I Can Take My Hands Off My Ears...But Now I Have To Put Them Over My Eyes

Ding Dong. She's really gone.

The Shrieking Machine has left the gym. I wanted to make sure before celebrating, but after seven blissful shriek-free weeks, I think it's safe. I can't express how wonderful it is to go to the gym to relieve some stress and actually accomplish that rather than getting more edgy by the minute with shouts of "knee! knee! knee!"

There is, however, one character I wouldn't mind going the same way The Shrieking Machine did. I feel bad for even mentioning her, because while The Shrieking Machine did something that was a real disturbance, this lady annoys me for no real reason except my own cattiness.

But if I could post a photo of her, I don't think anyone would disagree with me.

I call her Didn't-Bother-To-Brush-Her-Hair-
But-Did-Take-The-Time-To-Put-On-Tights-Yes, Tights-Lady. The title is pretty self-explanatory. Why in the world would anyone wear tights to the gym? They're not any sort of athletic tights; they're just regular black tights that she wears under shorts. If she's afraid her legs will get cold, why not just wear pants? Seeing her makes my legs feel hot and itchy. And yeah, her hair always looks awful, and I have the feeling that she never actually does anything with it. I mean, I never look all that put-together at the gym -- why bother when you're just going to sweat and get gross -- but if the gym isn't the first place I've been that day, I at least have my hair brushed. Not so much with this woman.

I know it's mean of me to say, but I can't help it. She's there every time I go to the gym -- every time -- and inevitably she ends up on a machine directly in front of whatever machine I'm on, so I have no choice but to look at her. I still feel bad for getting annoyed with her, though, so I'm kind of hoping she joins a kickboxing class and starts shrieking so I have a good reason to dislike her.

What Brown Did For Me, Part II

Surprisingly, I received my UPS package today, and although I haven't opened it yet, it actually looks like the right package.

I've written UPS a belated Christmas card to thank them for the impeccable treatment I was given. The only thing I can't decide is whether to send it by U.S. Postal Service or FedEx.

Jackpot!

It seems as if all of the hours we spent scanning stuff at Macy's, Williams-Sonoma and Bed Bath & Beyond has paid off. Two of the gifts for which my fiance and I registered have been purchased for us, according to the latter two stores' Web sites.

I cannot wait to receive my dish towels and snack box shaped like a goldfish cracker.

The Taste Of Christmas

So I broke down. Between the UPS debacle and not being home for the first time and not having any time off and having a long week at work, I wasn't feeling very Christmasy. So I baked cookies to get myself in the mood.

I just made a few.

Alright, so I made 12 dozen. But I plan to take half of them to my fiance's family's house and gave a few dozen to neighbors.

But I sure am in the holiday spirit now!

What Brown Did For Me

I'll admit it. One of the things I love most about Christmas is the presents.

It's not so much getting new stuff -- when you're past the age of 12 or so and not getting toys but books and sweaters, the contents of the packages are usually not that exciting -- but the fact that someone thought to buy something special for me, and it's always so exciting to see the tree piled high with gifts on Christmas morning. This year, I will be spending the holiday away from my family for the first time, instead going to my fiance's parents' house to celebrate with them. So my mom sent my Christmas gifts to me via UPS.

This is where the warm, fuzzy story turns sour.

On Thursday, my mom tracked my package and reported that the address had been changed and UPS needed a suite number. I had, the day before, re-routed another UPS package from my home address to my work address, so I assumed UPS had applied the change to all packages going to me. I called to give them the suite number of my office, and I was surprised to learn that the address my package was sent to was neither my home address nor my work address but a place in a town somewhere between the two. I don't even know anyone who lives or works in that town.

I corrected UPS and asked them to route it to my work address on Friday, and I asked if they could give me a range of hours that their driver would be out with my package. My office closed early yesterday, so I wanted to know whether I could expect it before then or whether I would have to stick around or re-route it back to my home if it would be going out late. The lady said she had no idea what time packages go out in the morning and that if my mom had wanted delivery on a guaranteed date, she should have upgraded from ground delivery to air delivery -- at a handsome extra charge, of course. I told the woman I would just wait around at work, and if the package didn't show up in time, I'd go from there.

Imagine my surprise when the UPS delivery guy showed up at my office yesterday with no package for me. I called UPS again to ask what address my package was going to, and they gave me my home address. I told them no, this was a mistake; the address was not supposed to be changed again. The woman I spoke to this time offered to re-route the package back to my work address, but I explained that I was on my way home at this point and would simply hope the driver hadn't stopped there yet.

Yes, I said it angrily. Yes, I hung up on her. I know it wasn't this lady's fault, but considering the fact that UPS had now changed the address on me twice without my requesting or authorizing it, I think I had a right to be perturbed. I had done everything I could to make sure they brought the package to where I would be, and UPS took great pains to make sure the package came nowhere near me.

Holding on to the hope that perhaps it would show up on my doorstep, I sat at home all afternoon, waiting. I had errands to run, so as soon as my fiance walked in the door, I ran out, rushing around so I would be back before he had to leave again and someone would be home to sign for the package.

At 6:45, when nothing had shown up, I tracked the package online again, guessing that UPS had changed the address on me a third time. Bingo! They had. They had re-routed the package yet again, back to my work address.

At this point, I was beyond fuming. It was getting increasingly more difficult to refrain from screaming at the people who picked up the phone at the 800 number. These people refused to do anything to help. Because the package had been sent by ground and not air, it was not important to UPS to get it to me at any specific time.

I understand that they can't guarantee a time, but you'd think they'd guarantee that the package gets to where it should go. And when they had changed the delivery address three times now without my ever asking them to do so, they should have made special accommodations to get me this package the day it should have been delivered. My mom paid what was probably a good chunk of money to get me this package, and she sent it off in plenty of time for it to get to me by Christmas. It was not her fault, and it was not my fault, that the package had not reached me. It was UPS' fault, and UPS was refusing to make amends.

The last guy at the 800 number finally sent a note to the distribution center, and a woman from there called me to explain that my package was not to her distribution center yet but at another distribution center 10 miles away and would not arrive there until Tuesday morning, at which point it was to be delivered to my work address. I called the distribution center where the package allegedly was, and a woman there told me it had already left for the other one. But it would not be there until Tuesday; apparently, sending something UPS ground means that it takes three days to go 10 miles. I didn't figure those trucks went very fast, but I had no idea.

UPS' mission was accomplished. My Christmas gifts will be late, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. UPS is the Grinch, and I am Cindy Lou Who, except my attitude is not quite as forgiving as hers.

The worst part is, if my mom had simply sent the gifts late, I wouldn't have cared. I get gifts late all the time, and goodness knows I hardly ever send gifts out on time. (So perhaps UPS was sending some of my late-gift-sending karma back my way).

No, the fact that the gifts will be late doesn't bother me half as much as the fact that I have spent the past two days waiting for them and on the phone with UPS, trying to correct the errors they had made. They're just gifts; I'm sure my mom got me some very nice stuff, but let's face it. I'm way past the age where Christmas gifts are exciting toys, and there's not much I can do with a sweater or a pair of gloves that simply cannot wait an extra day. My Christmas has not been ruined by not having my gifts right away, but the past two days have been ruined while I've dealt with this mess.

So today, even though I had not planned to, I will bake some Christmas cookies to get myself back into the holiday spirit. If I can't be near my family, and I can't get their gifts on time, at least I can eat the cookies made from their recipes.

So what has "brown" done for me? Besides eaten up an hour's worth of minutes on my cell phone and made my blood pressure shoot sky high, not a whole hell of a lot. I am somewhat skeptical about the possibility of the package actually coming to me on Tuesday like it's now supposed to. But maybe I'll get the gifts in time for next Christmas.

Stuffed

Anyone who reads this blog even casually knows that I love food, and I especially love sweets. So what I am about to say is going to seem completely out of character, and, to be honest, even I am surprised to be typing these words. But the fact of the matter is...

I just can't eat any more Christmas treats.

It started very innocently, the day I decided to get a jump start on my holiday baking by making Oreo Balls (smashed up Oreo cookies mixed with cream cheese and covered in chocolate) and chocolate covered peanut butter crackers (two saltines with peanut butter in between, covered in chocolate) and Chex Party Mix (just the regular kind, although I do make a chocolate-covered version of that too). For a few days, I sampled the treats modestly, taking care not to pig out too much.

But then it snowballed.

A visitor to my office brought with him a huge package of Godiva chocolates and a great big tin of chocolate covered cookies, which was put in the kitchen right next to the half-full box of candy a client had sent awhile back. Then our cleaning ladies brought us some cookies, cupcakes and fudge. Today, I went in there and saw a gift basket full of all kinds of holiday treats. Did I mention there are only eight of us in the office?

And at home it was just as bad. Once the chocolate covered stuff and the Chex Mix had been either eaten or pawned off onto someone, I thought it safe to buy a bag of Hershey's Kisses for a candy dish on my coffee table. But then my sister sent me some beef and cheese logs and some petit fours, and I received a stocking full of candy bars and a box of the most delicious shortbread cookies in the history of mankind in a gift exchange. Throw in a couple of get-togethers, and December has made for some snug pants, let me tell you.

It's not like I've been pigging out nonstop, but it has been tough to resist all this wonderful food, especially when it just arrives on your doorstep. I'll admit, the Oreo Balls, peanut butter things and Chex Mix were my fault, but even after I decided to put a moratorium on Christmas cookie baking, my kitchen is still full of delicious, wonderful, tasty food.

I think it's wonderful that people share food at Christmas. I enjoy cooking and baking for people, and I certainly enjoy eating. But I just don't think I can do any more of it this year.

I'm starting to go into a sugar coma.

It Is Less Time Consuming To Give Than To Receive

Today, my fiance and I set up our wedding gift registries. We knew it would be time consuming, but we had no idea just how tiring it would be. Here's a rundown of the afternoon's activities.

1 p.m. -- Arrive at the mall. We go straight to Macy's so that my relatives in Pennsylvania have somewhere to shop for us, because they don't have too many good stores there and some folks are not internet savvy.

1:15 p.m. -- Lady who helps us sent us out into the store with a gun thing to scan what we wanted. I make the mistake of letting my fiance use the gun, and he makes a funny noise every time he scans something and repeatedly tries to scan my butt because he thinks it's funny. We don't find much that we really really want but did find a few fun items. We almost register for a gigantic serving dish that looks like a turkey, but in the fear that someone might buy it for us, we decide not to.

1:40 p.m. -- Finish scanning stuff at Macy's, return to the desk to find the lady who helped us engaged with a customer.

1:45 p.m. -- Apparently the customer's credit card is not going through, so we continue to wait.

1:50 p.m. -- The lady finally pawns off rejected credit card lady on someone else and helps us wrap up. She gives us a free canvas tote bag, which is worth the trip.

1:55 p.m. -- Leave Macy's for Williams-Sonoma.

2:00 p.m. -- Fill out a form for Williams-Sonoma gift registry.

2:02 p.m. -- Give the form back to the lady behind the counter and wait for her to type our information into the computer. Politely turned down offer of free sample of espresso from lady who thought we were standing by the espresso machine because we wanted one.

2:05 - 2:10 p.m. -- Go through the form with lady behind the counter, line by line, at her request, so that she will spell everything right.

2:15 p.m. -- Look around while waiting for lady behind counter to finish. Espresso lady asks if we are sure we don't want to try an espresso; we politely decline.

2:17 p.m. -- Lady behind the counter hands us a paper that has our registry information and find my name is spelled wrong. Gave it back and asked her to fix it and waited some more.

2:25 p.m. -- Make small talk with espresso lady, who ends up being the most helpful person in that store.

2:30 p.m. -- Finally cave and let espresso lady get us an espresso.

2:35 p.m. -- Lady behind the counter gives us the little gun thingy and we go out into the store. Espresso lady follows us because it's just so exciting. We ask her for help with an item that won't scan, however, and she's not sure what to do, but she does help us find someone who knows.

2:45 p.m. -- None of the items at Williams-Sonoma seem to still have the stickers with the bar codes on them. We have to ask bald guy behind the counter for help, and he finds someone who can figure out what to scan. I kind of miss the espresso lady.

2:50 p.m. -- Having scanned a bunch of stuff, we can't find anyone to help us except the first lady, who couldn't read or type, who attempts to upload our information into the computer.

2:55 p.m. -- Lady returns with a printed out sheet that has none of the items we had scanned and one we had not and goes back to try to upload again.

2:58 p.m. -- Lady apologetically explains that our entire registry is lost. Rather than do it all again, we leave, quietly cursing the stupid lady who screwed up the whole thing.

3:05 p.m. -- Swing by the Auntie Anne's to grab a pretzel, but the line is too long and we are cranky.

3:20 p.m. -- Enter Bed Bath & Beyond. I get in line at the customer service desk while my fiance sits in the demo massage chair to rest his flat feet.

3:22 p.m. -- Listen to girl behind customer service desk try to figure out how to figure out tax by multiplying by a percentage. Guy standing at counter wrongly explains that she should multiply the amount by .8 or something. I consider stepping in but am afraid that in my semi-crankiness and tiredness I might end up either explaining it wrong or being mean, and, thankfully, a nice foreign lady steps in first.

3:24 p.m. -- Once foreign lady is done being taken care of and I ask where the registry is and am directed to the rear of the store.

3:25 p.m. -- My fiance tells me to try the massage chair, and it really does pep me up a bit.

3:28 p.m. -- Find registry area and fill out some more paperwork. Explain to Pam the registry lady that we don't need fine china or crystal; we just want everyday stuff. Pam is nice but kind of balks at the idea that we would have guests over and not have anything nice to serve them on, despite the fact that we tell her that right now we kind of need other things a lot more than fine china.

3:29 p.m. -- We choose a fine china pattern.

3:35 p.m. -- Pam helps us choose crystal and flatware to go with the china. It actually looks quite nice. I make my fiance pledge to have a fancy party soon after we get married so that we have a reason to use fine china and crystal.

3:50 p.m. -- Pam takes us over to the cookware section of the store to meet Josh, who she says will help us there, despite the fact that we have already chosen cookware at Macy's. Josh, who has laryngitis, explains that Pete will be helping us because he does not have laryngitis. Pete is not happy when we tell him we want copper bottom pots and steers us toward stainless steel. We tell him we have already registered at Macy's for copper bottom pots, and he pulls up the brand and tells us it is not as good as the brand we'd been looking at in his store. He's actually right, but we kind of want a chance to register for other stuff that we haven't looked at yet, so we run away from Pete and register for other stuff.

4:15 p.m. -- I make my fiance scan a plastic take-along snack container that looks like a goldfish cracker. This is one of my favorite items on the list so far.

6 p.m. -- After we've been through the entire store, Pam brings us snacks and tells us that we deserve a break. We tell her we're done.

6:15 p.m. -- Pam goes over some other registry stuff with us and tells us congratulations about 12 times. She's actually pretty nice, and I wonder if we should invite her to the wedding so that she can buy us that china with her employee discount.

6:20 p.m. -- We revisit our fine china setting, and I still like it, but I am kind of hoping that we get more of the every day dishes, because I really like them and don't have to have anyone over to use them, plus they are dishwasher safe.

6:30 p.m.-9 p.m. -- We finally leave Bed Bath & Beyond and, having given up any hope of making it to the grocery store and cooking dinner like we'd planned, we come home and order pizza and watch Mean Girls on TV.

9 p.m. - 10 p.m. -- Looking online, I learn that the dumb lady at Williams-Sonoma actually did upload our thing, and we do have a registry. In fact, we have two. One is empty and the other has the stuff we chose today.

10:27 p.m. -- My head hurts. I am going to bed.

An Open Letter To My Fiance, Regarding Mice

Dear Fiance,

I don't pull the girl card very often, but I'm going to have to do it now.

I am sorry that you think it is unacceptable for me to refuse to clean mouse traps, but that's just the way it has to be. I just cannot bring myself to look at or even come close to touching a dead mouse.

I offered to buy the poison stuff that makes them go outside to die, but you were afraid they would die in the walls. So I offered to buy the circular traps that close and kill them so you can just throw the whole thing away and never look at a mouse, but you said they were too expensive for something that was not reuseable.

When you insisted instead on buying the kind that snaps the mouse in half in front of your eyes, you promised that you wouldn't give me crap about not checking or touching the traps, so I hope you will stick to that.

Sorry, but mice are icky, and you need to be the manly man and take care of them all and protect me from the nasty vermin.

Hugs and kisses,
Erika

Fa La La La La La La La La

Christmas is a season of excess, when everything we like to do, we do to the umpteenth degree. We pig out, we spend too much money and we decorate our homes in ways that we would never do any other time of year, with glittery, ostentatious things that light up and make noise.

And it's wonderful! I hope to someday have a house that I can decorate the way that Clark Griswold decorated his, with 25,000 twinkle lights. I think it's grand when people go to Target on December 26th and buy lights, signs and inflatable snow globes for 50 percent off, then pile it all into their yards the following year. Even the tacky stuff is great. The more, the better I say.

I do have a problem with the people who half-ass it with the lights though. You know who I mean. The ones who buy one of those light net things that you can put right over a tree, and then only put one on a big tree, leaving half of the tree covered and half uncovered. The ones who put a string of lights on one tiny hedge in front of their house and leave everything else bare.

If you're not going to go whole hog with the lights, I say, don't do the lights. You can still decorate with inflatable snowmen and wreaths, and your home will look very festive. But unless you're willing to put in some time and effort, don't bother with the lights. No one will fault you if you don't put any lights out, but it looks pretty stupid when you throw up one string and call it a day.

I'm not saying that everyone needs to put out 25,000 twinkle lights, but driving around town would be a lot more entertaining if they did.

Fine

When I was in high school, I took two years of German. My teacher was actually from Germany; she had grown up near Hamburg, so our lessons always contained tidbits about German culture as she had experienced it growing up.

Early on, we learned the phrase, "wie gehts," which means, "how are you?" We also learned various responses, like, "es geht mir gut"(good) or "es geht mir schlecht," (bad), etc. And my teacher made the comment that Germans are more honest than Americans when asked that simple question. If you ask a German person "wie gehts," you won't hear "es geht mir gut" unless it's really true; here, however, you'll almost always hear the same response.

"Fine."

It's as if we feel we will be a burden if we're honest. Not everyone wants to hear, "I'm wonderful; I just won a million dollars in the lottery;" it sounds like bragging. And "my wife left me and took all the toothpaste" sounds whiny.

But now, after years of pondering, I wonder, why would people ask if they don't really want to know?

In my job, I deal with many different people, so I'm on the phone pretty often. My clients are located all over the United States, so I never actually see them face to face. I don't chat with them about personal stuff too much, so I don't really know any of them that well except in the business sense. But every time I call one of them, or one of them calls me, the first question is always, "how are you."

And my response is always "fine" or "pretty good," and then, "how are you?" (They're always "fine" or "pretty good" too).

Why do I say that? I don't care how these people are. I don't care how their days are going. Sure, I hope their lives are in basic balance and they're healthy and comfortable, because they're people, and most of them are pretty nice, but unless it is affecting the business we are doing, I don't care much what is going on in their personal lives. That may sound a little heartless, but they don't really care about my personal life either. They're paying for a service I provide, so they don't want to waste time on chit chat, and I've got other clients to worry about, so I don't want to waste time either.

And it's not just the "how are you." We always say these polite words that we obviously don't mean, just because we think we're supposed to say them. Last night, I went to Target, and as I left, the girl at the register told me, "have a great night." She said it in a completely robotic voice, though, as if whoever trained her told her to say that, and now it just comes automatically. I don't care if she wants me to have a great night, so I kind of wish she wouldn't tell me to have one unless she really meant it.

It just seems sort of counterproductive to say these things. Why ask how someone is if you really don't care? And why say "have a great night" unless you really wish them well? I think the words lose their meaning when they're thrown around like that, and the polite almost becomes impolite.

So I am going to try to always mean what I say. If I don't think a person really gives a crap if I tell them to have a nice day, I won't tell them to have a nice day. Why bother? I doubt too many folks would be offended if I hung up the phone with a simple "goodbye" or "talk to you later." And when I'm asked how I am, I'll tell the truth. I'm not going to go on a whole diatribe about my life up to that point, but the answer will be honest and not automatic.

I think that solution is fine.

Simple Things I Wish People Would Learn Regarding The English Language

1. An apostrophe shows possession, not plurality. If you want to pluralize something, an s is quite sufficient. When an apostrophe is used after the word "it," however, the word means "it is," not "belonging to it." An apostrophe should not be used for the word meaning "belonging to it."

2. The word "literally" means something actually happened. Don't say "I literally ate a whole cow" unless there's really really nothing left.

3. If you don't know that the word "grammar" is not spelled "grammer," then don't tell me you're picky about it. Even decent grammar can be ruined by bad spelling.

4. People are "who" and things are "that." It is incorrect to say, "the woman that works at the store."

5. Please don't say things like, "her and I." It's "she." "She and I went to the store." Similarly, when you are talking about yourself and another person, put yourself last. I cannot express how horrible "me and her" sounds.

6. Even after Ross yelled at Rachel on Friends, people still screw it up. Y-O-U-(apostrophe) - R-E is "you are." Y-O-U-R is "your."

7. Never end a sentence with a preposition, especially questions, because that just sounds awful. "Where you at?" I'm at the Grammar Police Station, and I'd like you to come in so we can book you.

8. "Alot" is not a word.

9. The word "mischievous" is pronounced mis-chuh-vuhs, not mis-chee-vee-uhs.

10. "Irregardless" is not a word.

The Hap- Happiest Season Of All

Christmas seems to start earlier every year, and even though the leftovers from Thanksgiving are still in my fridge, I have already begun my holiday celebration, thanks to my TV.

I love Christmas movies. White Christmas has been a favorite in my family for years, as has National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, and I never miss A Charlie Brown Christmas or the 24-hour marathon of A Christmas Story. Those are classics, a holiday staple as crucial as cookies and garland.

Christmas movies are like guilty pleasure movies without the guilt. They can be silly, cheesy, sappy and trite, but we can still love them, because Christmas is the season for silly, cheesy, sappy and trite. What other time of year could we hear "every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings" and not puke?

But this isn't about those movies. This is about the movies often overlooked during holiday time -- the non-Christmas Christmas movie. These are the films in which Christmas plays only a supporting role; the story takes place at Christmas, but it's not technically a Christmas movie. No one becomes a better person or learns to appreciate the joy of the season; they just live their lives among twinkle lights and Douglas Firs.

Here are some of my favorites.

The Long Kiss Goodnight -- Geena Davis plays a suburban soccer mom who has amnesia but is beginning to remember bits and pieces when she is attacked in her home. After hiring a private detective, played beautifully by Samuel L. Jackson, she learns she is actually a CIA assassin. A couple of Christmas parades and some fantastic yard lights and decorations make this a fine choice for holiday movie-watching.

Bridget Jones' Diary -- Nothing says "non-Christmas Christmas movie" like a film that hardly mentions Christmas but does feature holiday themed sweaters.

The Ice Harvest -- John Cusack and Billy Bob Thornton steal some money from a mob boss on Christmas Eve, and bloody killing ensues. What better way to celebrate the most wonderful time of the year than to see a woman shot to death beneath her tree?

Gremlins -- A solemn reminder that breaking into the holiday treats after midnight is not a good idea.

Rent -- A landlord threatens to evict his tenants on Christmas Eve and they respond by staging a protest and singing about the joys of Bohemian living. Add a song which includes the words "Happy Birthday, Jesus" and you've got yourself some heartwarming holiday fun. That actually kind of sounds like a regular Christmas movie, but it also features other holidays, so I think it qualifies for this list.

So go forth and celebrate this joyful season!

An Open Letter To The Window Repair Guys Who Showed Up At My Home Unannounced This Morning

Dear Window Repair Guys Who Showed Up At My Home Unannounced This Morning,

Perhaps if you had called ahead, I would not have answered the door wearing flannel lawn gnome pajamas and Crest White Strips. This situation could not have been fun for either one of us. You have my number; please use it next time.

Love,
Erika

Uncertain

Last night, my fiance and I began our journey toward a Catholic wedding by taking a scan-tron test, full of questions about ourselves, our relationship and our views of marriage. We each completed one, and on our next visit, our answers will be compared. According to the priest who will marry us, the process is meant to begin dialogue about things we might not have talked about, so the test was full of statements like, "my future spouse and I have discussed and agree on how to manage our money," or "my future spouse and I have discussed how we will divide the household chores," with which we had to say whether we agree, disagree or are uncertain.

Some of the statements left me baffled, because I couldn't believe people would not have discussed these things before considering marriage. Children, for example. To me, it seems common sense to at least talk about whether you want children, and how you plan to care for them, i.e. one parent staying at home, etc. These are things that could become big problems if two people aren't on the same page.

But those statements were nothing compared to some others, which left me absolutely horrified. I think about the people who would answer affirmatively to statements like, "I am sometimes afraid of my future spouse," and I'm not sure whether to feel lucky for myself or scared for everyone else. There were several statements about addiction and abuse, as well as things like, "I wonder if I am marrying the right person." I just cannot believe there are people who would even consider getting married under those circumstances.

But maybe I should reserve judgement till I see my fiance's answers.

If The DMV Photographer Became Papparazzi

I've heard of things getting out of hand at bachelorette parties, but this was ridiculous.

Last night, I went to a casino with a group of friends to celebrate the upcoming wedding of my pal Clare, who is getting married on Friday. We planned to have dinner, have a few drinks and gamble. We did not plan to get our photographs taken over and over...but we did.

When I arrived, I parked in the garage that was attached the casino and planned to meet my friends in the hotel on the other side. To do that, I had to walk through the casino, so I showed my ID to a man who had to have been almost seven feet tall (I am 5'9" and was wearing heels, and I still had to tilt my head to look him in the eye). He told me to step over to the side, where I would get my photo taken; they do this with anyone under the age of 30, he said. They also scan driver's licenses. I'm not sure what purpose this accomplishes, but I wanted to get in, so I complied.

When our group came down the stairs to go to dinner, I had to show my ID again, and the lot of us got our photos taken and licenses scanned. The other girls had come into the place via a different door, so it was only their first time, so I asked the security guards if I still had to since they already had my photo on file, and they said yes. Getting my photo taken once didn't count, because I had gotten it taken about 50 feet away at the other entrance.

After dinner, we went back up to the hotel for a drink before gambling, and when we re-entered, they tried to make us get our photos taken until we protested. I mean, come on. It's not that much of an inconvenience, but it's still annoying. Every time we moved into a different area, it seemed, we had to get our photos taken.

The funny part was that when we tried to take a picture of the bachelorette (obviously a bachelorette because she was wearing a sequined cowboy hat with a veil attached, and a sash that said "bachelorette"), we got yelled at by a man who looked strikingly like Tattoo from Fantasy Island. He was really mean, too; my guess is he doesn't see much action in at work and wanted to take the opportunity to show what muscle he has as a casino security guard to yell at a bunch of girls who are obviously just having fun. From what I understand, most casinos don't allow photography inside, and that's fine, but there were no signs posted; we didn't know. A simple gentle warning would have been more than sufficient. But I digress.

When it came time to leave, a friend and I went upstairs to get our coats, and, in my case, a bag of Party Lite candles I had purchased from another friend that she'd brought to deliver to me. We had our coats on and were obviously leaving, but to get back into the casino to go to the correct exit door, we had to show our IDs again and get our photos taken again.

The friend I was with at this point, JG, had actually gotten kicked out of this same casino a month or so ago for refusing to let them take her photo. The security guards told her it was state law, and when she asked to see a copy of the state law, they could not produce one. The head of security came out to talk to her, and when she asked about the casino's privacy policy, he had nothing to say. No explanation what would be done with everyone's photos or driver's license information. She refused to get her photo taken and was asked to leave. She sort of has a reputation for getting asked to leave places, though; she was once escorted out of the DMV as well. She kind of likes to be difficult, which is highly entertaining for the rest of us.

But JG had a point with the privacy policy. These days, identities can be stolen with very little information; how am I to know that the information from my driver's license won't be sold? Apparently I can't know that, because the head of casino security can't even answer that question.

And if it is it really necessary to take that information from a person, how necessary is it to take three photos of the same person in one night? Couldn't they just take one photo of you when you come in, and, if you leave and come back, scan your ID and see that you've already been photographed? If it's not you, they'll know, because you'll look different than your previous photo. It just seems like such a waste of time and resources to continue to photograph the same person over and over.

So I ask, is it really necessary?

A Christmas Miracle

It's a Christmas miracle!

A few weeks ago, my friend Marla told me that Cadbury had released a Christmas version of my favorite candy of all time -- the Mini-Egg. Usually, the Mini-Eggs are only available at Easter, and every year, I wait patiently for Valentine's Day to be over so I can grab a purple bag full of Cadbury chocolatey goodness.

Now, don't confuse these with the Cadbury Cream Eggs, or, as I think of them, a perfectly good chocolate egg that has been ruined because it looks like someone blew their nose into it. The Cadbury Mini-Egg is a crisp sugar shell with a delicious chocolate center.

When Marla told me that Cadbury had released a Christmas version, I rushed to my local Target to find them...and couldn't! I walked the candy aisle twice and found no eggs! None!

When I reported this to my friend, she told me that they are not in the regular candy aisle, they are in the Christmas candy aisle, which in my Target is cleverly hidden between men's clothing and outdoor stuff, where I never think to go. I think they did that on purpose so that their employees can keep all the Cadbury Mini-Eggs for themselves, especially because when I did venture into that section last night, it took two or three sweeps to find them, buried in a corner on a bottom shelf. Those Target employees were trying to hide those wonderful chocolatey wonders, but I found them.

Ha ha, selfish jerks, I outsmarted you, there are no Cadbury Christmas eggs for you, so you just go home and cry and see if that helps you get into the holiday spirit.

As for me, I cracked open my bag as soon as I got home and enjoyed this little bit of Heaven, brought to me by Cadbury.

God bless us, everyone!

Ashes To Ashes

I am a bit of a control freak. If I can't decide what will happen and when, I at least like to know. So I was very pleased today to find this site, which tells you what your obituary will say.

I'm not quite sure when my time will come, but I sure hope this is accurate, because it sounds like my remaining years are gonna be a blast.















But knowing me, it will probably look more like this.

All Quiet On The Shrieking Front

Over the summer, I wrote about a woman at my gym, who attends a kickboxing class that takes place during the time I'm usually working out. I dubbed her The Shrieking Machine because, well, she shrieks. At the time, she was simply a thorn in my side, but over the past several months, she has become much, much more.

I have a tendency to let small things annoy me way too much if they continue too long. But I can't remember the last time something like this annoyed me quite this much. Partly because it's lasted so long and partly because it got worse.

She used to simply count down, but scream. The instructor would say something like, "jab...cross...knee," and she would respond with "AND THREEEEEEEEE!" Then, "jab...cross...knee," "AND TWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" She even changed her inflection, so sometimes it was "AND TWWWOOOOOOOO??????" and sometimes it was "AND TWWWOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Then she started saying things other than the numbers, I guess because she didn't feel her mouth was getting enough of a workout. And after several months of listening to "KNEEEEEEE???????? KNEEEEEEE!!!!!!!! KNEEEEEEE???????? KNEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!" I was fed up. The gym is a noisy place -- cardio machines are going, music is pumping, the instructor is barking into his microphone, other members of the class counting down with him, but this woman's screaming sailed right over all of it. This was no normal gym noise. This was an alarm clock, an air horn and Gilbert Godfried all in one.

Once, I heard the instructor tell her, "more kicking, less shrieking," and a few times I could swear that he did more counting and yelling than normal in the hope that if he said things, she wouldn't. But it didn't stop. I tried avoiding the gym when I knew she would be there, but that took away two whole evenings, so mostly I've just gritted my teeth. But it's gotten to the point where just thinking about going gets me thinking about her and her shrieking. What could I do? Working out is supposed to relieve stress, not create it, and I was at my wit's end.

Last night, the whole time I was driving to the gym from work, I was dreading going in. I really wanted to work out, but could I stand the shrieking? All I wanted was one evening, just one evening, to work out in peace, but would I ever get it? As I entered the gym, the woman at the front desk said, "hello, how are you today," and I wasn't sure what to answer. I heard the familiar kickboxing music coming from the next room and steeled myself for what I would hear next.

But, lo, what was this? A female instructor, not the guy who usually teaches the kickboxing class. And what else? Students who counted down with the instructor, at a normal decibel level. Why, this seemed like any other class! The Shrieking Machine was not there! My prayers had been answered!

I don't know if the absence of the regular instructor had anything to do with the absence of the Shrieking Machine, but I think it might. He's a very energetic and demanding instructor, and his students always seem to enjoy working hard in his class. None of the other instructors seem to get that enthusiasm. So if she knew he wouldn't be there, she might have decided to skip. Or maybe it was a coincidence.

Whatever the case, I am thankful for the fact that I was finally able to get a decent workout. I suppose it is too much to expect her to not return, although a girl can dream. If she does come back, I'm not sure what I will do. Grit my teeth again? Maybe.

A parrot owner I know recommended shrieking back; apparently that is often effective. I'm not too loud, though, so I might just have to get a parrot of my own to take with me. I can train it to say "shut up, stupid lady," and, failing that, to peck out her voice box.

An Open Letter To My Boss, Who Brought In Her Leftover Halloween Candy

Dear Boss Who Brought In Your Leftover Halloween Candy,

Thank you for bringing all of those candies that are wrapped up to look like eyeballs and severed fingers and toes, because even if they are peanut buttery delicious on the inside, I just can't bring myself to eat them. This is very good for my weight loss efforts.

The normal peanut butter cups and Snickers bars that you brought, however, are not, so could you take those home?

Sincerely,
Erika

Judging And The Apathetic Voter

Yesterday was Election Day, and like many others across the country, I went to the polls and cast my votes for some people for some positions.

It should have made me feel good to fulfill my civic duty and not contribute to the dreaded voter apathy, but in most cases I felt more apathetic than ever.

There were a few races I felt strongly about and wanted to cast my vote a certain way. But there were some others that I didn't even know anything about till I got to the polls. There was a whole page devoted to sitting judges and whether they should be retained. I don't know any of those people; I haven't heard anything about any of them or whether they are good at their jobs. I didn't even know these names would be on the ballot; they weren't publicized at all or even listed anywhere that I've seen.

So I had three choices. One, I vote all yes or all no just because. Two, I mix it up and probably base my choices on whether I like the person's name. Three, I don't vote in those races, which is what most people I know say they do. None of those options appealed to me, although the second would have been the most interesting. In the end, I wound up going for option one, because option two would take too long for the amount of fun I'd have, and I didn't want the polling people to think I didn't care enough to vote if I'd gone with option three.

But really, I didn't care enough to know who these candidates were ahead of time, so I ended up voting in favor of a bunch of people who could, theoretically, just be made-up names that the ballot-makers had fun putting on there. I guess I just have to wait until I am called for jury duty and find out if there is a Judge Seymour Butts presiding to know if I made the right choice.

I appreciate the fact that I live in a country where it is my legal right to vote. And I want my voice to be heard, so I do vote. Not all of my candidates won this time around, but I'm still glad that I voted.

But I am feeling some voter's remorse about those judges. The only reason I voted for them at all was because I didn't want people to think ill of me for not voting. But if all people voted like I did for those judges, would that really be a good thing?

Even in the "big" races, people cast their votes for all sorts of reasons. For example, in the gubernatorial election in my state this time around, the candidates' hair was an oft-discussed topic. Which would emerge victorious -- Democrat incumbent Rod Blagojevich's helmet or Republican challenger Judy Baar-Topinka's Ronald McDonald-like dye job? Hair aside, this was one of those "lesser of the evils" type elections where you hold your nose and vote helmet or dye job, or you vote Green Party out of protest, so I can imagine that people voted one way or another because of hair or any number of other reasons if they weren't sure who to choose.

Is this how we are supposed to make our votes count? I would rather have people who don't feel strongly about a race exercise their right not to vote than choose arbitrarily. Either do your homework and vote for who you want or don't vote at all. But then again, is the latter an exhibition of voter apathy? Should we all simply buckle down and study up on every single candidate in every single elected office? That seems like a lot of hassle. And what if there is no personal connection to base one's vote on? If I have never been to court or know anyone who has been to court, and cannot predict what reason I might someday go to court, how am I going to know who I want as a judge when I get there? Seymour Butts is sounding like a better and better candidate all the time.

I don't know what the solution is, but trying to figure it out just seems like a lot of hassle.

Bummer

I looked it up, and it turns out that the Mac can't be my brother. Not because he is a computer, but because he is a real guy with a birthday, and that birthday is only a few months before mine.

I guess he could be an adopted brother, but that's not really how I envisioned it.

Lost And Found

My sister once told me a story about elves whose job it is to make sure that everything is right with the world. They paint pictures of everything that goes on every day, and when things go wrong, it is because the elves made a mistake. For example, you put a pair of socks into the washing machine, but when your laundry comes out of the dryer, there is only one sock. How does that happen? The elves forgot to paint the other sock. This could also explain finding a five dollar bill in your coat pocket when you have no recollection of putting it there.

When I flew to Michigan three weeks ago, I was wearing a green shirt with a v-neck and three-quarter sleeves under a warm wool sweater. I hadn't thought to wear the shirt since then, until last weekend, when I went looking in my closet and couldn't find it. I looked in my laundry basket, on the floor near the washing machine, under my bed, even inside that sweater, all to no avail. I asked Marla if I'd left it in Michigan, but she hadn't seen it either. I had just taken a bag of clothes to donate, so I figured it had somehow wound up in there and my shirt was gone forever.

I was bummed. The shirt was nothing special, but it was a nice color and looked good on me. I figured I'd go back to Kohl's, where I bought it, and get another one, but I was still bummed, because it had become one of my favorite shirts, and I hate to lose things.

Today, however, I was sitting in the chair in my bedroom and happened to look into my open closet and catch a glimpse of green. I don't have anything else in that shade of green, so I went over and looked, and I saw it. It was my shirt, hanging out the bottom of that wool sweater, the same wool sweater I had looked in at least twice before. It had somehow slipped off of the hanger (or had never been on it, I guess), but ended up stuck inside the sweater, out of my sight.

I guess I just didn't look far enough down into the sweater. Either that or the elves just remembered to paint it back in. Either way, I'm happy to have it back.

When Giving To Help Others Makes You Feel Like Crap

On my way out of the gym today, I was accosted by two teenage boys who were raising money for some charity. I don't remember the name of the charity, but the one who did the talking told me that it has something to do with teaching kids family values. They were selling sun catchers for donations.

I kind of wanted to ask what organization teaches kids that they don't need to be in school in the middle of the day, but maybe it was an in-service day or something. But that's beside the point.

They seemed like nice kids; they were very polite, and they were patiently standing outside on a cold day to do this. Normally, if asked, I'll pony up a few bucks for charity if I've got it. Today, unfortunately, I didn't. I just got back from vacation and am out of cash except for a few coins. I said I was sorry, but I only had ten cents in my wallet. They asked if I'd be willing to donate the ten cents.

I looked in my wallet and found out that I actually only had six cents. I gave it to them, and they thanked me as they might have if I'd given them ten or twenty dollars. I apologized that I couldn't give more, and one said to me, "it's the heart behind it, not the amount."

It kind of made me wish I had lied about only having six cents. I walked away feeling worse than I would have if I'd just rudely brushed past them. I almost hope that as I got into my car, the boys looked at each other, shrugged and snidely called me a cheapskate.

I Have Never Had A Brother...

...but if I did, I think I would want him to be the Mac from the Apple commercials.

He just seems so nice. He's always so kind to the PC, and he never boasts. And for some reason, I can picture myself laughing with him over the crazy antics we pulled when we were kids. Plus he'd probably be able to help me when my computer crashed.

I am not sure how high this thought rates on the weird scale, but probably pretty high.

Songs For Forever...Or Never

Another article from the "are you kidding me" file came across my desk today.

The good folks at UK-Disco.co.uk conducted a survey of UK disc jockeys to determine the top 10 songs couples use for their first dance at their weddings. Most songs on the list are sappy, cheesy, but appropriate love songs. Topping the list, for example, is Aerosmith's "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing." But two of them are just wrong.

Coming in at number 7 is "You're Beautiful" by James Blunt. Putting aside the fact that the song is about a guy who sees a pretty girl on the subway when he's high, the lyrics don't even make sense for a wedding. I cannot imagine myself looking into my new husband's eyes, thinking about the happy, wonderful life we have ahead of us while listening to the words, it's time to face the truth that I'll never be with you.

Number 10 is the Whitney Houston hit "I Will Always Love You." The title has a nice sentiment, but the tune falls short as a wedding song with the very first words. If I should stay, I will only be in your way. It's a breakup song, people! Just because a song has a sweet, lovey title does not mean it is a song about everlasting happiness.

Is it just the Brits, or is everyone this dumb? I looked for results of similar surveys for Americans and couldn't find that such a survey had ever been conducted. It makes me wonder, though, do people ever listen to the lyrics of these songs before choosing them?

I once saw Sting on TV talking about how people tell him they used The Police song "Every Breath You Take" for their weddings, to which he just chuckles and replies "good luck." People who choose this song simply baffle me, because there isn't even a catch phrase that makes it sound like a romantic song. If my fiance ever suggested we make that our song, I'd go straight to the actual police and get a restraining order.

A quick Google search turned up more odd choices. Wedalert.com lists "Memory" from the musical Cats. That's not about anything even remotely connected to a wedding, or love, or anything! It's a beautiful song, but unless you met while performing Cats, you should not use that as your wedding song.

Wedding Web site theknot.com recommends another Whitney Houston hit, "One Moment In Time." I want one moment in time, when I'm more than I thought I could be, when all of my dreams are a heartbeat away, and the answers are all up to me. Even putting aside my cynical attitude toward wedding reception traditions, this song just screams "desperate girl who thinks getting married is the only worthwhile thing she will ever do." Either that or "this couple can't wait to get divorced," since the song ends with the words in that one moment of time, I will be free.

Similarly, weddingtips.com recommends "Hero" by Mariah Carey. That's a song about loving yourself and making it on your own. Why not use the Mary Tyler Moore theme instead? Weddingtips.com also lists "Against All Odds" by Phil Collins. This must the the song for people who hope the exes they'd previously given up on are at the wedding and whisk them away before the cake is cut.

I suppose it's possible that there are some couples out there to whom one of the songs I mentioned has a special meaning. Perhaps they really did meet on the subway while the man was high, for example. Or maybe one of them was stalking the other before they fell in love, a la "Every Breath You Take." I'm all for personalization, and if you're going to have a first dance song, it should be meaningful.

As for me, well, there will be no dancing at my reception, and especially none of those traditional dances. I'd rather do things that have a special meaning for my fiance and me, and our families, than things our guests expect us to do and half of them don't even watch, because, let's face it; people don't dance like they used to, and usually all there is to see is a couple leaning to the music and looking at each other awkwardly because they know the other half of their guests are watching them. Plus, the bar is usually open by that time, and there are rolls on the tables, so there are better things to do.

But for those who like the tradition, I have only this to say. Before you choose your song, please listen to it, and consider whether it is really a song you want representing you on your wedding day. And then pick the shortest song you can find, because your guests are hungry, and the caterers won't serve dinner till you're done.

The Cola Wars Continue

I was quite surprised to see this story in the news today.

Two men have pleaded guilty to one count of conspiracy after being accused of attempting to steal new product samples and marketing plans from Coca-Cola Co. so they could sell them to PepsiCo Inc. A former Coca-Cola secretary is scheduled to stand trial beginning next month for her role in the plot.

I can't help but wonder, are you kidding me?

I'm sure the leaders at both companies have aspirations of world domination, at least insofar as their products go. And of course that means if one comes up with something new and different, the other must respond with a similar product. But what could Coke possibly be cooking up that Pepsi would need to commit industrial theft to know about?

I realize there's something to being the first one out of the gate with a new product or marketing campaign. But these two companies being as huge as they are, I don't think either is in danger of going belly up if the other beats them to the punch.

"I'm sorry," the general public will say. "I've already tried Cheese Coke, so I don't think I'm going to try Pepsi Parmesan." As John Stossel would say, give me a break.

Apparently, someone at Pepsi warned someone at Coke of the impending plot, and it was stopped before anything actually left the accused men's hands. Good for Pepsi, I guess, but I wonder why the men decided to steal the stuff in the first place. Did they have a deal with someone at Pepsi, or did they steal first and sell later? Either way, it's a dumb idea.

In my opinion, if Pepsi really wants to be #1 (a title which currently belongs to Coke), they should focus on the products they have rather than trying to develop new ones, for example, Diet Pepsi. I bet more people would buy it if it didn't taste like crap.

But then I guess there's a lot I don't understand about these things.

An Open Letter To The People Who Post Spam Comments On My Blog

Dear People Who Post Spam Comments On My Blog,

I am glad that you think I have a "great blog!!!" and are eager to share the great opportunity for me to make up to $800 a week. But I might be more willing to fall for your spam if you didn't post the exact same message twice in a row on the same post and three times on my blog as a whole. Come up with some new material, please. And make it entertaining so I at least enjoy reading it before I delete it.

Sincerely,
Erika

Celebrating 10 Years of Adulthood

Today is my birthday. At 10:38 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, I will turn 28.

Whenever my birthday rolls around, I get to thinking not only of the year I've had, but of past birthdays, and this morning it hit me that I have legally been an adult for a whole decade now.

At 10:38 p.m. on October 19th, 1996, I turned 18 at a fraternity house. It was my first semester of college, I wasn't a big partier, and I didn't like the crappy beer they had in the frat houses (Iron City Light -- it's cheap, so it's popular on my old campus, but even when you're underage, you really have to want to get drunk to brave the stuff), so I was stone-cold sober and kind of bored. But since it seemed like a cool college student thing to do, and I hadn't been to any fraternity parties yet, I went, and I got a kick out of legally becoming an adult the same day I reached this rite of passage.

Ten years later, my birthday has again become a significant day in my life, not only as the anniversary of the day I was born, but as a landmark on my journey through adulthood. This is likely the last birthday I will spend with my current last name; by this time next year, I will probably be a Mrs. And since my fiance and I are aiming to buy a house as soon as possible, I may be a homeowner as well. Being married and owning a home will certainly cement my place in the adult world. Add to that paying off my credit card debt, and I'll be a real live grownup!

It's scary, but in a good way. At age 18, I was an adult in name only. I didn't feel like an adult. I wasn't living at home full-time anymore, but I wasn't self-sufficient yet, and even then I knew I still had a lot to learn. Even after I was finished with school and moved out of my parents' house completely, I had years of decision- (and mistake-) making ahead of me.

Today, I have a car that wasn't previously driven by my mom, a balanced checkbook and a kitchen full of gadgets and cookbooks I actually use. I have accomplishments in my past and goals for my future. I have an understanding of who I am and who I want to be.

It's taken 10 years, but I finally feel like an adult.

The Girl Who Ate Michigan

I love to eat.

I know this comes as no great shock. I write about food on this blog all the time, and I talk about food all the time. I just enjoy food. (I get this from my portly grandfather, who once said he hoped he would eat himself to death). I figure that I have to eat anyway, so I might as well enjoy it.

This past weekend, I flew to Michigan to see my good pal Marla, who appreciates food as much as I do. We routinely e-mail recipes to each other, and for the short time we lived and hung out in the same city, we ate together a lot. We hadn't seen each other for nearly a year, so we had a lot of eating to catch up on.

I've been very careful lately about eating healthy and not over-snacking; I've lost a few pounds and feel great. But it became apparent very early in my trip planning that my diet was in trouble, when people asked me what I'd be doing in Michigan and I listed restaurants. The man next to me on the flight to Detroit had a hearty laugh because all I talked about was food the whole way there. He asked me how I "stay so thin." I've never been particularly fat, but I've always had enough extra fluff that people don't typically describe me as "thin," so this made me feel like a million bucks.

As soon Marla picked me up at the airport, the eating fest began, and it didn't stop until she returned me to the airport on Monday morning. It was like going on a bender, except with food. This is a rundown of my weekend, in food.

After my flight landed around noon on Friday, Marla picked me up and, after a short detour to pick up her friend Sam, we went to lunch at a Middle Eastern place called La Shish. We had bread with hummus and this wonderful garlic stuff that made me glad my fiance was not around to refuse to kiss me. La Shish also makes incredible smoothies, so we had those, and I also ate a chicken shawarma sandwich, which was quite tasty, and I sampled Marla's salad and rice.

After a shopping excursion in Ann Arbor (during which we ate nothing despite allegedly being very close to a fantastic cupcake place -- how strong were we?), Marla and I dropped Sam at home and went to Ikea, where we ate cinnamon rolls. We looked at furniture too, but let's be honest. I wasn't taking any furniture home with me; I was totally there for the food.

I thought I was full, but after some time sitting around Marla's house, we both felt the tummy rumbles again and headed out to Baja Fresh, where I had never been before. I don't remember what I ate, but I sure was full.

On Saturday, we actually skipped breakfast, but it was for no noble reason. We met Marla's mom for the lunch buffet at a casino in Detroit. It was my first time in a casino, so I excitedly put a whopping six dollars on the line in hopes of winning big money. At one point, I was up to $11.50, but I got greedy and lost it, ultimately breaking even. The buffet more than made up for the disappointment, though, particularly the dessert area. I really wanted to be a glutton and take one of everything, but this was the first time I had met Marla's mom, and I didn't want her calling me "that girl who ate everything." (I learned, however, within a few minutes of talking to her, that she would probably come up with something more catchy and with more vulgar words to call me. She was so entertaining; I just want to follow her around for a day sometime and observe her). Anyway, the food was great; I really won big at the buffet.

After an afternoon of ripping the band-aid off (otherwise known as wedding dress shopping), we stopped for an Orange Julius and contemplated an Auntie Anne's pretzel before deciding to have a donut instead. We went to a cider mill and got in the donut line, when I realized I had none of my little pills that make my lactose intolerant tummy not hate me, and with no assurance that there was no milk in the donuts, I passed, leaving me hungry enough for chips and a big burrito at Chipotle. Mmm.

I would like to point out that we spent the evening at the movies and did not get any snack of any kind.

Sunday was a magical food day for me, really and truly. The first food stop was at Bruegger's Bagels, a place I used to frequent when I lived in Pittsburgh. I hadn't been there since those days, and as soon as I walked in, those days of daily bagels and cream cheese came flooding back. It smelled the same, and it tasted the same. It was a very special breakfast.

We spent the afternoon with Marla's grandma, chatting with her at her house (where there was candy) and then visiting her uncle's farm (where there were cookies). We went to Texas Roadhouse for dinner, and that was a life-changing experience. Rolls with cinnamon butter and a steak with two sides for seven bucks. Can't beat it. We also got one of those onion blossom things; by the time I got my steak, I was pretty full, but I didn't want it to feel bad, so I ate it. When we left, I thought I would explode. Luckily, I didn't, but it was a close call.

On Monday, we stopped again at Bruegger's, and I was off to the airport. I flew home, back to healthy food in smaller portions.

All in all, it was a great weekend. Not just for the food, but that certainly was a highlight. I can't wait to go back.

Because after all that talk of food, I sure am hungry.

Taking A Chance On Fashion

I am wearing a funky belt today.

It's way funkier than I would ever have chosen for myself; I hardly ever wear belts to begin with. In fact, it might be too funky for the outfit I'm wearing, but I thought, what the heck, I'd give it a try.

This is my first time wearing the practically-new belt, which I brought home on Sunday from a clothing swap at a friend's house. Four of us got together, brought our used-but-still-nice clothing and traded it for each other's used-but-still-nice clothing.

I wouldn't say I'm a totally hopeless case when it comes to fashion (the "What Not To Wear" people haven't knocked on my door yet, but who knows, it could happen), but I am a pretty boring dresser. I go for basics. My closet is full of khakis, sweaters and solid color cotton shirts. I don't often take a chance on patterns, and I cannot accessorize to save my life.

The one thing I can do is color-coordinate. My nail polish always coordinates (notice I didn't say "matches," I'm not that weird about it) with my outfit, and I always make sure that my tops, bottoms and shoes go together. Of course, that's not that hard to do, but at least no one will ever say, "what was Erika thinking wearing that shade of green with that shade of brown."

My color coordinating abilities aside, when I went to the clothing swap, I was determined to bring home some fun new items. The gals who went all seem to have more variety in their wardrobes than I have in mine, and they can accessorize, so I thought the swap would be a good opportunity for me to take a chance on trying something new. Perhaps this would be the dawning of a new day for my closet.

Of course, even with my blah wardrobe, I had some things to offer. I mean, everybody wears khakis sometimes, right? I had several pairs of pants and a skirt or two that just don't look right on me anymore, and a few items I've replaced with things I like better. I think about half of my stuff is now hanging in someone else's closet. (Everything not claimed at the swap was taken en masse to a Goodwill box down the street from the hostess' house).

I ended up with some nice things too. I brought home two skirts, three or four sweaters and a handful of jewelry, as well as the aforementioned funky belt. The belt was actually a last-minute decision. As I said before, I don't wear belts too often, and this was not normally something I would choose for myself, but the girl who brought the belt was talking it up so much that I had to take it.

It's a really nice belt, she told us. She just didn't like that it didn't lie flat. The other two tried it and didn't like it, so I took it. What the heck, I thought, I wanted to try something new, and knowing my inability to accessorize, I knew I'd never trust myself to choose and buy a belt at a store.

It was about then that I grabbed the jewelry, most of which is also way too funky for me, but it was just going to go to the Goodwill box anyway; if it doesn't work for me, I'll take it there later.

We all left satisfied with our bags of loot and happy that our previously loved things had found new homes. We agreed to plan a swap like this twice a year, so we could help revamp our wardrobes every season.

For the past three days I've worn clothing swap merchandise to work. Earrings, a sweater, and now the too-funky-for-me belt, which I've probably made out to be a lot more funky than it actually is. The belt is just black leather; it's the buckle that's different. And that's just two loops that the belt goes through, then you need to turn the end of the belt back to put through one of the loops to make it stay in place.

I think that really brings it home what a boring dresser I am. When I showed the belt to my fiance this morning, he crinkled his eyebrows at me and said "that is pretty funky," in a way that I could tell he really meant, "what happened to your khakis and solid color cotton shirts?" I guess I can understand the confusion. I'm also wearing a sweater with stripes of several different colors, so he probably thinks I've gone completely crazy.

OK, so a striped sweater and a belt probably isn't going to make people take notice; it's not exactly a bold and daring new look. But one small step in fashion is a giant leap for me. Today a belt, tomorrow, who knows? A print instead of solids or stripes? A hat or scarf that was not designed for winter use?

Whatever it is, you can bet it will be funky.

Quick Take Updates

Much has happened since I began this blog, so I thought I'd update my two or three loyal readers on what's been going on since previous posts.

- I watched The Nine, and I think it is my new show.

- I played regular Monopoly, and it was weird. Somehow dealing in ones and fives is disappointing after dealing in millions.

- I bought a car charger for my ipod, and it doesn't work. When will the madness stop?

- The Shrieking Machine still goes to my gym, and she still annoys the crap out of me. But last week, I heard the instructor tell her, "less shrieking, more punching," and I felt my spirits rise. She kept on shrieking, but it's good to know she annoys the crap out of more people than just me.

- Mr. Heckles held the door for me last week and even said hello, like a normal person would. I think we're best friends now.

Blog Of Note

My pal Steve is overseas in Japan teaching English.

He speaks very little Japanese, and, being a big American guy, really sticks out in a crowd over there.

I've really enjoyed reading about his Japanese escapades, and I hope you do too.

Check out his blog at http://walrusmobile.blogspot.com.

An Open Letter To Healthy Choice

Dear Healthy Choice,

I wasn't one of those children who ate paste in kindergarten, but your frozen chicken alfredo has helped me find out what it would have been like.

Sincerely,
Erika

A Show Of My Own

Everybody says, "I don't watch much TV," but from most, it's a lie.

I don't know why we say it. Maybe we believe it makes us sound more sophisticated, or perhaps we want people to think we have more interesting things to do than sit in front of the television. But the truth is, most of us spend a significant amount of time parked in front of the boob tube.

I say it, and I think I say it because when I watch TV, I only watch reruns, the news and movies on TV. (That last one, though, I don't really count, because if I watch a DVD, I don't count that as TV, so movies on TV shouldn't count either. Reruns on DVD are different, because they were originally TV shows, so I am still sort of watching TV. The point is, however you count it up, my butt is on the couch, and the set is on).

I used to have shows that were appointment viewing. Throughout college (and in spurts after, although not now) I watched or taped the soap Guiding Light every day. I watched Friends every single week. The summer I had cable, I watched Sex and the City. And for a time, I even got into Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Charmed.

Lately, though, there just hasn't been anything I wanted to watch. I tried to get into Desperate Housewives, but it bored me, and despite the efforts of my Grey's Anatomy-loving roommate, I just couldn't get into it. Even if I could have gotten past my dislike of hospital shows, I don't think I could ever get past Sandra Oh's enormous head. She's a fine actress, but every time she's on the screen, all I can think of is, I wonder if that thing is heavy.

Another problem is that every time I get hooked on a new show, it gets cancelled or moves to a new night when I can't watch it. The Simpsons was off-limits for the longest time because I had piano lessons on Thursday nights, I lost Sex and the City when I cancelled my cable service and other shows simply did not last. The ABC one-season wonder My So-Called Life, an Aaron Spelling soap called Savannah and the short-lived WB show The Mountain all hooked me in and then disappeared. Why bother getting into a show if it was just going to be yanked as soon as I got into it?

Come to think of it, the only show I've watched for more than two seasons in prime time is Friends. I wonder if the networks have some sort of sensor on my TV that shows what I'm watching so they know when to pull something? If they do, then Lost fans have me to thank for the new episodes they are currently enjoying. I really wanted to see that one when it premiered, but I missed the first episode, so I figured I wouldn't bother.

Yet I'm really tired of only watching reruns. Hearing all of my friends go on about their favorite shows makes me feel a little jealous. While I'm still watching Friends and Sex and the City, my friends are watching episodes of new shows. They're learning new things about new characters, while I'm still hearing the same old folks say the same old lines I've heard a million times. They're having Grey's Anatomy parties, and I'm staying home for fear I'd go on a tirade about Sandra Oh's head and make everyone mad.

So this fall, I decided to get myself a show. It couldn't be a new season of an old show; I needed to get in on the ground floor of a brand new, wrapping-still-on show, watch it from the very beginning and fall in love with it. That way, a few years down the road, when someone said, "remember when this happened in the first season," I could say, "yes, I sure do." Granted, no show I've watched from the beginning has lasted more than a season or two, except for the two I had to stop watching because of schedule and cable issues, but there's always hope.

So two weeks ago, I sat myself down to watch the new NBC drama, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. It seemed like the perfect candidate. It stars Steven Weber of Wings fame (a show I watched only in reruns -- when I started watching the new episodes, the show was cancelled) and is about a comedy show, so it's bound to be funny sometimes, right? I've watched three episodes, and, well, I'm not wowed. It's not bad, but nothing much is happening yet. If I missed a week or two, I don't think it would matter much. I'm hanging on, though, to see if it gets better, and also because I am determined to have a show, whether I like it or not.

I have another show I'm going to try, The Nine. It stars Tim Daly (another from Wings), and it sounds a little more action-packed than Studio 60, so I have high hopes for it. So if I like it, sorry to anyone else who does, because it's not likely to last long.

Household Chores I Don't Mind Doing

1. Vacuuming, but only if the carpet looks dirty. My current carpet is that berber stuff that doesn't look any different when it's clean or dirty, so I get absolutely no satisfaction out of vacuuming it.

2. Cleaning the toilets. It's not like I enjoy it, but it doesn't take very long, and you don't actually have to stick your hand in there or anything.

3. Laundry. It's easy, and it's nice to have clean clothes, sheets and towels.

4. Cooking. I love to eat, so I ought to love to cook too. I tend to get a little messy sometimes, though, which is part of the reason why cleaning the kitchen is absent from this list.

5. Dusting. An easy way to make home look nice.

America Has Voted, And The Results Are Weird

They say, "if you don't vote, you can't complain about the results of an election," but does that apply when speaking about an election I hadn't heard about till after its conclusion?

The truth is, I have mixed feelings about the new Monopoly game, Monopoly Here and Now. I played it today with my fiance's brother, and although I had a fine time (and won by a lot, for the record), I really think Hasbro could have done better.

The idea behind the game was to remake Monopoly as they might if it were invented today. That means different properties and higher denominations of money. The former makes it interesting; the latter makes it annoying. It was much easier back in the day to buy Marvin Gardens for $280 than it is now to buy the Golden Gate Bridge for $2.8 million.

However, the way the makers chose the properties was even stranger. They named various landmarks in several cities across the United States and let people vote on what landmarks they wanted in the game. The more votes a landmark got, the better its spot on the board, and it was obvious that a few mayors were campaigning hard. New York's Times Square got the top spot at $4 million, previously occupied by Boardwalk. I can't argue too much with that; New York is an All-American city, and Times Square is one of its most famous spots.

But the Park Place spot from the original game is now occupied by Fenway Park. I have no problem with the place being in the game, but with such places as Hollywood, Disney World and The White House sharing the board, I was surprised that Fenway Park got next-to-top billing.

Obviously, the folks in Boston are as passionate about their board games as their ball games.

My other beef with the voting system is that the combinations of properties are sometimes a little strange. For example, The White House is grouped with Las Vegas Boulevard and Wrigley Field, because the number of votes those places received were close. In my humble opinion, properties should have been grouped by type, i.e. Wrigley Field with Fenway Park (sporting venues), Las Vegas Boulevard with the French Quarter (wild, crazy fun venues) and The White House with the Liberty Bell (historical American venues).

There were some fun additions too. The railroad spots are now occupied by four airports -- Chicago O'Hare, Los Angeles International, New York's John F. Kennedy and Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson. The utilities have been updated to internet service and cell phone service, and the "luxury tax" is now "credit card interest." (Touche, Monopoly). The Chance and Community Chest cards are basically the same, but the Get Out of Jail Free cards say things like, "receive a presidential pardon," and others reward you for appearing on a reality show or make you pay the other players because you lost a class action lawsuit.

Even the pieces have been modernized. I, for example, played with a serving of McDonald's fries, while my future brother-in-law chose a jetliner. Other options included a cup of Starbucks coffee, a laptop computer and a cell phone.

All in all, I enjoyed the game. I've always been a fan of Monopoly, and I hadn't played in years, so this was a fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon. I'm not sure I agree with America on its choices, but since I didn't care enough to vote, I suppose I can't complain.

The Cult And The Cocoon

I just couldn't help getting caught up in it.

A friend of mine joined Weight Watchers a few months ago and has been updating me weekly on her progress. She's doing great; she's lost more than 20 pounds so far and loves the program. Another friend lost 60 pounds earlier this year on Weight Watchers. And I couldn't help being just a little jealous of them both.

I didn't have 60 pounds to lose, but I did have a pesky 15 or so that I wouldn't mind never seeing again. I'd been too lazy to do anything about them. But after hearing that my friend had reached the 20 mark, I thought, if I had begun when she did, I could be done by now!

The point of Weight Watchers to is retrain yourself to eat the right foods and not eat the wrong foods. I've done programs like Weight Watchers before, and I know how they work, so it was just a matter of forcing myself to put it into practice. So I cut back and stopped the excessive snacking, and I'm five pounds down.

But a little bit of the Weight Watchers mentality couldn't help creeping in. My friend's program is through her work, so she has meetings each week with the other participants in her office. She jokingly calls it "the cult," because the people who are really into it love to talk about it and actually look forward to weighing in and sharing their stories of progress. And they don't even laugh too much when their leader says things like, "you're a butterfly coming out of your cocoon of fat."

I don't know if 15 pounds could really be considered a cocoon (I'd say that what I have is more like a muffin of fluff, or "fluffin"), but the concept is the same. And my way is working for me, although since I don't have much to lose, the last 10 are not coming off easily. But I will soldier on, and I'll keep my eye on the goal.

The point is, whether you want to lose 15 pounds or 50, whether you're on Weight Watchers or some other program, it's all in the attitude you have. You have to not want to go back, and you have to be willing to do some work and make some changes in your life. So I am. It's not like I'm making a drastic lifestyle change; it's just a little extra fluff. But reaching a goal -- any goal -- is very gratifying, so I'm looking forward to the day I say farewell to the fluffin.

Things I Love For No Good Reason

1. getting the mail
2. office supplies
3. opening a brand new jar of peanut butter
4. getting into a stuffy car and not opening the windows till I almost can't stand it anymore
5. stirring the chocolate chips into a batch of cookies
6. the song "Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows"
7. gulping soft drink when I'm really thirsty, particularly in the middle of the night
8. trees
9. clocks
10. containers

Going Through The Motions

I went to church alone today.

This in itself is significant, because first, I had never done so, and second, because a big part of the reason I began attending mass regularly of late is because my fiance and I want to get to know the priest and the church we're planning to marry in, and without my fiance, I probably wouldn't be going regularly these days anyway. So for me to go alone while he was out of town this weekend is pretty big for me.

The reasons for which I stopped going regularly, as well as the other reasons for which I started going again, are really not important here. This is not meant to be a pro or con on church or Catholicism or anything of the sort.

But I do think that if one is going to go, one should try to get something out of it, and that's what this is about.

Being at church by myself gave me a chance to really pay attention to the goings on, not only to what was said but how the other congregation members reacted to what was said, whether they looked tired, or bored, or if they were really getting something out of it.

The woman next to me was one of those who really seemed to be getting something out of it. She is obviously a regular churchgoer; she sang along with the choir on all of the hymns, knew all of the appropriate responses and when to say them. And she said them audibly, unlike many other people, who chose to say their prayers under their breath. But something about her just seemed cold. As if she wasn't even sure what she was saying, but she knew she ought to say it because that's the routine.

One of the things I've always liked about going to mass is when the priest asks everyone to show their neighbors a sign of friendship. We shake hands with the people next to us and say, "peace be with you." It's a small gesture, but I've always thought it was a nice part of the mass. A handshake, a good wish and a simple smile.

But today, as I shook hands with the people around me, I noticed something, and I noticed it in particular about this woman next to me. This woman, who obviously feels strongly about her faith, enough to keep returning week after week, limply gripped my hand and didn't even look me in the eye as she half-heartedly said, "peace be with you." A few others did the same.

It made me wonder, why go to mass at all if you're just going to go through the motions? I wasn't expecting a hug or anything, but how difficult is it to smile? If the simplest gesture of friendship is too much, then what good can all the hymns and prayers do?

Then I looked around the church. I saw families, offering their signs of peace to each other. Husbands giving their wives pecks on the cheek, a father putting his arm around his son and smiling, tousling his hair. And a few of the strangers next to me, shaking my hand like they really meant it and looking into my eyes when they said, "peace be with you."

I was glad to see that most of the people in the congregation had paid attention, had really understood what it means to offer your neighbors a sign of peace. I hope that one day, the lady next to me, and the others like her, will take a moment while they say their prayers to think about what they're saying. And maybe then, they'll be able to look into the eyes of their neighbors and mean it when they wish them peace. And maybe, just maybe, they'll find a little peace themselves.

An Open Letter To Whoever Came Up With The Idea Of The 100-Calorie Pack

Dear Whoever Came Up With The Idea Of A 100-Calorie Pack,

I write today to thank you for this simple, yet revolutionary, idea, that if we didn't eat so much, we might not be so fat. The idea that it is acceptible to eat cookies, just not 15 at once.

Yes, it's true that there are much healthier things to eat. A piece of fruit, a container of yogurt, a bowl of spinach. But it is also true that people like cookies and crackers, and they're going to eat them no matter how unhealthy they are. A third truth is that people don't actually read nutrition information when they eat those things, so a bag with four servings can easily be consumed in one sitting by someone who isn't paying attention and/or doesn't care. So having a tasty snack in a one-serving container is perfect.

And the variety! When Nabisco first debuted the 100-Calorie Pack, there were only a few products available in this size. But a visit to my local Super Target a few days ago showed me that not only has Nabisco expanded its 100-Calorie realm, other companies have joined in. I can get 100-calorie bags of all of my favorite snacks, perfect for lunchtime, snacktime, anytime!

I realize that you are a mere cog in a large snack-making corporate machine, but I am glad you are there. I don't think you're going to make America thinner, and I'm pretty sure that some people are just going to eat the whole box full of 100-calorie bags at one time, rather than eating just one and leaving the rest for later.

But for those of us who do not want to join the legions of obese Americans, for those of us who understand the concept of portion control, but who are still too lazy to read the nutrition information on the back of food containers, thank you for putting the important stuff on the front.

Sincerely,
Erika

Stranger Danger

I read a lot of crime stories, so maybe I'm a bit of an alarmist, but I can't help feeling unsettled after an encounter I had last night.

I stopped for gas at a local place and was trying to get the stubborn gas pump to work, when two ladies on the other side of the pump asked for my help. They were a little older, and very flustered, and they were having trouble getting the machine to take their credit card.

The door of their car was wide open when they asked me to walk over, and I had my own credit card out so I could pump my own gas. Walking over to their car could have been an invitation for them to grab my card and run, or to shove me into their vehicle and drive me off into the middle of nowhere. The fact that they were older ladies was the only reason I actually walked over to them. Had these two been men, I would have just said, "I don't know" and driven away as fast as I could.

It was only later that I thought of the safety of the two ladies. They, too, had their credit card in hand, ready for the snatching, and with the car door wide open, I could have gotten in and driven off, possibly shoving one of them in first. If the person who had pulled up to the opposite side of the pump had been some scary creep instead of me, who knows what might have happened to them.

They asked me for directions to a certain restaurant, which I happily gave them, but they said they'd been lost for awhile and were a little flustered as well. The restaurant was only a few miles away, and very easy to find, but I feel a little guilty that I didn't just drive to the place and have them follow me. It wasn't that far out of my way, and I would hate to think that these two ladies got lost again and had worse luck with whoever they found after they spoke to me. This area is very safe, but you never know who you're going to meet, and you can never be too careful.

I just hope that the ladies got to their destination -- and home again -- safely.

Ernesto, Here I Come!

Just when I thought I was ready.

I have worked all week to prepare for my trip to Ocean City, and I was just about ready, and then...Ernesto.

Tropical Storm Ernesto is scheduled to hit Ocean City about the same time we do and hang around all weekend, bringing rain and winds of 40 miles per hour.

Swell beach vacation I'm going to have.

I am pretty bummed that my first beach vacation since age 14, my second beach vacation ever, is going to be wrecked by a stupid tropical storm. I am also a little bit worried that it's going to be worse than it sounds and my family is going to end up in danger. I plan to keep my eyes and ears open for anything and hightail it out of Ocean City should things look the slightest bit scary. Weather is not to be trifled with; in these battles, it often wins.

But every cloud has a silver lining, and mine is this.

The weather forecast being what it is, it's pretty unlikely I'll be needing to put on a bathing suit!