Yes, you read that right. I have been shopping with my gerbils, or actually my gerbil. My elementary school age daughters liked to go shopping with Betsy, our favorite gerbil. When we first went out to a clothing store, I didn’t think anyone would notice. However, I was wrong. You really attract a lot of attention when you are walking around with a gerbil in a clear, plastic travel cage. Many people just stared. Some made comments. Others would ask what “it” was. I heard one woman comment to her mother in Spanish, “Look, they have a rat.” Betsy was of course, insulted, that someone would mistaken her for her much larger cousin.
It was in the bank that people really noticed her. We had to have a short chat with the manager regarding savings accounts. Then we got in line. The bank was rather crowded, so there was quite the crowd for seeing Betsy.
For what it is worth, Betsy didn’t seem to be too happy about going out with us. Although we took her a restaurant, where she hid on the floor next to a wall. It was from there that we fed her bits of lettuce to lessen her plight of being cooped up during our lunch outing.
We also took Betsy and our two other gerbils, Cocoa and Ginger to church. We said a prayer for them. Then, my youngest daughter wanted to “baptize” the gerbils with holy water, which we did.
Finally, Betsy got to meet a local celebrity. We were in line at the pharmacy at our local grocery store, when we realized that the woman who does the weather at a local TV station was behind us. We introduced Betsy to the weather anchor, who commented on Betsy’s cute tail. Of course, this was back when Betsy was named Franklin. Early on, we thought Betsy was a boy, you see. Later we found out that wasn’t the case, which is a topic for another essay.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
A Love Letter to Costco
How do I love thee Costco, let me count the ways…
First, I love your produce—so fresh and firm and sweet.
Second, I love your rotisserie chicken that turns rhythmically on the spit in a choreographed dance of roasting.
Third, I love the wonderful aromas wafting from your bakery that infect my body and soul with desire.
Fourth, I love your wonderful bright lights, so tantalizingly exciting to the eye, which makes my heart to pump warm blood through my entire body.
Fifth, your clothes envelop my body in warmth and style and comfort.
Sixth, my heart constantly yearns for the grocery bargains you offer to the masses—the canned tuna and cereal cause my legs to become weak with joy.
Seventh, your 12-cent water bottles quench my insatiable thirst for hydration and value.
Eighth, the lustrous hair products you peddle are a dream come true!
Ninth, the cooking implements are a steamy source of pleasure for the inner chef lurking in us all.
And, tenth, the food court, which fills me up when the cold, cruel world has siphoned off my inner strength.
Alas, Costco, my true love! You will always be most dear to me. Only through death shall we part.
First, I love your produce—so fresh and firm and sweet.
Second, I love your rotisserie chicken that turns rhythmically on the spit in a choreographed dance of roasting.
Third, I love the wonderful aromas wafting from your bakery that infect my body and soul with desire.
Fourth, I love your wonderful bright lights, so tantalizingly exciting to the eye, which makes my heart to pump warm blood through my entire body.
Fifth, your clothes envelop my body in warmth and style and comfort.
Sixth, my heart constantly yearns for the grocery bargains you offer to the masses—the canned tuna and cereal cause my legs to become weak with joy.
Seventh, your 12-cent water bottles quench my insatiable thirst for hydration and value.
Eighth, the lustrous hair products you peddle are a dream come true!
Ninth, the cooking implements are a steamy source of pleasure for the inner chef lurking in us all.
And, tenth, the food court, which fills me up when the cold, cruel world has siphoned off my inner strength.
Alas, Costco, my true love! You will always be most dear to me. Only through death shall we part.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Caught in the Act...
Yes, I got busted the other day. It was in the grocery store. People around me were embarrassed. I’m just glad my kids weren’t there…
The funny thing is that I didn’t think what I was doing was wrong. But I guess everyone says that when they’re caught. Of course, everyone pleads their case when they’re nabbed. “Well, those coupons are just sitting in the trash!” I said. “Why can’t I have them?” These were my exclamations when the employee publicly chastised me for picking the UNUSED coupons from the trashcan.
The trashcan in question was right next to the self-checkout lanes, which to me are the real crime. At first, the self-checkout lanes were a bit of a novelty. My kids and I enjoyed playing check out clerk. But then, the real colors of those self-checkout lanes made themselves known to be the persnickety things they are. For example, if you don’t place your item on the conveyor belt in the precise manner that the machine demands, then all scanning of items grinds to an abrupt halt. Also, the machine doesn’t like it if too many groceries hang out together at the end of the conveyor belt. Maybe the machine feels left out of the congregation of inanimate objects and decides to put a stop to the fun. Then you have to call a real employee over to bail you out. This brings me back to the dreaded coupons. The self-checkout machine spits out coupons when customers checkout. These coupons are based on how good of a customer you are, e.g. how much money you spend. So they reward their big spenders with more opportunities to buy. Also, the coupons are often for a competing brand of an item that you just purchased. These coupons are somewhat useless (a) you just bought a similar item and (b) usually the expiration date is not that far in the future. So unless you sweat a lot, eat a lot of cereal or have a hand washing problem second only to Lady Mac Beth, you are out of luck. So, most people just leave the coupons behind.
One might describe me as a coupon nut. I love coupons. I keep stacks of coupons. I troll the internet looking for coupons. I subscribe to coupon services. I have a coupon organizer. I especially love using coupons for a sale item. The grocery stores don’t love me using coupons on sale items, though, which is why they are stingy in doling out coupons to me. The fact that they don’t want me to have the coupons is somewhat vexing to me. So, when presented with life-altering opportunity of grabbing a bunch of coupons, all of a sudden, my life had meaning! After all some of my most recent highpoints in life had been getting toothpaste for free and saving $25 on a one-hundred dollar shopping trip.
So, when I saw those coupons in the trash, they were just calling me…so I reached my hand down and started rummaging around. When, all of a sudden an employee informed me that I’m not allowed to get those coupons. “Those coupons are based on what you buy and you didn’t buy the things that the other people did.” (Those are the same people who didn’t care enough about the coupons to take them home.) “I care about those coupons! I would take them home!” I yelled inside! I pointed out that those other customers left the coupons behind, in the trash. Such that they would never be able to achieve the bane of their existence: saving someone money, someone who deserves to save money, someone like ME! The employee wasn’t impressed, however. “No, you still can’t take them,” he said firmly. So, that’s the way it ended. Me feeling like I had lost to “the man,” I was being kept down by “the grocery store man.” I’m David; losing my grocery savings to the corporate Goliath.
The funny thing is that I didn’t think what I was doing was wrong. But I guess everyone says that when they’re caught. Of course, everyone pleads their case when they’re nabbed. “Well, those coupons are just sitting in the trash!” I said. “Why can’t I have them?” These were my exclamations when the employee publicly chastised me for picking the UNUSED coupons from the trashcan.
The trashcan in question was right next to the self-checkout lanes, which to me are the real crime. At first, the self-checkout lanes were a bit of a novelty. My kids and I enjoyed playing check out clerk. But then, the real colors of those self-checkout lanes made themselves known to be the persnickety things they are. For example, if you don’t place your item on the conveyor belt in the precise manner that the machine demands, then all scanning of items grinds to an abrupt halt. Also, the machine doesn’t like it if too many groceries hang out together at the end of the conveyor belt. Maybe the machine feels left out of the congregation of inanimate objects and decides to put a stop to the fun. Then you have to call a real employee over to bail you out. This brings me back to the dreaded coupons. The self-checkout machine spits out coupons when customers checkout. These coupons are based on how good of a customer you are, e.g. how much money you spend. So they reward their big spenders with more opportunities to buy. Also, the coupons are often for a competing brand of an item that you just purchased. These coupons are somewhat useless (a) you just bought a similar item and (b) usually the expiration date is not that far in the future. So unless you sweat a lot, eat a lot of cereal or have a hand washing problem second only to Lady Mac Beth, you are out of luck. So, most people just leave the coupons behind.
One might describe me as a coupon nut. I love coupons. I keep stacks of coupons. I troll the internet looking for coupons. I subscribe to coupon services. I have a coupon organizer. I especially love using coupons for a sale item. The grocery stores don’t love me using coupons on sale items, though, which is why they are stingy in doling out coupons to me. The fact that they don’t want me to have the coupons is somewhat vexing to me. So, when presented with life-altering opportunity of grabbing a bunch of coupons, all of a sudden, my life had meaning! After all some of my most recent highpoints in life had been getting toothpaste for free and saving $25 on a one-hundred dollar shopping trip.
So, when I saw those coupons in the trash, they were just calling me…so I reached my hand down and started rummaging around. When, all of a sudden an employee informed me that I’m not allowed to get those coupons. “Those coupons are based on what you buy and you didn’t buy the things that the other people did.” (Those are the same people who didn’t care enough about the coupons to take them home.) “I care about those coupons! I would take them home!” I yelled inside! I pointed out that those other customers left the coupons behind, in the trash. Such that they would never be able to achieve the bane of their existence: saving someone money, someone who deserves to save money, someone like ME! The employee wasn’t impressed, however. “No, you still can’t take them,” he said firmly. So, that’s the way it ended. Me feeling like I had lost to “the man,” I was being kept down by “the grocery store man.” I’m David; losing my grocery savings to the corporate Goliath.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
In a Parking Garage
Tra, la, la, back to my car
Wow, I didn’t think it was this far
I thought it was near
But its not here
What do I do now?
I can use the remote
To start the horn
Because I feel forlorn
Wait, beep, beep
I hear a faint alarm
I’ll follow my ear
I won’t be disarmed
I walk
I listen
I hope
I pray
I keep following sounds
I feel like a hound
My car is heard, but not seen
I want it to been seen, not heard
I walk to the next floor
Maybe my car will be there
I don’t know what will be in store
While I walk through the garage air
I walk and walk and walk up hill
I go up hill and still no car
But the beeps are louder still
They’re still on par
Wait just around the corner I see
Oh, could it be?
Yes, it is my car
See, it wasn’t that far!
I am raising the bar
Because the door isn’t ajar
Losing the car
Was a mar
But I had my lucky star
Helping me from afar
The End!
Wow, I didn’t think it was this far
I thought it was near
But its not here
What do I do now?
I can use the remote
To start the horn
Because I feel forlorn
Wait, beep, beep
I hear a faint alarm
I’ll follow my ear
I won’t be disarmed
I walk
I listen
I hope
I pray
I keep following sounds
I feel like a hound
My car is heard, but not seen
I want it to been seen, not heard
I walk to the next floor
Maybe my car will be there
I don’t know what will be in store
While I walk through the garage air
I walk and walk and walk up hill
I go up hill and still no car
But the beeps are louder still
They’re still on par
Wait just around the corner I see
Oh, could it be?
Yes, it is my car
See, it wasn’t that far!
I am raising the bar
Because the door isn’t ajar
Losing the car
Was a mar
But I had my lucky star
Helping me from afar
The End!
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
How to Parallel Park
1. Find a spot.
2. Think, oh, shoot, I forgot how to do this.
3. Berate yourself for not being better at parking.
4. Worry that someone will take your space.
5. Worry that you will wind up arguing with someone over your space.
6. Worry you will feel stupid if someone takes your space.
7. Begin to calm yourself, using positive self-talk. “I can do this, it’s easy.”
8. Try to recall the steps of parallel parking from your driver’s ed class.
9. Think to yourself, “Let’s see, pull up next to the car, in front, as close as you can. OK. Oh, let’s not hit the other car.”
10. “Now, we’ll back into the space.” (positive self-talk)
11. Make some minor adjustment maneuvers.
12. “See, that was easy!” (positive self-talk continues)
13. Get out of your car.
14. Notice that your car is sticking out in the back into the road.
15. “Well, that’s OK,” you say to yourself, continuing the positive self-talk.
16. Get back in the car.
17. Repeat steps 3-15 several times.
18. Become exasperated and repeat step 3.
19. Think of ways to pick up the back of the car and move it over to an acceptable distance from the curb.
20. Make another attempt at positive-self talk. “Maybe I just need some help.”
21. Look around for anyone who can help.
22. Decide on approaching couple for parking assistance/moral support.
23. Ask them to tell you what to do.
24. Repeat step 15.
25. Repeat steps 3-8.
26. Repeat step 9, asking the couple how things look.
27. They say fine.
28. Repeat step 10.
29. Obtain positive feedback from the couple.
30. Repeat steps 11-14.
31. Scratch your head and say, “Hmm.”
32. Ask couple what you think you should have done differently.
33. Listen as Mr. and Mrs. Helpful Couple provide different answers.
34. Listen as Mr. and Mrs. Helpful Couple begin to argue amongst themselves regarding how to correctly park the car.
35. Watch Mrs. Helpful Couple wildly gesture, using her cane, to make her point to her disagreeing husband.
36. Listen as Mr. Helpful Couple further disagrees with Mrs. Helpful Couple.
37. Repeat step 3.
38. Repeat step 3 a second time and feel stupid for causing an argument.
39. Thank the couple and hope they will continue on their way, to save you from further embarrassment.
40. Throw up your hands.
41. Decide that your options are to either leave the car with it sticking out a bit and risk a ticket and/or an accident or find a parking lot.
42. Decide on the former and walk away.
43. Repeat step 3.
2. Think, oh, shoot, I forgot how to do this.
3. Berate yourself for not being better at parking.
4. Worry that someone will take your space.
5. Worry that you will wind up arguing with someone over your space.
6. Worry you will feel stupid if someone takes your space.
7. Begin to calm yourself, using positive self-talk. “I can do this, it’s easy.”
8. Try to recall the steps of parallel parking from your driver’s ed class.
9. Think to yourself, “Let’s see, pull up next to the car, in front, as close as you can. OK. Oh, let’s not hit the other car.”
10. “Now, we’ll back into the space.” (positive self-talk)
11. Make some minor adjustment maneuvers.
12. “See, that was easy!” (positive self-talk continues)
13. Get out of your car.
14. Notice that your car is sticking out in the back into the road.
15. “Well, that’s OK,” you say to yourself, continuing the positive self-talk.
16. Get back in the car.
17. Repeat steps 3-15 several times.
18. Become exasperated and repeat step 3.
19. Think of ways to pick up the back of the car and move it over to an acceptable distance from the curb.
20. Make another attempt at positive-self talk. “Maybe I just need some help.”
21. Look around for anyone who can help.
22. Decide on approaching couple for parking assistance/moral support.
23. Ask them to tell you what to do.
24. Repeat step 15.
25. Repeat steps 3-8.
26. Repeat step 9, asking the couple how things look.
27. They say fine.
28. Repeat step 10.
29. Obtain positive feedback from the couple.
30. Repeat steps 11-14.
31. Scratch your head and say, “Hmm.”
32. Ask couple what you think you should have done differently.
33. Listen as Mr. and Mrs. Helpful Couple provide different answers.
34. Listen as Mr. and Mrs. Helpful Couple begin to argue amongst themselves regarding how to correctly park the car.
35. Watch Mrs. Helpful Couple wildly gesture, using her cane, to make her point to her disagreeing husband.
36. Listen as Mr. Helpful Couple further disagrees with Mrs. Helpful Couple.
37. Repeat step 3.
38. Repeat step 3 a second time and feel stupid for causing an argument.
39. Thank the couple and hope they will continue on their way, to save you from further embarrassment.
40. Throw up your hands.
41. Decide that your options are to either leave the car with it sticking out a bit and risk a ticket and/or an accident or find a parking lot.
42. Decide on the former and walk away.
43. Repeat step 3.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Bush Brush
Dear President Bush:
My backyard is a mess. It is overgrown and I would be most happy to replace the gnarled mess with some lovely sort of hedge. My husband isn’t quite sure how to proceed with clearing our lot so that we could plant some evergreens, both for privacy and aesthetic reasons.
Anyway, I was wondering how to remedy my predicament when I remembered that you possess excellent brush clearing skills. From what I have gathered from the news, you derive much relaxation from clearing brush from your ranch. So, I was wondering if you could pay a short visit to our house to help clear our overgrown yard. You could give my husband pointers to use in future yard-clearing endeavors. I live between 30 and 45 minutes from the White House, which would be a short jaunt for you. My husband and I have two children, ages 9 and 12, who would be more than happy to help with the yard clearing, as well.
If you are able to help us, I would certainly appreciate your assistance. Our schedule is quite flexible, so feel free to come at your earliest convenience.
Thank you,
Lizzy
My backyard is a mess. It is overgrown and I would be most happy to replace the gnarled mess with some lovely sort of hedge. My husband isn’t quite sure how to proceed with clearing our lot so that we could plant some evergreens, both for privacy and aesthetic reasons.
Anyway, I was wondering how to remedy my predicament when I remembered that you possess excellent brush clearing skills. From what I have gathered from the news, you derive much relaxation from clearing brush from your ranch. So, I was wondering if you could pay a short visit to our house to help clear our overgrown yard. You could give my husband pointers to use in future yard-clearing endeavors. I live between 30 and 45 minutes from the White House, which would be a short jaunt for you. My husband and I have two children, ages 9 and 12, who would be more than happy to help with the yard clearing, as well.
If you are able to help us, I would certainly appreciate your assistance. Our schedule is quite flexible, so feel free to come at your earliest convenience.
Thank you,
Lizzy
Monday, November 12, 2007
Toilet Paper Concussion
A few years ago, I was using the public restroom at our local library. Everything was going fine, until I snapped the toilet paper from the dispenser. When I did this, the dispenser top fell open, scoring a direct hit onto my face, right between my eyes. The pain was blinding initially, only to give way to the mother of all headaches. The headache persisted for a number of hours, despite massive doses of ibuprofen, until I became concerned. I also noticed that I felt a bit drunk. The hit on my head occurred around 5 p.m. Around 9 p.m., my headache and drunken-like behavior hadn’t abated. Luckily, I had the clarity of mind to ask my husband to drop me off at the emergency room. After all, I had two kids to take care of and a head injury wouldn’t exactly be helpful.
My husband drops me off. It was a warm, summer night and I was worried about having a long wait because of various night-time sports that people are involved in, which often result in injuries. However, I quickly realized that if you go into the ER and tell them you got bonked on the head, it gets you to the front of the line. (If only that worked in busy restaurants…you see I got bonked on the head and if I don’t eat soon I will self-destruct.) Anyway, I was summoned to the minor injuries and illnesses section of the ER, which was separate from the main ER. Its as if they had signs up that said, “Not So Bad Here,” and “Really Bad Stuff Goes Here.” Anyway, I was relieved to find out that they didn’t think I was a really bad head case, just a minor head case (pun intended).
I was left on a stretcher long enough for worry to set in. What if this is something really bad? What if my brain is bleeding or something? Will I need surgery? On the other hand, I was also chiding myself for coming at all. Will this be covered by insurance? What if there’s nothing wrong with me? Then, I’ll feel stupid for coming. But then, for me to not feel stupid, then I have to actually be injured. Gosh, I can’t win here. Where is the doctor?
Just then, the physician’s assistant came to my stretcher. I told him the story, stopping to tell him that it was OK to laugh because it was such a freak thing to have happen to someone. He did a few routine tests, including asking me to walk a straight line. Normally, that wasn’t a problem for me at all. After a bonk on the head, walking a straight line is a totally different endeavor. The drunken behavior was certainly carrying over to coordination. Then, the PA ordered a CT. While I was waiting to go to have the CT done, the power went out, thanks to a passing thunderstorm. Luckily, the hospital has generators so there was still some light, and, most importantly, the CT machine was still up and running. Anyway, to make a long story short, the CT said my head was OK, at least as OK as it was before the bonking. The PA diagnosed me with a concussion and sent me home. And that’s how I got my toilet paper concussion.
My husband drops me off. It was a warm, summer night and I was worried about having a long wait because of various night-time sports that people are involved in, which often result in injuries. However, I quickly realized that if you go into the ER and tell them you got bonked on the head, it gets you to the front of the line. (If only that worked in busy restaurants…you see I got bonked on the head and if I don’t eat soon I will self-destruct.) Anyway, I was summoned to the minor injuries and illnesses section of the ER, which was separate from the main ER. Its as if they had signs up that said, “Not So Bad Here,” and “Really Bad Stuff Goes Here.” Anyway, I was relieved to find out that they didn’t think I was a really bad head case, just a minor head case (pun intended).
I was left on a stretcher long enough for worry to set in. What if this is something really bad? What if my brain is bleeding or something? Will I need surgery? On the other hand, I was also chiding myself for coming at all. Will this be covered by insurance? What if there’s nothing wrong with me? Then, I’ll feel stupid for coming. But then, for me to not feel stupid, then I have to actually be injured. Gosh, I can’t win here. Where is the doctor?
Just then, the physician’s assistant came to my stretcher. I told him the story, stopping to tell him that it was OK to laugh because it was such a freak thing to have happen to someone. He did a few routine tests, including asking me to walk a straight line. Normally, that wasn’t a problem for me at all. After a bonk on the head, walking a straight line is a totally different endeavor. The drunken behavior was certainly carrying over to coordination. Then, the PA ordered a CT. While I was waiting to go to have the CT done, the power went out, thanks to a passing thunderstorm. Luckily, the hospital has generators so there was still some light, and, most importantly, the CT machine was still up and running. Anyway, to make a long story short, the CT said my head was OK, at least as OK as it was before the bonking. The PA diagnosed me with a concussion and sent me home. And that’s how I got my toilet paper concussion.
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