is "published", but by some unknown publishing company, likely located in someone's basement

Now, I had no real idea about the whole self-publishing thing (stay tuned, because I'm going to do it, myself), and I thought that there would be some indicator somewhere telling me that what I was reading was not a "legitimate" book: one that was actually sold in some random bookstore somewhere.  Even if only in the discount bin.

My first indication that something was not quite right was when the page formatting sometimes appeared wonky on my device.  Sometimes pages would be half blank, or paragraphs would be entirely repeated, pages later.  I assumed it was the fault of my device.  I was wrong.

My second indication was revealed when I noticed incorrect spelling and grammar usage.  A lot of it.  I'm not talking about the difference between "who" and "whom", but obvious things, like, using the word "meat" instead of "meet."  There was one book I read which used the word "willow" in random, multiple places, sometimes in capitalized format, sometimes not.  I initially thought it was some fake word or descriptive, used to imply the fantasy setting of the story.  It wasn't.  I even tried to sort out if the author had been using auto-correct and that perhaps the intended word was "will" or "wind", but, no.  Someone wouldn't be wearing a "will" dress or a "windy" dress.  Or a "Willow" dress, for that matter.

In other books, I found myself reading and re-reading, and having to page through previous paragraphs and chapters in order to determine of what or of whom I was reading.

"Johnny nervously glanced around the room and avoided the stair of Miss Lockley."

Wait, I thought it just said that Miss Lockley was out shopping for the day.  Did I miss that part?  I mean, Johnny was just thinking to himself that he was glad she was gone.  How did she get in the room?  Is there some other Miss Lockley?  A sister?  Or does it mean he didn't want to go upstairs? Is her room up there?  What the hell is this?


You do see what I mean, don't you?

While part of me is excited that I can run English language rings around 90% of these authors, the other part of me is intimidated by the sheer number of titles out there.  Thank goodness I won't be writing anything on the subject of vampires or werewolves, no one would ever find my book.  There are thousands of books out there, it is absolutely mind-boggling.

Sadly, some of them are actually quite good, but I often wonder what the likelihood is of  being noticed, when one has to first peruse 2,372 other books on the matter, some of which have received dubious five star reviews.

I won't even go into the fact (ha) that some of the reviews include the phrase "award winning author" (what was the award? First Prize Turnip in the local Farm Day Fair?).  Or that some of the books are very religious/Christian-oriented, and you don't realize it until 20 pages in, when you've noticed that the main character keeps praying aloud and constantly mentioning his/her Faith whenever there is a dilemma. Now, I'm not against Christian or religious stories, but at least mention it in the book description.  I feel like it's a sneak attack.  Translation: one less customer.

Anyway, in the end, they're FREE, and I suppose that this is the risk one takes when being too cheap to spend $8.99.  Just know, however, that when I do publish mine, it won't be free.  But, at the very least, it will be properly formatted and be mostly decipherable.  Maybe I'll even throw in some Christian werewolves for the fun of it.

Raising Girls Who Burp in Public

So, recently, I was out shoe shopping, and, what normally is a decent experience for me turned into something extremely annoying.

It so  happens that I picked a bad time to shop, because every girl in the region was shopping for Graduation shoes.  This got my annoyance meter running, because teenage girls are very loud, they walk right in front of you when you are trying to browse, and they leave crap all over the place.  This was not the ultimate highlight of my annoyance, however.

Enter a Family of three:  a grandma, a daughter, a granddaughter.

Grandma is moving through the rows with her shopping cart, b-tching the entire time that she can't find her size and that there are no good shoe choices.  Grandma is perhaps in her 60's, so she's not ancient and walker-bound.  Thus, I feel no guilt in complaining about her.  She is mindlessly wandering ahead of the other two, and thus, a lot of yelling commences.

:"MOM, WHAT ABOUT THESE?!"
"I TOLD YOU I DON'T WANT ANYTHING WITH FLOWERS, DAMMIT!"
"HOW 'BOUT THESE?"
"I HATE RED SHOES!"

As I am trying to concentrate on my shoe agenda, I hear a loud shoe clomping noise to my right.  It's the daughter.  Now, I had assumed that her shoes were clomping because she was trying them on and seeing how they fit.  They were very high, leather, closed toe wedges.  Pretty, but appropriate for work or perhaps going-out attire.  Not appropriate for short jean shorts, very white legs, and a tee shirt.  I'm sure she doesn't see me eyeing her getup, because she is now yelling to Grandma that she has found the perfect shoe and would find Grandma's size.

It seemed that everywhere I went, Clomping Suzy would follow.  It was with some slight horror that I discovered that these shoes on her feet were not being "test run", they were, in fact, her own shoes.  Clomp, clomp, clomp, and I'm thinking, "what the hell made you think those were the right shoes to pick for today?  And if you're gonna wear them, learn to %#@$@^& walk in them!!"

Anyway, I digressed there.  As my clomping friend is finding more perfect shoes for Grumpy Grandma, the two of them are yelling at Granddaughter and telling her to keep up with the pack.  Granddaughter is sitting on the floor in the middle of one of the aisles, doing I don't know what.  This is a 10-12 year old girl, mind, not a 4 year old.  And the aisles are small and difficult to navigate.  People are having to nearly climb over her.

Granddaughter now starts yelling across the store and complaining.

"GRANDMA, HOW COME YOU DON'T LIKE THESE?  THESE ARE GOOD ONES!  LOOK AT THESE!"

Grandma is like, 50 aisles away.  So, I've had enough of this yelling, and I give a Glare of Death to Granddaughter.  A real scorcher.  Granddaughter saunters over to my row, pauses behind me, burps, and then skips along her merry way.  I shake my head, chuckle sarcastically and say, "Nice."

Now, I know.  I shouldn't expect much from a girl who has Grumpy Grandma and inappropriately garbed Clomping Suzy for a sister (or mother?  I don't know), but for Pete's sake.  It's really quite sad, because, looking at this trio, you know that there will only be more generations to follow, all yelling across aisles in stores, wearing bad shoes, and thinking burping in public is appropriate.

While you have heard me speak of how Mothers get blamed for ridiculous child behavior, this is one case in which I'd have to agree.  B-tching and yelling begets clomping and yelling begets burping and yelling.  What's next?  Public pooping and yelling?

Remember, folks, lead by example.  Good example.  Otherwise, you and yours will suffer the Glare.

Soulmates- Part 2

In my first post, I may have scared a few of you off, being too spiritual/weird/finite in my consideration of what defines a soulmate.  There are so many definitions and interpretations of the word, and of course, we all have our own ideas on this subject.  I'm sure that there are many out there who do not believe in the idea of soulmates at all, and, believe it or not, I'm okay with that, because I sometimes wonder, myself.

I guess what I was trying to say before is, if you're going to believe in the word, you should believe in the higher (yet, deeper), soul-related, historical version of that word, rather than the "we work great together, ergo, we are soulmates" version of the word.

There are many questions that arise with the concept of soulmates and those who struggle to believe.

Is it okay if I don't end up with my soulmate, or have I copped out and settled?
If I only believe in living one lifetime, what if I fail to find my soulmate?  Is he/she out there somewhere, wandering alone and disappointed?
What if I marry someone and meet my soulmate after that?
I thought I married my soulmate, but we have divorced/he or she has passed away/I was wrong.  Do I still have another chance?  What if my soulmate married someone else?
I haven't found anyone even close to seeming like a soulmate.  Is this bad karma?  Are you sure I'm goin gto meet him or her?
I am married to/in a committed relationship with someone, and, though we have struggled at times, I feel that the struggles have bonded us and made us truly connected.  Is it okay to say this is my soulmate?

Of course, there are plenty of "answers" to these questions on-line and in research papers.  One of the types of soulmates defined is that of "companion"  and/or "twin" soulmates.  This is when you have a deep connection to another person (often same sex) but it may be contained within a friendship or mentor relationship.  It may be another soul who you have met in a previous lifetime (if you believe in that), and you have met again and thus are connected.  While I do tend to believe in these connections, I think "soulmate" is the incorrect word to utilize here.  Maybe "soulfriend" would be better.

Another type of soulmate is defined in a theosophy type version, in which soulmates spend many lifetimes searching for each other, and when each has finally paid all their "karmic debt", they can finally be reunited.  This sounds a little depressing to me, and I've chosen to kind of discard that version.

Anyway, I don't know all the answers to the questions.  I think that actual soulmates joining is a rare thing, and that's it's possible to still love someone deeply and connectedly even if the keeper of the Soulmate Records (I'm making this up) hasn't placed a checkmark next to your name just yet.  I don't know if soulmates exist, but I'd like to think that they do.  I'd like to think that the idea of "true" love exists.  You know, like the kind in "The Princess Bride."  Go watch it.

P.S. there is something wonky with the background color, I think I must have copied/pasted something wrong.  It's driving me nuts.  Anyway, please ignore it.

Solitaire Tweets

Well, it was a busy weekend, and I don't feel like writing on topic, so I'll write about something else.

Ever since receiving my Kindle for my birthday, it pretty much never leaves my side, when I'm home (which is a lot).  After experiencing some of the gruesome examples of free ebooks (now I know why they're free), learning how to use my email, wishing that my thumbs were smaller, and being mortified at how gross the screen can get, I somehow got sucked into the world of apps.

Now, I should know better, because I got sucked into Facebook apps at one time, and boy, it was like another full time job to take care of my other lives as a farmer (in multiple countries, mind), a cafe owner, a mafia boss, a frontier lady, a chocolate shoppe owner, and who knows what else.  I remember rushing home after work in fear that my crops would wither or my souffles would go bad.  Pretty sad, I know.

But no, I did not learn my lesson.  So, I did the Angry Birds thing, and yes, I now have Solitaire on my Kindle.  Now, I should tell you, that I play Solitaire on my regular computer.  The regular kind and the Spider kind.  It's just zombifying, drool-inducing behavior, used to occupy my time when I'm on the phone or  need a "distraction."  You would think that two versions of Solitaire on one computer would be enough.  Now I have to have portable Solitaire.

What amuses me is that there are advertisements that come up and interrupt my exhilarating and fast-paced play action.  Usually about cars or refrigerators.  Occasionally though, there are ads regarding the company that provides this free app.  Of course, they want me to like them on Facebook.  Apparently, they want me to Tweet about them as well.

Now, I don't know much about Tweeting, and really could give a hoot about it.  To me, it just sounds like a more obnoxious form of Facebook, and I just want no part of it.  I wonder though, why the hell anyone would Tweet about a Solitaire game.  I mean, I am pretty mortified that I'm actually using the app, but what exactly would I Tweet about it?  "Dang! I just lost another game because I couldn't get to the 3 of Clubs!  LOL smh!!"

It's not like there is a benefit for Tweeting, they're not offering me anything extra (it's already free), and I highly doubt that anyone would be interested in hearing about my Solitaire follies.  Sure, I suppose that a human skin suit wearing stalker of mine might see it and think, "Ooo, Catherine has that app! I must get it!", but other than that, I'm thinking this Tweet thing is not going to pay off for the app company in the long run.

It's bad enough that I have to police my Facebook page so that people can't see that I viewed the picture of the day which was a fat squirrel eating a popsicle.  There's no way I'm going to announce to people that I'm now playing a third version of Solitaire on my Kindle.

Oh, wait....

Internet love and Sometimes Love

Back in the early days of the internet, and before I had my own computer, I had a female friend who was constantly falling in love with "Men" she had met in chat rooms.  I thought this ridiculous and dangerous, and told her as much.  I didn't understand anything about chat rooms or even what "LOL" meant (I thought it meant "lots of love"), but it seemed to me that the internet was a good breeding ground for weirdos preying on gullible women.

Many years later, I started to understand a little more about on-line relationships (the real ones, where you have verified that you are not dealing with a creepy guy wearing a suit made of human skin), and how it is plausible to feel "love" towards a person who you have not met in "real" life.

Now, I’m not going to go into the differences between “Love” and “love” right now, or the difference between being in love with a person and loving a person, because I already discussed some of that in a previous post.

Honestly, I generally tend to poo poo the whole “I love you” thing if it is expressed over the internet by an unmet acquaintance.  I take the phrase quite seriously, and I think it deserves some respect.  Plus, there’s also the fact that you can’t Love someone if you’ve never been within ten feet of them.  You can care about them, worry about them, fantasize about them, reeeeally like them, but “Love” them?  Seems a little dramatic.

I remember having this discussion with my first “real” on line acquaintance, an Italian gentleman who I will refer to as “Jack.”  We met as international penpals, and I was ga-ga over everything he said.  We shared extremely long emails about our lives, our dreams, our everythings.  When we rolled around to the discussion on “love”, I told him of my reluctance to use that big three word phrase.  He then explained the nuances between the phrases “ti voglio bene” (love/intense like) and “ti amo” (Love).  It seems to me that there should be some English equivalent. At least for internet purposes.  "I intense like you" does not sound so great in our language.

As we all know, the internet can allow us the opportunity to be anything we want to be.  If we are shy, the internet can help with that.  We can hide behind the anonymity the internet allows.  This, of course, can be a blessing or a curse.  It is well known that many people who would normally seem nice can turn into raging, disrespectful, lying human beings on the internet.  There is nothing preventing them from saying anything they please.  Anyone who has played an MMORPG can attest to this.  Alternatively, it can allow someone to be completely honest about themselves, and not have to worry about blushing or saying something truly “dumb.”

For me, I have always considered that there is no reason to be dishonest, internet or not.  I’m me, I’m okay with who I am (for the most part), and there seems no reason to lie about that.  It doesn’t mean I’m going to give my full name, address, and bra size to anyone I encounter, but it doesn’t mean I have to lie about them, either.  Sure, I’d like to be a DD bra wearing lady living in a chateau in France, but it’s not right for me to insist that I am.  I wouldn’t lie about that in person, why would I lie about it on line?

Anyway, the thing is, if the people we encounter are the honest type, and we’re the honest type, then I do believe that internet “love” can happen.  I don’t consider it the same as “Love”, but it is a  lesser form of it (unless the two meet up, which is another story).  Provided that people understand the difference, and are emotionally mature enough to know what it is, I'm all for it.  I think that's a key statement right there.

I have met some pretty beautiful people because of the internet, and I know a few folks who are now married because of the internet.  Now, you are all likely aware of my old fashioned ways and my dislike of some modern day technologies, but I suppose in this case, I'll give my blessing to the internet and its potential for making Love, or at least love, happen.

The Difference Between Love and love

I remember when I was growing up, thinking about the whole romantic notion of love.  Since I had been told often I would “just know” when it happened, despite my infinite questions, I believed it.

As I grew older, I started kind of doubting the whole “you’ll just know” concept.  I had occasions where it felt like love, but I wasn’t sure.  And, if I wasn’t sure, how could it be love?  If it had all the earmarks of love- the whole pining away and walking on air and can’t sleep descriptives- then how could it not be love?

Well, many many heartbreaks and girl chats and gallons of ice cream later, I sorted it out, because when I did hit the Love jackpot, I did “just know.”

Over the years, I had many opportunities to watch, listen, and learn about the topic.  Before I had encountered the big L love, I was already forming some pretty firm ideas in my mind about what I knew it certainly wasn’t.  I discovered that people had their own definitions and beliefs about love, some of which seemed a little inferior.  After years of being an unpaid counselor to many a relationship, I began to see some definite patterns developing.  I'm no expert, of course, but it's amazing what you can learn just by listening- really listening- to others, particularly when you're not involved in your own relationship battle.  It's also amazing how many times I've had to ask, "have you said any of this to him/her?"

Anyway, I’m going to wander off topic if I don’t reel myself back in.  What I discovered through my investigations and personal experiences, was that, when it comes to romantic partnerships, there are two different types of love.  The little “L” love, and the big “L” Love.  It seems that there is a lot of little "L" love that is mistaken for the big L Love.  (Reminder, I said romantic partnerships,  I didn't say "family feelings" or "hobby love.")

Little L love (just “love” henceforth) is generally what happens at the beginning of a new relationship.  Let’s call it “intense like.”  There is attraction on both sides, there is happiness, some air-walking, etc.  It's exciting and fun, but neither of you has gotten to the Big L just yet.  Little love is also what is experienced when the feelings on both sides are not completely mutual.  I think that’s a big one, and I see girls/women experiencing this one all the time, so I’m going to break off here for a bit and just talk about that.

I’m going to provide a little list of statements for those who believe themselves to be in Love, when it's really not:

- he hasn’t called me in six days, and it’s not because he’s away or in the hospital
- I asked him to go to a really important function with me, and he declined, with no legitimate reason (I’m talking about functions where you really need some support, and have directly said so…funerals, weddings, etc.)
- I’ve read “He’s Just Not That Into You” and he seems to fit the description.  But, he took me to dinner the other night and we had really great sex afterwards
- I feel like I’m doing the pursuing all the time
- I love him, but I’m not sure if he’s there yet, with me
- I can’t stop thinking about him, I told him that, and he laughed

The thing is, in order for Love to be present, it has to be mutually felt and demonstrated.  To put it plainly, the other person has to Love you back.  I'm talking 150% from both sides.  I think that often we accept a 150%-40% split, and believe that to be okay.  We concentrate on the crappy 40%, because we're so enamoured and okay with giving giving giving, that we're blind to the fact that the other 110% is missing.  I'm not talking about making internal tally lists, and I don't care if you've got the biggest heart full of love for the person.  If the other doesn't Love you back, 150%, it's not Love.  Re-read that sentence.  Don't bother arguing.

I myself, figured out the real Love thing when I realized that I had no doubts or confusion on the whole matter.  I didn't need to chat with my girlfriends to see if they interpreted the "signs" the same way.  After I allowed the deconstruction of the protective wall around my heart, I found the true meaning of what it is to truly trust and have faith in a person.  I didn't need to ask myself (or him) if he Loved me, because everything he did or said was a demonstration of the fact.  We both gave 150%, and it was pretty damned awesome.

Anyway, I think that too many of us settle for love, thinking it's Love.  I think that some people have never gotten to the Love stage in their romantic lives.  I think that people who have experienced Love will recognize if they're back in plain old love territory years down the line.  It can kind of stink, to be honest.

Big Love can kind of make you a little jaded, if you lost it and are searching again.  "Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" is a bunch of crap.  Don't ever say that to someone who is broken-hearted, regardless of whether it was from Love or love.  Same goes for the whole other fish in the sea adage.  Hmm.  Maybe I need to write a post on heartbreak as well.  But, for now, I'll end this here.

 Remember, it's not Love if it's not 150% mutual.  Be honest with yourselves.  It will save you, in the end.

Soulmates- Part 1?

*****Okay folks, we're back to a themed week!  I've been putting this one off for a bit, but we'll be chatting on the theme of "love" this time around.  Woohoo!****


Before I started writing this, I decided to look up the "definition" of soulmate, to see if my personal definition was way off from what others believe.  Thankfully, the first article I read was somewhat close to my supposition.  The second one left me with a frown.

In this post I'm going to discuss the "classic" or "spiritual" definitions of soulmate, the ones which encompass the finding of one's "other half."  I might briefly touch on some other variants, but, since this week's theme is about love, we're mainly sticking with the ones I mentioned.  This may be split into two separate posts, because I fear it's going to be long, even by my standards.

First off, I'm going to put this out there immediately.  I hate when people describe their mate or partner as a "soulmate."  I think the word is wantonly used, it is incorrectly defined, it is offensive to my sensibilities, and, if it is true, it is completely unnecessary to announce its existence openly.  I feel that often it is thrown in as some expected, common adjective when one is attempting to describe their partner.

"Oh, Bob is funny, he's charming, he loves dogs, he's caring, he's my soulmate, he enjoys black bean salad...."

Yeah.

There are likely many hours of discussion to be had as to whether we all have just one soulmate, or whether there are infinite numbers of soulmates available in our lifetime/s.  I'm really trying to hold back on the sarcasm here, but, unless I'm wrong, we only have one soul.  We may or may not have several lifetimes, but the soul remains static throughout.

Now, if we go by the whole Greek mythology thing (the story which relates that humans were originally made with 2 heads, 4 arms, etc., they were split apart by Zeus, and "condemned" to spend their lives searching for their other half), it would seem obvious that there can only be one match for the original other half.  If I split an isosceles triangle in half, no matter what I do, attaching half a square is not going to turn it back into the original, whole, isosceles triangle.  It might look pretty or unique, or enjoy black and white movies together, but it won't be the original, real deal.

To me, as the saying goes, there can only be One.

Now, I know there are a lot of huffy people out there, regarding this statement.

"Well that's not right.  What if your One is living in another country? The World is too big!"
"I don't believe that.  What if the person dies?  You're saying you can't ever be happy with someone else after that?"
"That's just ridiculous.  I've had at least 3 soulmates in the past 10 years."

My snarky reply is, "you're huffy because you know that deep down inside, you agree with me, and you're kind of wondering if maybe you're missing out on something."
But, since I really should avoid being snarky, I will just say that we'll have to agree to disagree on this matter.  
I will also say that you should do a little research before you go claiming that every Tom, Dick and Harry are your One.

Now, I'm not saying that people who get along really well and are very attuned to each other can't be soulmates.  That very well could be.  But I suspect that that may be the exception, rather than the rule.  To me, a soulmate reunion precipitates an internal "click," an absolute knowledge that the other One has been discovered.  It's the really, really, not related to our naughty bits, big version of "instant attraction," and it lasts your lifetime (and perhaps, Beyond).

I'm also not saying that a person can't be supremely happy with someone who may not happen to be their actual soulmate.  If a person is happy in his or her relationship, that's a beautiful thing.  But, I mean, really and truly happy.  If one day you're describing your partner as your soulmate, and two years later you're complaining that you never have sex, or that s/he is more interested in the computer/dog/garden/coworker than you, or that you're wondering what attracted you in the first place, I'm guessing (wildly here, I know) that the "soulmate" description was an inaccurate one.  Yes, of course, we all have our doubting moments and difficult stages, but a common attraction to pineapples and baroque music do not a soulmate reunion make.  It's more than that.

Having said that, if you're still huffy, go watch "What Dreams May Come."

Or, as shocked as I am to say this, read this, from urbandictionary.  http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=soulmate

Warning!!!

People who read this blog may experience side effects such as nausea, vomiting, and explosive diarrhea.  A small number of people who read this blog also experienced nightmares,  migraines, an overwhelming fear of water chestnuts, inability to operate small electronic devices, sleeplessness, increased fatigue, hyperactivity, depression, and an increased desire for products containing alcohol.  If you experience any of these symptoms while reading this blog, please consult your doctor.  This blog is not intended for use by anyone under the age of 10, anyone between the ages of 12 and 22, 26 and 49, 51 and 97, or for people who are suffering from bad jobs, feelings of inadequacy, or those with a desire to dress as clowns.

Something which has often amused my son and I are the warnings which conclude every commercial for particular prescription drugs.  Call me crazy, but, a drug which is supposed to be used for constipation which may cause stomach pain, headaches or inability to control your bowels does not sound like a fix for that problem.  Frankly, the resulting symptoms sound worse than the original problem.  Unless you live in a cave with a private nurse, a private bathroom, and never have to go anywhere public, trying a new prescription seems potentially hazardous to your health.

The listing of possible side effects is usually never ending, sometimes contradictory, and impossible to really determine.  Have you ever read an article describing symptoms for some deadly disease?  “If you experience fatigue, headaches, sleeplessness, or slight depression countered with feelings of rage, you may have _______ deadly disease.”  Okay, well that describes probably 90% of parents in the population.  I’m pretty sure I would never be able to determine something serious, based on these symptoms.  Give me something unique, like, “desire to eat bugs,” or, “uncontrollable urge to do your laundry,” then I’d really know something was wrong.  Not “sleeplessness.”  Come on.  I haven’t slept in 18 years.

While I love the internet and all, it can really muddy up the waters of self diagnosis.  I recently had a strange case of palsy like symptoms on the right side of my face.  While I suspected it was due to allergies, I had never experienced such a thing, and it worried me a little.  Well, I started investigating on line and, while there were articles confirming my allergy suspicion, there were also plenty of other articles on brain tumors.  “It worried me a little” became “I’m going to die.”

I was watching Jeff Foxworthy a long time ago, and he was doing a sketch on product warnings and how ridiculous they are.  He was discussing the fact that on a box of hemorrhoid cream, there was a warning along the lines of “do not ingest by mouth.”  He then goes into a speech on the fact that the reason the warning is there is because someone probably actually tried eating hemorrhoid cream.  Now this may seem far-fetched (and perhaps made up), the idea that we, the human race, have created the need for ridiculous warnings, but it's likely true.

Remember my chat about dishonest insurance claims?  Well, there’s part of it, right there.  I’d wager to guess that a large percentage of the warnings we see are a result of the fear of being sued.  It’s a little sad that humans have been reduced to this sniveling, whining, “but you didn’t tell me ahead of time that this ‘hottest wing sauce in the world’ was going to be really hot…!”  Good Lord, people.

Anyway, I think I’ve covered my share of complaining and grumpiness these past two weeks and I‘m sending my soapbox on vacation.  At least, I think I am.  In the meantime, go out for a walk, hug your dads, be nice to each other, and enjoy your life.  I mean it!

Everyday Dishonesty

As I was writing my angry post regarding people who b-tch the loudest, it brought to mind some experiences I had while working in retail.

While I greatly enjoyed my job, I became sickeningly depressed over the years with the lack of honesty which seemed so prevalent in mankind.  The number of people who would lie to your face just to save a buck was astonishing.  I suspect that this stuff is done so often, that most don't even consider it dishonesty, which makes it even more disconcerting.

I have an acquaintance with whom I now refuse to shop, because I'm afraid that some day we'll either be arrested, or that God will strike me down for bearing witness to dishonest shopping and return practices.  This acquaintance is famous for getting great deals when shopping.  I discovered that the "great deals" were the result of buying items at full price, waiting until the end of season, purchasing the same item at 75% discount, then returning the item with the original, full price paid receipt.

It doesn't matter what the store policy is on returned items, the fact is, if you b-tch loudly enough, you will get your way.  I'm not talking about a legitimate situation, where the original item was ill fitting, or received as a gift.  When I asked her to explain her reasoning, she said that it's not "fair" that she had to pay full price, and that the store is making millions and this is not going to bankrupt them.  Le sigh.

Sadly, I think this is not an uncommon practice.

When I was working in retail, there was a famous story which circulated in my department regarding a woman who had returned a boys' suit, which had been intended for her son's First Holy Communion.  When it was pointed out to her that the suit had been altered and that there were no tags intact, she demanded to see the floor manager.  After threatening to have the sales associate fired, threatening to take her business elsewhere, and insisting that the suit had never been worn, she received reimbursement for the suit.  After she left, when the associate was arranging for the suit to be returned or discarded (it couldn't be placed on the rack, because it had not only been worn, but had been altered), she found a Polaroid picture in the pocket of the suit.  The picture was, of course, of a little boy, angelically posing in a church, wearing the damned suit.  I mean, the poetry of that.  Not only did the woman lie, but she was lying about something indirectly involved with a Sacrament of the Church.  What a shining example to set!

Or how about the man who brought in a large pile of clothing which had been unceremoniously dumped into a shopping bag, and looked like it hadn't been touched.  He claimed that the items were received for his daughter's 6th birthday, and, uhhh, didn't fit.  The items were all high ticket, designer items (never on sale), ranged in size from toddler to teenager, and included female and male clothing items.  I'm not sure why someone would think that a size 18 pair of young men's Guess Jeans would be appropriate for a 6 year old girl, but, what do I know.  Someone wouldn't blatantly lie about this stuff, would they? (in case you didn't put  two and two together, the returned items were suspected as stolen goods)

I'm guessing that these are the same people who speed down the shoulder of a crowded road and then cut you off at the head of the line when the light turns green.  Or the ones who make their own, new line, when the doors of a store are about to open at 5 a.m. on black Friday, and there are 50 other people who have been waiting in the real line, for 3 hours, just to buy a damned Furby.  Or the ones who claim severe medical injury and mental anguish from a fender bender incurred in a drive through.  Or the ones who accidentally break or mishandle an item after using it, and insist that there is a manufacturer default.  Maybe even sue the company.

I'd bet five bucks that you all know someone who has seen or done one of these things.  Maybe you've even done it, yourself (shame, shame!).  Now I know that some of this is a result of feelings that we're being cheated, and now it's time to stick it to the Man.  Some of this is a result of being desperate, and having no other way to put bread on the table (my fantasy excuse for people who steal).  Whatever the reason, it's dishonesty, pure and simple.

I happen to be one of those people who will return to a cashier if they have given me the incorrect change, in my favor.  I'm not just talking about a $10 difference, I'm talking about even if it's four cents.  Some people have a "limit" that they impose for this situation; for example, if it's less than 5 cents, they're not going to bother.  Some people have no limit, and figure it's their lucky day if they have an extra 10 bucks in their pocket.  Too bad, so sad, for the millionaire store owner.  Now, the problem with this is that 'the Man' is not getting stuck here.  You know who gets stuck?  The single Mother cashier who is working three jobs and could be fired for a drawer shortage.  Or the young kid working his way through college.  We're stickin' it to the exact people who we claim to be.  

Yes, there is the argument that if a person makes an error, there should be retribution.  But I feel that to knowingly participate in someone's downfall just because you gain to profit- that's bad.  I think it's time that we all think a little more honestly, the next time we think we've gotten lucky or are getting "what we deserve."
Ever wonder why insurance rates are so high?  Think fraud.  We're stickin' it to ourselves, my friends.  And that's just... dumb.

I Think Football Is Better Than Football

"Why do you silly Americans call a sport where your foot hardly ever touches the ball, 'football?'  That's just ridiculous!  And so American!"

That is a statement included in every conversation I've had with non-Americans when discussing the subject/meaning of soccer versus football (American) versus football (the rest of the world).  They do have a point.  I have never bothered to investigate why it is that we call it "football," I doubt that my or any argument out there would sound valid, anyway.   I'm guessing we won't be changing the name of "our" sport any time soon, so we'll just leave it at that.

The point of this post is in regard to soccer (what the rest of the world refers to as "football"), and my rash opinion that it is better than football, the American kind.  I'm going to clarify here further, by saying that I mean soccer that is played by a non-North American team.  I mean absolutely no disrespect to our beautiful country, but, the fact is, we still kind of suck at the sport.  I'm also going to clarify that I happen to like watching American football, very much.  But, it pales in comparison to watching soccer, particularly international soccer.

I have heard avid US football fans dissing soccer for various reasons.  I'll list them here:

- it's a mamby pamby sport with no physical contact
- there's too much hugging and physical affection between the players; not manly
- the scores are too low
- no cheerleaders
- I'm not wasting an hour and a half to watch a game end up at 0-0.  Not exciting.
- it's boring, too much time waiting for stuff to happen
- it's too dramatic (faked injuries)

Okay.  Phew.  That's a lot to break down.  So instead, I'll offer a counter-list:

- there is a ton of physical contact, and if you've ever watched someone get kicked in the head while jumping for a ball and then crashing to the ground in slow motion, all with no padding, you'd see it
- the international crowds are spectacular, with huge team/country pride, and sometimes they even trample each other, so, there's some physical contact for you bloodthirsty folk out there
- there are NO COMMERCIALS
- the amount of stamina and will required to run and cover a field larger than a football field, for 45 minutes straight, with no commercial breaks or long timeouts (and a short half time, then another 45 minutes) must be astounding.  These are very fit Men
- the action is continual and constantly changing and challenging; you will always be on the edge of your seat
- Ronaldo, Sneijder, Casillas, De Rossi and pretty much all of the others.  Eye candy, ladies, and lots of it. And it's not covered under 98 pounds of plastic pads. Even the non-gorgeous players are hot.

I will concede to the point about the faked injuries and drama, to an extent.  Some of the fakes are absolutely ridiculous, and it gets to the point where you know when it is going to happen.  The other bad point is that the refs can be horrible (and human), there is no instant replay (though I thought I heard they will be using it for World Cup 2014?), and the bad calls can cause devastating results.  Ref sees a player down, crying and clutching his ankle, the crowd is hysterical, free kick is assigned, team scores. Instant replay shows no physical contact whatsoever.  Its supremely frustrating, but at least the announcers always agree on the bad calls, and you can use it as an excuse if your team loses.

Something else that is missing to me, on a separate level, is that there is no international level of play in American football.  None. Sure, we get to see basketball and hockey once every four years, but I feel it's a detriment that our most popular sports are mainly contained within our borders.  It feels a little conceited to me, which is what Europeans are always complaining about, with Americans.  We even call our big finale in baseball a "World" Series.  I'd like to have the opportunity to show some U.S. Pride on more occasions.  No one cares if you're the best country on the block when you're the only country competing.

I know, I know, we have a different personal history, we're not Europe, and we just like other sports better. I guess that's "okay", but I'll take real football over our football, any time.  Soccer is 90 minutes of nail-biting thrills, skills, and yes, a bit of drama.  And it is manly, I don't care what you say.

(okay, so it's not a manly pose, but this guy is.... wow)

Answers, Please

After writing about my annoyance with Gilligan, it got my mind wandering about the whole "if they got off the island, the show wouldn't be on any more" thing.  Now of course I didn't understand about ratings and TV networks and that the actors weren't performing live on an island somewhere.  All I mostly wondered about was why there would be a show about a problem that never gets fixed.

If you've ever had the opportunity to ask my son a question which required more than a "yes" or "no" response, you may have come to the conclusion that he had a future career as a television scriptwriter.

"Spenser, why are you covered with dirt and missing a shoe?"
"I was with Johnny."
"Yes, but what happened?  Where is your other shoe?  I thought you were going swimming?"
"Johnny was having a family party at his house...a lot of people there.."
"Yes...?"
"They had these hotdogs there which were kind of gross.  But the macaroni salad was good...."
"Okay...?"
"He had this older cousin Joey who was chasing us around!  He was such a jerk, Mom!"
"Yes, and is that how you lost your shoe?"
"They have woods behind their house, look at this mosquito bite..."

Mmmhmm.  You see what I'm getting at.

Now, I don't necessarily consider myself as a completely impatient sort.  I do have some patience, though I could probably use more when it comes to Mothering.  In general though, I'm not too bad.  But, I do get annoyed that, so often, when you need an answer or a solution to something, it takes hours or days or never to get the actual reply.

A recent example for me is that I wanted to see if there were live streams somewhere of the Euro 2012 thing going on in Poland/Ukraine.  I had seen the opening ceremonies while at the gym (and, in a severely blonde moment, thought it was the Summer Olympics, so I wasted a lot of time looking for something on line about that...), so I figured it must be on some channel somewhere.  Now, this is more an example of people on the internet being scheister-y and trying to get you to either accidentally click on something that will invade your computer or force you to answer a 20 page questionnaire completed unrelated to your quest topic, but still.  Can't anyone just give a straight answer?

Anyway, after over an hour of searching and clicking, I still haven't found one actual live-streaming video of the games; at least, not any that are available to people in the U.S.  I do, however, now have a new media player, and am registered for some on line car racing simulation game.  I probably have 23 new viruses as well.  And more junkmail.  This is just ridiculous.  When a website indicates "watch live streaming Euro 2012 games here!", it should actually be about live streaming games, THERE, and not be about possible other sites which may have live streaming games, upon which you click, and discover they're about betting odds or horse races in Africa.

In the end, it's like that with a lot of things in life, and sadly, much of it seems to revolve around money.  Like, if you go to get an oil change for your car, and they just happened to discover that your brakes/axle/engine/tires are broken and must be replaced immediately.  Or when you call any customer service line and must answer 46 questions unrelated to your issue before you can get something close to an answer (maybe there's an office pool with a big prize for whoever gets the most answered questions in one phone call).

"Yes, I'd like to know, how do I plug in my computer?"
"I'd be very happy to help you with your issue today, ma'am.  First, what is the telephone number from which you are calling?  And also, could you please verify your address... and the last four digits of your social security number... and how did you hear about us....and the name of your first born male child.... and are you the main grocery shopper in your home....and incidentally, what do you think about clowns?"

15 minutes transpire and we haven't even gotten to the type of computer I have, or if I even have electricity in my home.  I just don't think it's too much to expect that, when you ask a question, you receive a direct answer.  Is it just me?  I don't think so.  It's no wonder people climb watchtowers.


P.s.
And no, I've never actually called a customer service department inquiring how to plug in my computer.  And, several days after writing this, I did sort out my Euro 2012 problem.

Quirky Habits

When I was growing up, if you had to write something down, you used a pen and paper.  If you had something “formal” to produce, or, if you were a writer (I guess), you used this thing called a “typewriter.”  There was the clackety manual kind, and the modernized electric kind.  Years later, there were these things called “word processors,” possessed only by the chic and upper echelon of society.  I brought one to college, and thought I was pretty cool.  It weighed probably 12 pounds.

Anyway, being an original pen and paper gal, and always having issues with the memory and formatting for my word processor, I was very very nervous about the whole idea of “saving” documents when computers entered my realm (How do you know when a blond has been using your computer?  Answer: There's white out on the screen).  I’m not sure what prompted this fear, since it’s not like I'm ever composing my autobiography or anything like that.  It could be that perhaps once or twice I had been in the process of typing something very long (surprising, I know), became disconnected because the phone rang, and lost all of my precious words (ahhh, the old dial up days).

Due to this fear, I am an obsessive hitter of the “save” button.  Even when I’m writing these posts, if I start it on a Word document, then transfer it as a “draft” in my blog (where everything saves instantaneously, mind), I’m still hitting “save” in multiple places.  Sometimes I will even email my own document to myself, for fear that it will get lost in outer space somewhere.  Totally ridiculous and a little OCD, I know, but, there it is.

Which brings me to the official subject of this post, and that is, quirky habits, and from whence they originate.  Apart from the whole “save” thing, I have a few other strange habits/beliefs/actions which are part of my daily repertoire.

A long time ago, I watched an episode of this scary show, “Millenium” (dang, I had to look that up), in which a serial killer hid in a girls’ closet then murdered the family in front of her. For some reason, it really got to me, and thus, Catherine transforms into slightly paranoid adult who checks under her bed and in closets before she goes to sleep. I did this for years, until we finally owned a dog and I trusted him somewhat to give me fair warning of underbed or closet-hidden serial killers.

Now, in general, I have to say that there is really not much that I am afraid of, never really have been.  I was never a big fan of basements or of the idea of being set on fire, but it was nothing paralyzing.  In truth, I felt that I could pretty much handle anything, provided that I had warning ahead of time.  Aha!  There it is.  I don’t know if there is a “fear of being unprepared for probably harmless but potentially deadly situations,”  but if there is, then I suppose I’ve got that.

I don’t ever want to be that guy who is tapped on the shoulder from behind and turns to find an axe wielding murderer in his personal space.  Or the innocent lady sleeping in her bed who rolls over to see Dracula at her bedside.  Nooo no.
Which is why, in my small attempt to prevent Dracula or other nighttime invasions, I generally sleep facing the door of my bedroom if I’m alone in the house (I can see the windows regardless of my position, so, foiled again, Mr. Dracula!).

Since I learned that sleeping on the left side can aid in digestion, this can pose a problem in preventing potential home invasions, as it would require me to face away from the door.  Thus, when I am alone in the house, I switch my pillows to the other end of the bed in order to allow for perfect digestion and invasion awareness.  And who says paranoia is unhealthy?

I also will not sleep with any body parts dangling over the side of the bed, thanks to my cousin telling me that there were monsters living underneath who would only attack if there was something to grab onto.  And, while I no longer believe in monsters, it's a habit that has stuck over the years.  Not to mention that I keep a special "anti-monster" spray bottle on my nightstand, just in case.

I'm kidding on that last bit.

There are other lesser quirks I have, which is, I know, hard to believe, but I will end this here, before you all go running to the local asylum to make a referral.  I’ll save the superstitions about cracks (broken backs) and shower curtains (Psycho) and not letting a pole or object come between two people when walking together (bread and butter) for some other time.  It all sounds ridiculous, I know, but, if you get caught off guard by Dracula some day, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

p.s.  Themes coming back next week!

Words, Words, Words Are Important

Anyone who had the pleasure of spending 6th grade English class in the presence of Sister Lois would instantly recognize the name of this post as being one of her famous quotes; I’m not exactly sure why she would admonish us with this little ditty, but she said it, a LOT.  She was a rather strict teacher, and I remember the dread of the whole “diagramming sentences” procedure, but, in truth, her catchphrase could probably be my mantra.

As you may or may not know, I have already admitted to the fact that I am a snob when it comes to the English language.  I am very defensive about it, and saddened by the state of its decline.  This is not a new thing for me; even growing up I was confused and alarmed at the number of word shortcuts, general laziness, and “wrong-ness” that seemed to abound in the world.

I remember being in the car once as a kid and seeing a sign for a laundromat, the name of which was something like, “E-Z Wash.”  I remarked to my father that it was weird for something to be labeled as E through Z rather than A through Z.  After several minutes of patient explaining, my father finally got it into my thick head that “E-Z” was “short” for the word “Easy.”

“But, there’s no ‘z’ in the word ‘easy’.”
“Well, you’re supposed to sound out the letters… the letters ‘e’ and ‘z’ put together sound like ‘easy‘.”
“But that’s not how you spell ‘easy.’”
“Well, maybe they were trying to be clever.”
“That’s not clever.  It’s spelled wrong. And why is there a hyphen in it?”
“I don’t know, maybe they didn’t have enough money to spell out the entire word.”

Ditto similar conversations for signs that read “tonite only” or displayed abbreviations like “Fri” without using punctuation.  Usually the conversation would end with the “they didn’t have enough money” or the “maybe the person was in a rush when they wrote it” excuse.  My poor father.  I’m surprised he didn’t throw me out of the car.

Of course, not knowing that “EZ” was a common way to imply “easy” was due to my age and inexperience.  But my indignation about the whole thing does say a little something about my attitude towards adults, and the adult world.  Back then, I believed that adults were generally correct about 99% of the time.  They knew the correct spellings of words, they had many more years of schooling under their belts.  So to me, signs with “incorrect” spellings were a bit strange, because they were part of the (imagined) unerring adult world in which I had come to believe.

Just the other day I saw a lawn sign advertising home repairs which read something along the lines of “No job is to small.”  Well, apparently learning to spell isn’t one of the services they offer.  I almost wanted to call the number on the sign and tell them what a shame it was to spend the money on advertising their services to the public, and they couldn’t even get a simple word like “too” correct.  I mean, come on.  People should know the damn differences between to/too/two.  It’s not like adding the extra letter is going to cost a lot of money or time.  It’s ONE LETTER.

I won’t even give them the benefit of the doubt that it was a simple mistake, because this is something they are showing to the world, and they should have proofread.  It’s not private notes in a diary, it’s there for the public to see, and judge.  In my eyes, this wasn’t about being too lazy, it was about someone not knowing the difference between three very simple words of the English language.

I know I shouldn’t care whether a roof fixer/handyman guy knows the difference between the words, but what if it’s a reflection on other things?
If he doesn’t care about appearing professional, will he, in fact, be professional?  Does he even know how to read?  If he forgot to add a letter to his public sign, what if he forgets to put a decimal point in his estimate somewhere?  Yes, yes, I know this is dramatic, but it all could have been avoided if he had just asked for some professional advice before making his sign.  It’s not a requirement for my handyman to write like Shakespeare, but I do expect him to care about his public and professional image.  His omission of one letter essentially lost him any opportunity for procuring my business.  Silly?  Perhaps.  But I know I’m not the only one out there who notices these things.

So you see, Sister Lois (who would be mortified to see what the world has come to) was right.  Words, words, words ARE important.  It’s two bad that people are to lazy too get it thru there they’re their thick skulls.

The View From the Doormat

You know, the theme for next week is supposed to be "love", and I'm pretty sure I'm either going to have to choose a different theme or wait another week before grappling with it.  While I have already written some pieces on the matter, and I could likely write some more, I fear that what may come out, if I finish them, is a lot of sour, angry, "stuff."  Why?  Funny you should ask.

Let me preface this by saying that, having worked retail in my younger days, I know that some people will blatantly lie to you, some will steal, some let their kids run around like maniacs, and that, as a "sales associate", you are very low in the food chain, in the eyes of the customer.  Having that experience, I tend to take a kinder approach whenever I enter a store.

If there's a long line, I won't complain that there aren't other available registers or that the person at the register is slow.  If I have to return an item, I make sure I have everything available to make the transaction as carefree as possible.  If something is rung up incorrectly, I'm almost apologetic when I have to point it out.

Let's talk about my trip yesterday to a large "always low prices" chain store.  I generally do not have issues with this chain; I have fed them thousands of dollars over the years of stopping-in-for-toothpaste-and-walking-out-with-a-lampshade-a-rack-of-lamb-4-jars-of-peanut-butter-and-typically-forgetting-the- toothpaste excursions.  The cereal aisle is way too cramped, the associates are not overly friendly, there is never anyone with a key in the electronics department, and God forbid you need help with the photo processing machine thing.  But, they DO always have low prices, so, I deal with it.

In my zombified shufflings yesterday, far from the garbage bag aisle (which was the only thing I needed, and guess what? Forgot to buy them), I discovered the "clearance" area.  Large signs indicating "$5" "$10" "$15" demarcated various sections in the two rows.  In the $5 section I found an "As Seen On TV" item.  I'm not going to tell you what it is, because I'm embarrassed to admit I was looking at it, and I further think that the item is probably a scam.  BUT, for $5, it couldn't hurt to try, right?  I assess the situation:  there are at least five or six of these items in the $5 section, so, it's not a misplaced item.  There is no sticker on it, however, so I have some doubts.

I move onto another part of the store and find yet another "clearance" area, with a (gasp!) "$1" section.
In it, I find these lovely melt-able wax cubes which are usually a whopping $2.  It's sad, but these $2 items are kind of a luxury for me.  I can certainly live without them.  But, since I'm feeling crazy, AND they're half price, I decide to buy four of them, all very nice scents.

You know what I'm going to say, don't you?  You know what happens when I get to the register, right?

Of course, the $5 item is not $5, it is $19.77.  I make a feeble statement that the item, along with several others, were in the $5 clearance section.  The register man stares at me.  He probably suspects that I'm lying.  I don't even bother to argue.  I just tell him I don't want the item, and kindly advise that they really should check the signs, because there are several items there, and not all customers are going to be nice, like me.  In my embarrassment (why am I embarrassed??), I fail to watch the other items being scanned.  And, you all know it.  The wax cubes rang up at $2 each.  Which I didn't notice until I was looking at my receipt, in the car.

I'm tired, angry, and it's late, and I don't feel like going in and having to wait in that %(@))!! customer service line just to get $4 reimbursed.  Additionally, I really want to make a complaint about the $5 sign shenanigans, and I just don't have it in me to do it.  "I'll go tomorrow when I'm fresh and have a better attitude," says I, to myself.

Well, today is tomorrow, and for fear of creating a "Falling Down" incident in the always low prices store, I decide to wait, again, until tomorrow tomorrow to approach the customer service desk.  Why?  Funny you should ask.

Today, it took me NINE HOURS to sort out a problem with my cell phone provider, the same problem which occurred last month.  Only this time the problem (they charged my bank but didn't credit my phone) took place while my son was lost somewhere in the next town over and I had no way to reach him directly.  The details would be too long to recount, but needless to say, at the end of the day, I felt utterly defeated and exhausted.

 Tomorrow, after writing yet another complaint to my cell phone provider,  I will be making a return trip to the low prices place.  And I've decided that I am going to be relentless.  I'm sick of being that nice person.    The sign says $5, there are multiple items there, the damn thing should be $5.  The thing is, someone else with the guts would have demanded to see a manager, and gotten the item for $5.  Well this time, so am I. And, I'm getting my four dollars back.  And they better be really apologetic about the screw up.

You would think that, after all those years in retail, I would have learned that if you b-tch loudly enough, you will always get your way.  And it's not just with things that perhaps you don't deserve, it's with a multitude of things.  What it comes down to is that the people who argue will generally come out with a better deal.  Or at least, a fair deal.  And that annoys me.  I want to be nice.  I don't want to have to fight to get what I deserve.  But sadly, nice gets you nowhere, much of the time. Nice gets you footprints on your back.

Well, enough is enough.

(p.s. This was written last night, so today is the official "tomorrow", and I'm gonna do it!!)

Dumb Things Aren't Funny

Over the years, I have tried to figure out what my deal was when I was a kid (and maybe even now).  I don’t know if I just had no sense of humor, if I wasn’t mature enough to get jokes, or if I took things too seriously, but I remember the phrase, “that doesn’t make sense!” running through my head, constantly.  If you read my post about being blonde, you might remember my mentioning that I used to be annoyed with “dumb” acting females.  Well, it wasn’t just females, it was pretty much any television character who was not so swift.

One character, in particular, used to drive me absolutely nuts.  Gilligan.  You know, from the Isle.  I don’t know why they named the island after him, unless it was the fact that the only reason they were stuck there so *&^#%( @#  long was because of his stupidity.  He was always screwing things up, and it annoyed the crap out of me.  I didn’t find it funny.  I just wanted them to get off the damn island.

"But, if they get off the island, there won't be a show any more."
"Okay. So?"

Of course, it wasn’t just him; there was much about the show that just didn’t make sense to me.  If they could make these great huts, and the Professor was so knowledgeable, why couldn’t they make a big boat?  Why would two guys flying overhead in an airplane think that some random people in the middle of the uncharted ocean had spelled out “SOL” with burning logs just to wish one of them “happy birthday”?  How did Ginger’s evening gowns and Mr. and Mrs. Howell’s fancy clothes survive the wreck, and mostly everyone else was stuck wearing the same clothes every day?  This stuff was just ridiculous, and no amount of “well, it’s supposed to be funny” could sooth my confused mind.

But, enough about Gilligan.

I would like to think that I had at some very early age enjoyed shows with innocence and simple joy, but even Sesame Street, while mostly acceptable, still had that annoying Count with the repetitive counting thing, and the guy with the cakes who always fell down the steps. I remember watching shows like Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood and Bugs Bunny at a young age and being filled with indignantion.

“What’s so great about those puppets?  Their mouths don’t move and you can tell someone’s hand is making them work.  Do kids believe puppets are real?  They all have the same voice, too!” (I wonder if deep down I was just scared crapless about those creepy things)

“Why doesn’t that guy (Wile E. Coyote) just throw the bomb down instead of strapping it to himself?  He keeps doing that!  Every time!” (funny how I complained about his bad technique but referred to him as a “guy.”)

“Why would someone have a sign in their pocket saying “uh-oh” for when they’re falling off a cliff? He doesn’t even have any pants on, so where did it come from?  And why does he have to show the sign?  He doesn’t have to say 'uh-oh.'  Why isn’t he trying to save himself?”

And on and on and on I went.

Over the years, I gradually learned to chalk some things up to the fact that people had different senses of humor, and it was a waste of time to question why some people found dumb things okay or even “funny.”  I would like to say that I have expanded my humorous sensibilities, and can even force myself to enjoy slapstick type scenarios now and then.  To this day, though, The Three Stooges is still ridiculous, abusive, nonsense.

“Why is that guy hitting the other guy?”
“Why is he so mean!?”
“He’s hurting that other guy! He‘s hurting him!!!”

I don’t know if it’s due to the alleged fact that chicks never get The Three Stooges, or if it’s because Moe was mean and scary and kind of reminded me of Hitler, but that show was horrible then, and is still horrible, now.  Sorry, Men.

After learning to cope with other strange considerations of what was humorous,  I hadn’t really had any doubts or questions on the matter in some time.  Flash forward (or backward?) to a few years ago, when an on line acquaintance randomly said to me “I can has cheezburger? LOL”, and, let the show begin.

I had absolutely no clue as to what he was referring, so he tried to explain it to me.

Me:  I don’t get it.
Him: You never heard of that?  It’s from a website.
Me:  What does it mean?
Him:  It’s from this website that has pictures of cats doing funny things, and there are sayings written on them.
Me:  What does the cheeseburger have to do with it?
Him:  It’s just funny.
Me:  Why is it spelled like that?
Him:  I don’t know, it’s how the cats spell.  Go look at the website.  It’s funny.

(Catherine goes to website.  Soberly clicks through the pictures.)

Me:  Okay, I see it.  I still don’t get it.
Him:  It’s funny stuff! You don’t think that’s funny?  What about the one with the gun?
Me:  I guess.  I just don’t get the spelling thing.  The cats are supposed to be saying this stuff?

Anyway, I guess there are some things that I just never will get.  Call me a stick in the mud, call me an unsympathetic female, call me a Gilligan-hater, whatever.  But, in the end, dumb things are not funny.  They’re just dumb.  So there.

How Our Parents (and Other Elders) Screw With Our Heads

When I was younger, my father used to tell a story as proof against the notion that my mother was saintly and perfect.  Apparently, the two of them were out grocery shopping one day, and there was a young child nearby who was crying and looking for his mother.  In response to his bawling, “Mommmyyy?  Mommmy????!!” a woman who was not his mother replied, “heeere I ammm.”  Now, I don’t know if this just an urban legend, or if my mother really was the sadistic non-mother in the story, but, it calls to mind the ways that grownups/parents/older siblings screw with our heads when we’re kids.

Now, my mother is going to be the one mainly under the bus here (sorry, Mom), but I’ve got some cruel laugh moments to tell of myself, as a Mother.  They may seem a bit not nice to the reader, but my excuse (for myself) is that kids can suck the life out of you, and sometimes, you just need a little payback.  Let's call it my self-policing campaign to avoid child abuse.

Before I became a mean adult, I had my own trials to endure, with a fair amount of "good natured" teasing, growing up. I’m not sure if I was just extra gullible as a kid, or if I was just a brat who was fun to tease, but I do have a few “fond” memories to recount for you.  Interestingly, they’re all related to food.

At a very young age, I learned that Crisco, even though it resembled delectable frosting (in the yellow mixing bowl, which my mother smirkingly encouraged me to try), is in fact, nothing like frosting, and tastes horrifyingly disgusting.

I also learned to never beg and beg and beg my mother to let me try the “adult” chocolate candy sitting on the end table at Christmas time, because, if she finally relented, I would discover that the candy was filled with some gaggingly godforsaken liquor which would teach me a lesson for years to come.  I don’t know if it was bourbon or rum, or what the hell it was, but, to this day, I go a little green whenever I unknowingly partake in candy with a surprise liquid center.

It was also a long time before I realized that poppy seeds were in fact edible seeds, and were not, as my brother insisted, the body parts of ants. I actually shed tears over the fact that I had eaten the poor ants which decorated my pastry, and it took quite a bit of convincing that my brother was only teasing.

Now, I know that we have all grown up being told little “lies” by grownups, interestingly, some of which were meant to prevent us from lying.  Our tongues would turn black, our nose would grow like Pinocchio’s, or we might end up in Limbo if we told too many falsifications. I remember being a little doubtful of some of the things I heard as a kid, but, when adults were insisting otherwise, I accepted it as truth.  After all, it’s bad to lie.

And so, I believed that airplanes flew because of magic, and that I would turn into a fish (but preferably a mermaid) if I didn’t get out of the pool, and that running to the store (or just running down the street) for my sister Libby was a testament to my superior speed and agility, and had nothing to do with the fact that she just didn’t want to go to the store or was merely trying to get rid of me (“… run reeeeally fast, and we‘ll time you, Cathy!! I bet you‘re the fastest runner in the neighborhood!!”)

Maybe when I became a parent, I felt it was my chance to start pulling the wool over some eyes.
I went for the rudimentary stuff in the beginning, like, pretending to call Santa Claus if Spenser seemed to be having a difficult time with truth-telling.  And telling him that the onions on a McDonald hamburger were rice, because I didn’t want to hear him complain that he didn’t like onions.  I never pretended that liquor or Crisco were tasty, so I guess I have that going for me.

I did eventually leave the amateur stuff behind, and participated in one particularly Not Nice Thing, along with my sister Rosalie and her husband.  I will blame them for this one, since they are older and should know better.

In their hall closet was a Halloween mask, which was made to look like the face of a very old person.  There was no blood or popping eyeballs or anything like that, it was just an old, wrinkly face.  Well, for some reason, Spenser (my son) was absolutely terrified of this thing.  Having discovered this, we would play tricks on the poor bugger.  Multiple times.  We would send my brother in law outside to ring the doorbell (wearing the mask) and have Spenser answer the door.  Then, we would have him come in from the garage 5 minutes later, wearing the mask again.

It didn’t matter that we would show Spenser it was just a mask (and let him touch it), and he could watch his innocent Uncle Billy donning the mask right in front of him; as soon as the mask was on, he was stupefied in terror.  After that, I think I could even threaten to “bring the mask out” if he was misbehaving.  I know, we were evil.  But again, I was just an innocent bystander (even if I was laughing and saying, “okay, try coming in from the backyard now!“).  Thankfully, Spenser can laugh about it today, and hopefully won’t kill us in our sleep some day, because of it.

I don’t know if this is something all adults do, or if my family was just particularly sadistic, or if this ritual is deep rooted in human genes as some sort of “rite of passage”.  Perhaps it’s just a way we learn how to laugh about ourselves.  Perhaps it is a lesson about not believing everything you hear.  At the very least, it has taught all of you that my mother is not the saint I depicted in my other post, and, if she‘s smirking when she tells you to try some innocent looking food item, DON‘T DO IT.

Dead Devil in the Freezer

I recently went on line to research the lyrics of the R.E.M. song, "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" because, for some reason, the song had gotten stuck into my head.  I was tired of hearing the made-up nonsense words running around in there, so I figured, if it's going to get stuck there, I might as well know the real words.  Perhaps it would get unstuck.

Well, much to my horror and surprise, I actually had the correct lyrics.  I was sure that the second imagined phrase, "is your Benzadrine" had to be incorrect.  It's not.  I even checked multiple sites to make sure.  I did have some incorrect words in other places... who would have thought the words were "you wore a shirt of violent green" and not "you wanna shout, vi-o-lent-ly.".  I have now read the alleged background of the song, and, though I now know the official lyrics, the song is still utter nonsense to me. I'm almost a little disappointed.

Anyway, it got me to thinking about the very wrong lyrics that we sing in our heads on occasion.  There are websites and commercials devoted to this stuff, so this is nothing new, but, it always gives me a good laugh.
My brother in law Dave and I have discussed and giggled on this topic many a time; apparently, these mis-hearings are referred to as "mondegreen's."  Look it up.

I don't know if any of you remember the movie, "Jumpin' Jack Flash," but one of the funniest scenes is when Whoopi Goldberg's character is trying to sort out the words to the Rolling Stones' song (also the movie title) and is having a very rough go of it ("..speak English, Mick!").  I did an intense amount of on-line searching and was very sad that I could not find an actual clip of this scene; however, there is a rather fun site out there which will ease your frustration by defining, officially, what we mis-hear.

http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/IndecipherableLyrics

Having said that, I'm just going to list here a few of my personally known misheard lyrics, generally a compilation of my own bad stuff, and other items mentioned by Dave, random friends, relations, and co-workers.  Some of you may recognize your own work here.  We'll make this fun and I'll just list the incorrect words, and you can try to figure out the correct songs to which they belong.

"If everybody had a nose job..."
"I wanna... I wanna....I wanna (ow!) baa-byyyyy...."
"All the boys... think she's a spaz....she's got...(title of song)"
"I'm a pool hall aaa-ace....."
"She's got electric boobs, a mohair shoe...." (I think that's a common one)
"Wake me up, and pour me cocoa...."
"Mama, if Dad's movin' up, then I'mmmmm.....(title of song)"
"How's about a daa-aate..."
"Dirty deeds, dun-der-chee..." (what is dun-der-chee? No idea.)
"A year has passed since I broke my nose.."

And, some quotes from a website which gave me a laugh:

"I used to think the song Secret Agent Man was actually secret Asian man.  I was singing along in the car when my mom started laughing and told me it was agent, like James Bond, not Asian.  I had always wondered how a person could secretly be Asian...."

"My father, as a young boy, misunderstood some of the lyrics in Roger Millers 'King of the Road.'
Actual words:  Trailer, for sale or rent...
He heard:  Trailer, for sailorettes (as in, female sailors!)"
(I think I used to hear that, as well)


From the Spenser collection:
"I like that song, Mommy.  The one about the dragons in love?"
I didn't bother to try to explain that the words from "I'll Be" (by Ed McCain) were "trappings of love," and not about dragons, thus, that song is now known as the "Dragons in Love" song.

And finally, the title of this post is the misheard title of the Bruce Springsteen song, "10th Avenue Freezeout," and was brought to you by an ex-coworker of mine.

I know, I know, this wasn't the most exciting or unique post, but I guess I was just in that kind of mood.
Below you'll find the "correct" words to the above mis-heards, as well as a link for the quotes (I was excited to see some of my mis-heards in there).  I'm also going to link a YouTube video, of which the beginning had me with tears in my eyes.  *WARNING* The video contains some swear words and some slightly inappropriate content.

*******************************************************************************
http://ask.yahoo.com/20010619.html (this is just... bizarre)

Correct lyrics:
"If everybody had a NOTION....." (Surfin' USA)
"HOLD... HOLD... HOLD (random noise) Meeeee-eeeee"  (Hold Me)
"All the boys think she's a SPY..." (Bette Davis Eyes)
"How my POOR HEART ACHES...." (Every Breath You Take) (creepy stalker, Sting)
"She's got electric BOOTS, a mohair suit..." (Bennie and the Jets)
"Wake me up, BEFORE YOU GO-GO...." (same title)
"Mama, if THAT'S movin' up, then I'm movin' out" (Movin' Out) (he must have a really mean Dad)
"EYES WITHOUT A FACE....." (same title) (I thought it odd that Billy Idol was being so gentlemanly and 1940's sounding....)
"Dirty deeds, DONE DIRT CHEAP..." (same title) (on a related note, my mother wouldn't let me wear an AC/DC shirt a friend have given me because it implied that I "swung both ways."  I was like, 10, and the arguments that the shirt referred to a band, and could also refer to electricity, did not fly.)
"A year has passed since I WROTE MY NOTE...." (Message in a Bottle)

Website quotes (this is actually a pretty funny website when you click some of the links):
http://www.iusedtobelieve.com/music/misheard_lyrics/misheard_lyrics_d1.php

YouTube video (it's worth it just to see the first three.... the rest, meh) (remember, kiddies, there are some bad words in this one...)

Food Stuff

*** I'm skipping on a theme this week, so you will have to content yourselves with reading posts on various random subjects! ***


I have a friend who, whenever we went to a certain restaurant (props to Grandma's in Albany), she would order meatloaf and mashed potatoes.  I asked her why, and she said that, since she grew up in a very Italian household, she rarely got to eat "American" meals, and meatloaf with mashed potatoes was a foreign delicacy of which she was generally deprived.

The reason I'm writing this post now is because I recently finished an entire container of Cool Whip, along with some Jell-o mixed in, underneath.  I'm not exactly sure why Jell-o and Cool Whip are such a delight for me, but I suspect it was probably from having it at a "fancy" restaurant when I was younger, and being amazed that regular old Jell-o could be so high-falutin' and yet scrumptiously delicious, just by adding white fluffy stuff as a topping.  I suppose another part of my excitement is that Cool Whip was a bit of a rarity for us growing up; not that we were poor, but it was generally something that we had only on special occasions- like, when my mother made Icebox cake.  Yum.

In addition, I also happen to have a thing for certain breakfast cereals.  To this day I can devour large quantities of Honey Smacks and Lucky Charms in one sitting.  Honey Smacks (originally Sugar Smacks!) and Lucky Charms were a rare treat in our home, where we grew up with very boring and horrible breakfast foods such as Cream of Wheat and Puffed Rice.  On the rare occasion that we had the "variety" pack of oatmeal, it seems that only the "regular" kind would be left in the box by the time I got to it.  If you ever had to submit to eating that crap, you probably know what it looks like to have a large dune of sugar sitting at the bottom of your cereal bowl.  (And by the way, Lucky Charms has only received a place in my heart because Kaboom is no longer in existence.  Kaboom was the best cereal, EVER.)

I remember being ultra jealous of kids who had normal (the kind with sugar built in) cereal, and being totally fascinated by those little individual cereal boxes that my cousin always had in her house.  Those little boxes, that  could actually be transformed into cereal bowls if you cut off the side of the box!  She always had big boxes of Cocoa Puffs, too.  A big box of  sugar-y chocolate-y goodness which not only tasted delicious, but  also contained a prize in the package!  The only thing you got with Puffed Rice upon opening was stale air and a grouchy mood for the day.  If it hadn't been for those early years of spending summer weeks at my Nana's house, I might never have learned of the joy of Cocoa Puffs, mini cereal boxes, and other gastronomic delights.

For example, I also might never have tried a Yoohoo (which I still buy when I'm feeling nostalgic), or known what it's like to eat an Italian Ice with a stick spoon thingie  (the trick is, you have to skim off the top and the sides and wait for it to melt a little, and then turn the whole thing over so you can get to that dark colored, icy, sugary part).  We didn't have an ice cream man in our neighborhood growing up.  No wonder our cousins thought we were hicks.

In the non-sugar category, instant mashed potatoes makes the top 20 on the list.  Now, this may not seem like anything weird, because they have come a loooong way over the years.  But, back about 92 years ago, when I was growing up, there was only one flavor (plain), and I'm guessing maybe only one brand.  I wouldn't know, because I had the misfortune of growing up in a house where the mashed potatoes were made from SCRATCH.  Mashed potatoes from scratch are not smooth and creamy like the kind from the box.  You might get little tiny surprise lumps here and there, and they weren't buttery and salty like the fake kind.  And, as for Stove-Top Stuffing (instead of potatoes!), I don't recall partaking in that luxury until I was an adult.  Thanks, Mom, for depriving me as a child and forcing me to eat home-made, real food.

Sometimes I get a hankering for other crap food as well (the stuff that isn't home made).  I actually like some of those buffet places where they serve food that isn't natural nor even close to being made from scratch.  I guess, like my Italian friend, I'm occasionally attracted to foods that I didn't grow up with.  Though I will say, I never had Spaghetti-O's until I was in my 20's, and that will never make the top 20 or even the top 100.  Sorry, Chef Boyardee.

I'm sure I could go on forever with my musings on food, but I will end this here.  When we get closer to the holidays, I'll have a lot to write about.  But for now, I've still got one more Jell-o in the fridge, and a second container of Cool Whip to explore.

Hey, they were on sale.

Is It Just Me? Post #1

(Random post before starting new theme!)


Is It Just me......

Or does the doorbell always ring when you're half naked and just waking up from a nap?

Or is it a universal fact that you can find every variety and size of screwdriver in your junk drawer except for the one you actually need to secure the 87 pound air conditioner in the window when it is 96 degrees and you should have done this last week?

Or do we all own slightly bent butter knives because of this fact?

Or does the vacuum cleaner purposefully avoid picking up the one piece of lint in the middle of the floor, because it is far more attracted to the curtains, the hidden sock under the couch, the invisible paper clip, and the tablecloth?

Or do all cats (and dogs, too) decide to puke only on rugs that are freshly washed and clean?

Or is there a masked bandit about, pilfering the covers to our Tupperware bowls, who only leaves the two covers which don't actually match anything in our cabinets?

Or is it a scientific fact that there is no such thing as an empty laundry basket?

Or is it also a scientific fact that the kitchen sink can remain empty, but only for the length of .03 seconds?

Or do white clothes always get the unremovable stains?

Or does the same &$#@%@! car alarm go off every night just as everyone is finally falling asleep?  Ditto for the dog with the same. exact. staccato. bark (with not even a random howl thrown in), who has been quiet all day?  And the guy who rides his $^(#)@#@! motorcycle down the street at 87 m.p.h.?

Or do all housepets decide that the best time to cozy up to you is when your house is still 96 degrees and you were just starting to feel slightly un-sweaty?

Or do housekeys only get tangled/lost/dropped when your bladder is bursting and you have 7 bags of groceries in hand?

Or is it weird that a person would want to specialize in proctology?

Or is "anemone" not one of the coolest words, in existence?

Or does Angry Birds cheat?  And Solitaire, too, now I think of it.

I don't know, maybe it is just me.

Inner Beauty, Of Course

Well, you know that I can't do a week of posts regarding Outer Beauty without addressing the legitimate aspect of Beauty, which is, of course, the Inner part.

This will not be an overly long post (again, ha!), because there isn't much to consider here; we should all know by now that Inner Beauty (or lack of) is what defines us more honestly than what we're showing on the outside.  I would like to believe that it is the inner beauty of a person with which we fall in love, but, unless you're Beauty (a la "and the Beast"), there generally has to be an initial outer beauty attraction.  I think it likely rare that a majority of us look past the outside "ugly" to even allow for the inner beauty to manifest.  More commonly, I suspect that most go for the outer beauty, and either never get to the inner beauty part (because perhaps, it doesn't exist), or it is a slow development over time.

It seems to me, that some of the most beautiful people I have met in my life tend to be ones who are not, to the unenlightened world, considered "beautiful" on the outside.  Perhaps they're even considered "ugly."  I have found that often, the un-beautiful people have something more on the inside (or maybe it's something less? Like pride, conceit, judgmentalism?), and I wonder if it's because they don't give a hoot about their outside appearances.  They have accepted their Outer Beauty for what it is (or isn't), and have employed their energies elsewhere.  I'm not saying that these people are perfect; they have their bad days, and, like the rest of us, may sometimes curse their imperfections.  But that is human, and isn't that what makes us?

I have a friend with an uncle who was born with cerebral palsy.  He was limited, physically (not enough to keep him from dancing an Irish waltz now and then, though!), and he could be difficult to understand when he spoke.  That did not prevent him from being one of the finest Men I have ever met.  I'm not exaggerating.  He was a gentleman, big-hearted, fun-loving, and an honest-to-God joy to be around.  An on-line search with the question, "how can I learn to love Life?" should direct you to a link on Uncle Frank (as he was known to all of us).  He may have been a little imperfect on the outside, but on the inside, he was Beauty, personified.  No amount of expensive creams, injections, or surgeries can buy that kind of thing.

Of course, there are plenty of people who have the Outer and Inner Beauty contained in one fine package.  Just because a person is attractive on the outside, doesn't mean there is nothing on the inside.  But, if we all recognized the inner beauty as the only standard, there would be no separation of groups here.  Inner beauty really should be the standard by which we judge our fellow humans.  Imagine all the time and money and mental anguish we would save if we didn't care how people (we) looked on the outside?

I'm guessing that there are a million studies out there which discuss our natural instinct to stare longer at pictures of attractive people.  There is probably something way down in our genes regarding survival of the species and picking the most attractive/fit mates for reproduction purposes.  This isn't about picking mates, this is just about recognizing real beauty when we see it.  This is about rising above the standards of outer beauty which we have manipulated and adjusted according to whatever the Beauty Industry has deemed "in" for that month/season/year/decade.

I think we could all take a lesson from Uncle Frank, and others like him.  Perhaps if more of us worked on our inner beauty, we would be more apt to recognize it in others.  We would know that a perfect nose and big lips signify  absolutely nothing, if the heart underneath is small.  Regardless of what is on the outside, Inner Beauty, in my humble opinion, will always be "In."