A Stapling Jello reader sent me this link to a game that I think I should get.
It's a trivia game about all of my favorite things -- chocolate, candy, cookies, snacks, ice cream and desserts!
I feel a themed party coming on....
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Happy Birthday, Big Sister
This story came to me out of the blue a month or so ago, but I saved it especially for today, my sister Jennifer's 34th birthday.
Happy Birthday, big sis.
When we were little, we had neighbors with a daughter Jen's age, and the two girls were best friends. They were together all the time...until they were in sixth grade, and our neighbors moved to Massachusetts. But Jen and her friend, Dani, remained close.
At some point, Dani came to visit and caught the eye of a young man named John Hall, an old classmate who was still a classmate of Jen's. John wasn't the most attractive guy, or the nicest, from what I recall, so the fact that he had a crush on Dani became fodder for Jen to make fun of him. Using her musical talent and creative energy, she composed a rap -- yes, a rap -- which was a love letter from John to Dani.
Lucky for Jen, I have a fantastic memory for lyrics and no problem sharing said lyrics here. It's no "Baby Got Back," but it's no worse than most of the stuff that came out in the 80s.
Ladies and gentlemen, The John and Dani Rap.
This is my rap, 'bout a gal named Danielle
She's the rapinest babe of which I ever did tell
And I hope she hears my rap; I pray that she do,
So if you're listening, babe, this bud's for you.
My dearest Danielle, I just wrote to say,
I gotta ask you a question, and this is the day.
I just need to know how you feel about me.
Is there a lock in my heart to which you hold the key?
Do you think I'm cute? Would you say I'm a fox?
Will you accept a ring in a little black box?
Will you give me your love, every bit you can spare?
If you do, I'll cuddle up and I'll be your teddy bear.
I wanna hold you tight, spend every Christmas with you.
And do all the things a boy and girlfriend do.
Do you think I'm sexy? Do you like my bod?
I hope you're impressed, 'cause I've been working real hard.
I wanna prove myself, show you that I'm true.
And I swear, someday, I'm gonna marry you.
I hope you write back; as for me, that's all.
I'll count the minutes till I hear from you -- love, John Hall.
(then Dani responds)
Yo, John, I was listening, and I heard your rap.
It was very sweet, but John, you're too much of a sap.
I wish you wouldn't call me babe. I hope you can dig.
'Cause I just can't see myself cuddlin' up to a pig.
As impressin' me goes, and workin' hard, I say huh
'Cause you never lift a finger and you're such a duh.
I wish you could know, John, I wish you could see
Just how repulsive you are to girls like me.
You want me to marry you. I gotta laugh at that,
'Cause you see, Mr. John, you're just too fat.
So won't you leave me alone? You're really quite rude.
Signed, Dani. P.S. You can go back to your food.
Happy Birthday, big sis.
When we were little, we had neighbors with a daughter Jen's age, and the two girls were best friends. They were together all the time...until they were in sixth grade, and our neighbors moved to Massachusetts. But Jen and her friend, Dani, remained close.
At some point, Dani came to visit and caught the eye of a young man named John Hall, an old classmate who was still a classmate of Jen's. John wasn't the most attractive guy, or the nicest, from what I recall, so the fact that he had a crush on Dani became fodder for Jen to make fun of him. Using her musical talent and creative energy, she composed a rap -- yes, a rap -- which was a love letter from John to Dani.
Lucky for Jen, I have a fantastic memory for lyrics and no problem sharing said lyrics here. It's no "Baby Got Back," but it's no worse than most of the stuff that came out in the 80s.
Ladies and gentlemen, The John and Dani Rap.
This is my rap, 'bout a gal named Danielle
She's the rapinest babe of which I ever did tell
And I hope she hears my rap; I pray that she do,
So if you're listening, babe, this bud's for you.
My dearest Danielle, I just wrote to say,
I gotta ask you a question, and this is the day.
I just need to know how you feel about me.
Is there a lock in my heart to which you hold the key?
Do you think I'm cute? Would you say I'm a fox?
Will you accept a ring in a little black box?
Will you give me your love, every bit you can spare?
If you do, I'll cuddle up and I'll be your teddy bear.
I wanna hold you tight, spend every Christmas with you.
And do all the things a boy and girlfriend do.
Do you think I'm sexy? Do you like my bod?
I hope you're impressed, 'cause I've been working real hard.
I wanna prove myself, show you that I'm true.
And I swear, someday, I'm gonna marry you.
I hope you write back; as for me, that's all.
I'll count the minutes till I hear from you -- love, John Hall.
(then Dani responds)
Yo, John, I was listening, and I heard your rap.
It was very sweet, but John, you're too much of a sap.
I wish you wouldn't call me babe. I hope you can dig.
'Cause I just can't see myself cuddlin' up to a pig.
As impressin' me goes, and workin' hard, I say huh
'Cause you never lift a finger and you're such a duh.
I wish you could know, John, I wish you could see
Just how repulsive you are to girls like me.
You want me to marry you. I gotta laugh at that,
'Cause you see, Mr. John, you're just too fat.
So won't you leave me alone? You're really quite rude.
Signed, Dani. P.S. You can go back to your food.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Killing Time By Talking About Me
I saw this on someone else's blog and always like an opportunity to talk about me, even if it is just a stupid survey thing.
What's your name spelled backwards? akire
What did you do last night? Drank wine, ate pizza and made a cake. Don't bake after you've had three glasses of wine.
The last thing you downloaded onto your computer? I don't actually remember. Probably a photo.
Have you ever licked a 9 volt battery? I think a better question is, who has done this, and why?
Last time you swam in a pool? Summer 2001, but I swam in the Pacific Ocean in April. (I highly recommend it, Marla).
What are you wearing? Black slacks and a black and white striped tee shirt.
How many cars have you owned? I've driven several but only actually owned (i.e. bought and made payments on) two. The first was Phoebe, my 1998 Mazda Protege, who bravely gave her life to save mine in May 2003, and now I have Zoe Zoom-Zoom, a 2002 Mazda Protege, who is wonderful and kicks ass.
Type of music you dislike most? Hip hop. I'm not cool enough for it.
Are you registered to vote? Sure am.
Do you have cable? For now.
What kind of computer do you use? A crappy slow one at work, a crappy bare bones one at home. I'm saving for a laptop though.
Ever made a prank phone call? Yeah, but only to people who were expecting prank calls.
Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving? Nah, I'm not a thrill seeker.
Furthest place you ever traveled? I'm not sure of the mileage here, but I took a trip from Pennsylvania to England and Ireland and I also took a trip from Illinois to Maui. It's one of those.
What's your favorite comic strip? Pearls Before Swine, because there's a cute, dim-witted little pig in it.
Do you know all the words to the national anthem? I know the first verse.
Shower, morning or night? Morning.
Best movie you've seen in the past month? The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio
Favorite pizza toppings? onions and green peppers
Chips or popcorn? I'm not a big salty snack person, so it would depend on my mood that day.
What cell phone provider do you have? Cingular/AT&T
Have you ever smoked peanut shells? No, but I have thrown a few on the floor at restaurants that encourage that sort of behavior.
Have you ever been in a beauty pageant? No, but I have had dreams of being Mount Rose's American Teen Princess.
Orange Juice or Apple? Orange
Who were the last people you had lunch with? I mostly have lunch by myself...probably my husband.
Favorite chocolate bar? Snickers. Or just a regular Hershey bar along with some graham crackers and toasted marshmallow. Mmm. Smores.
Who is your longest friend and how long? Darcey -- first day of first grade, baby.
Last time you ate a homegrown tomato? No idea, but that sounds really good.
Have you ever won a trophy? I have! I got second place in my age group for a series of races I ran in 2004. Sure, there were only two people in my age group, but the other person was like a real runner, so I couldn't really compete with her anyway. I also got a trophy (second or third place, I forget) for a bean bag tournament, but I think we (my husband and I) just got it because we were among the last people playing beanbags that night. It wasn't really a well defined tournament.
Favorite arcade game? Skee ball.
Ever ordered from an infomercial? No, but I did a Magic Bullet as a wedding shower gift.
Sprite or 7-UP? I don't drink either one very often, so I have no preference.
Have you ever had to wear a uniform to school/work? I had a uniform when I worked at Friendly's and a smock when I worked at Greco's grocery store, but never anything for school.
Last thing you bought at Walgreens? I've no idea.
Ever thrown up in public? Oh yeah...when I was a little kid, I threw up on the steps of the Big Wrangler steakhouse. We hadn't even eaten there; we'd just walked in when I decided I had to throw up. Some old lady handed me a tissue, as if that would help. The place closed a few months later, but I don't think it had anything to do with me.
Would you prefer being a millionaire or finding true love? I've got true love, so right now, my priority is becoming a millionaire. If you only get one, I'll stick with the true love.
Do you believe in love at first sight? I believe in something like it, but I don't think people recognize it most of the time, or they think they do but don't.
Did you have long hair as a young kid? Sure did.
What message is on your voicemail machine? Nothing exciting, just the standard spiel. At least, that's if we're talking outgoing message. If we're talking incoming message, then nothing.
Where would you like to go right now? Home, to spend some quality time with my new couch and loveseat.
Whats the name of your pet? Ivan
What do you think about most? Stuff.
What's your name spelled backwards? akire
What did you do last night? Drank wine, ate pizza and made a cake. Don't bake after you've had three glasses of wine.
The last thing you downloaded onto your computer? I don't actually remember. Probably a photo.
Have you ever licked a 9 volt battery? I think a better question is, who has done this, and why?
Last time you swam in a pool? Summer 2001, but I swam in the Pacific Ocean in April. (I highly recommend it, Marla).
What are you wearing? Black slacks and a black and white striped tee shirt.
How many cars have you owned? I've driven several but only actually owned (i.e. bought and made payments on) two. The first was Phoebe, my 1998 Mazda Protege, who bravely gave her life to save mine in May 2003, and now I have Zoe Zoom-Zoom, a 2002 Mazda Protege, who is wonderful and kicks ass.
Type of music you dislike most? Hip hop. I'm not cool enough for it.
Are you registered to vote? Sure am.
Do you have cable? For now.
What kind of computer do you use? A crappy slow one at work, a crappy bare bones one at home. I'm saving for a laptop though.
Ever made a prank phone call? Yeah, but only to people who were expecting prank calls.
Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving? Nah, I'm not a thrill seeker.
Furthest place you ever traveled? I'm not sure of the mileage here, but I took a trip from Pennsylvania to England and Ireland and I also took a trip from Illinois to Maui. It's one of those.
What's your favorite comic strip? Pearls Before Swine, because there's a cute, dim-witted little pig in it.
Do you know all the words to the national anthem? I know the first verse.
Shower, morning or night? Morning.
Best movie you've seen in the past month? The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio
Favorite pizza toppings? onions and green peppers
Chips or popcorn? I'm not a big salty snack person, so it would depend on my mood that day.
What cell phone provider do you have? Cingular/AT&T
Have you ever smoked peanut shells? No, but I have thrown a few on the floor at restaurants that encourage that sort of behavior.
Have you ever been in a beauty pageant? No, but I have had dreams of being Mount Rose's American Teen Princess.
Orange Juice or Apple? Orange
Who were the last people you had lunch with? I mostly have lunch by myself...probably my husband.
Favorite chocolate bar? Snickers. Or just a regular Hershey bar along with some graham crackers and toasted marshmallow. Mmm. Smores.
Who is your longest friend and how long? Darcey -- first day of first grade, baby.
Last time you ate a homegrown tomato? No idea, but that sounds really good.
Have you ever won a trophy? I have! I got second place in my age group for a series of races I ran in 2004. Sure, there were only two people in my age group, but the other person was like a real runner, so I couldn't really compete with her anyway. I also got a trophy (second or third place, I forget) for a bean bag tournament, but I think we (my husband and I) just got it because we were among the last people playing beanbags that night. It wasn't really a well defined tournament.
Favorite arcade game? Skee ball.
Ever ordered from an infomercial? No, but I did a Magic Bullet as a wedding shower gift.
Sprite or 7-UP? I don't drink either one very often, so I have no preference.
Have you ever had to wear a uniform to school/work? I had a uniform when I worked at Friendly's and a smock when I worked at Greco's grocery store, but never anything for school.
Last thing you bought at Walgreens? I've no idea.
Ever thrown up in public? Oh yeah...when I was a little kid, I threw up on the steps of the Big Wrangler steakhouse. We hadn't even eaten there; we'd just walked in when I decided I had to throw up. Some old lady handed me a tissue, as if that would help. The place closed a few months later, but I don't think it had anything to do with me.
Would you prefer being a millionaire or finding true love? I've got true love, so right now, my priority is becoming a millionaire. If you only get one, I'll stick with the true love.
Do you believe in love at first sight? I believe in something like it, but I don't think people recognize it most of the time, or they think they do but don't.
Did you have long hair as a young kid? Sure did.
What message is on your voicemail machine? Nothing exciting, just the standard spiel. At least, that's if we're talking outgoing message. If we're talking incoming message, then nothing.
Where would you like to go right now? Home, to spend some quality time with my new couch and loveseat.
Whats the name of your pet? Ivan
What do you think about most? Stuff.
Musical Roles I'd Like To Play
Velma Kelly in Chicago -- Maybe it's all part of my secret desire to be Catherine Zeta-Jones, but also, I like the song "All That Jazz," and maybe I could learn how to dance.
Sally Bowles in Cabaret -- I can do a decent English accent, and I am, after all, a perfectly marvelous girl.
Janet in The Rocky Horror Show -- I don't actually like Rocky Horror all that much, but I do like the song "Touch-A Touch-A Touch Me."
Eva Peron in Evita -- I think it would be cool to play a real person, even though a musical is not exactly a vehicle for a realistic portrayal. But ever since I did a research paper on her in high school (and went to see the show as "research") I've liked this show. Plus I think I would look good wearing my hair in a bun and holding my arms up while I sang into a microphone.
Aldonza in Man of La Mancha -- Mostly I just want to be a part of this show, because I love it. I wouldn't really care if I didn't play the female lead, but there aren't that many female parts in this show. I wouldn't mind playing one of the women who sings "I'm Only Thinking Of Him." That's a good song.
Fruma Sarah in Fiddler On The Roof -- This was probably the first role I really saw and said yes, I must play her someday. Even before I actually started doing any acting at all. It's a pretty small part, so I have a better chance of playing her than any of the others on my list, because when it comes right down to it, I don't actually sing all that well.
Sally Bowles in Cabaret -- I can do a decent English accent, and I am, after all, a perfectly marvelous girl.
Janet in The Rocky Horror Show -- I don't actually like Rocky Horror all that much, but I do like the song "Touch-A Touch-A Touch Me."
Eva Peron in Evita -- I think it would be cool to play a real person, even though a musical is not exactly a vehicle for a realistic portrayal. But ever since I did a research paper on her in high school (and went to see the show as "research") I've liked this show. Plus I think I would look good wearing my hair in a bun and holding my arms up while I sang into a microphone.
Aldonza in Man of La Mancha -- Mostly I just want to be a part of this show, because I love it. I wouldn't really care if I didn't play the female lead, but there aren't that many female parts in this show. I wouldn't mind playing one of the women who sings "I'm Only Thinking Of Him." That's a good song.
Fruma Sarah in Fiddler On The Roof -- This was probably the first role I really saw and said yes, I must play her someday. Even before I actually started doing any acting at all. It's a pretty small part, so I have a better chance of playing her than any of the others on my list, because when it comes right down to it, I don't actually sing all that well.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
How I Learned To Drive
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the caregiver of the year and her soul mate of the road.
This evening, my husband and I were on our way home from picking up dinner, when, as we came to a halt at a stoplight, we saw a woman in the lane next to us jump out of her car.
"Hey!" she yelled to the driver of the car behind her, which happened to be right next to our car. "I've got kids in the car, asshole!"
The driver she'd yelled at gave back a bewildered, "okay, bitch," as the woman got back into her car.
"Funny," I commented to my husband. "Whatever he was doing was so bad that she had to protect those kids from his actions but didn't think twice about jumping out of her vehicle in the middle of a busy street and screaming obscenities in front of those kids."
As we continued down the road, the driver of the second car, obviously over the surprise of the woman screaming at him, began to taunt her by riding as close to her back bumper as possible. I was glad when we were able to pass them, because whatever happened, I didn't want to be caught in the middle of it.
It's a good thing, too, because a few seconds later, I heard a loud screech behind me. I looked in my rearview mirror, and the man's car had either hit or nearly hit the woman's. Curiously, the car in front of the woman's was several car lengths ahead, meaning that she had stopped suddenly on purpose so the man would either hit or nearly hit her.
What a fine example to set for those kids in her car.
We went home, ate dinner and cleaned up, and about half an hour later, I drove back down that same road to run an errand. By the side of the road were the woman's car, the man's car and a police car. I didn't see any obvious damage to either vehicle, but whatever happened and whoever called the police, I hope both the woman and the man were cited for reckless driving.
I completely understand road rage; I've had it myself. But I have never even been tempted to jump out of my vehicle to yell at another driver. It's dangerous and stupid. At best, all it accomplishes is giving someone else fodder to laugh at you, and possibly blog about you. But to feed the fire of someone who has screamed at you is just as bad. This woman was obviously a loose cannon; the man would have done better to simply get out of her lane.
Then again, maybe these two drivers deserve to be on the road together. Let them battle it out and leave the highways free for the rest of us, and for those kids in that woman's car. After the lesson they learned today, they're gonna need all the help they can get.
This evening, my husband and I were on our way home from picking up dinner, when, as we came to a halt at a stoplight, we saw a woman in the lane next to us jump out of her car.
"Hey!" she yelled to the driver of the car behind her, which happened to be right next to our car. "I've got kids in the car, asshole!"
The driver she'd yelled at gave back a bewildered, "okay, bitch," as the woman got back into her car.
"Funny," I commented to my husband. "Whatever he was doing was so bad that she had to protect those kids from his actions but didn't think twice about jumping out of her vehicle in the middle of a busy street and screaming obscenities in front of those kids."
As we continued down the road, the driver of the second car, obviously over the surprise of the woman screaming at him, began to taunt her by riding as close to her back bumper as possible. I was glad when we were able to pass them, because whatever happened, I didn't want to be caught in the middle of it.
It's a good thing, too, because a few seconds later, I heard a loud screech behind me. I looked in my rearview mirror, and the man's car had either hit or nearly hit the woman's. Curiously, the car in front of the woman's was several car lengths ahead, meaning that she had stopped suddenly on purpose so the man would either hit or nearly hit her.
What a fine example to set for those kids in her car.
We went home, ate dinner and cleaned up, and about half an hour later, I drove back down that same road to run an errand. By the side of the road were the woman's car, the man's car and a police car. I didn't see any obvious damage to either vehicle, but whatever happened and whoever called the police, I hope both the woman and the man were cited for reckless driving.
I completely understand road rage; I've had it myself. But I have never even been tempted to jump out of my vehicle to yell at another driver. It's dangerous and stupid. At best, all it accomplishes is giving someone else fodder to laugh at you, and possibly blog about you. But to feed the fire of someone who has screamed at you is just as bad. This woman was obviously a loose cannon; the man would have done better to simply get out of her lane.
Then again, maybe these two drivers deserve to be on the road together. Let them battle it out and leave the highways free for the rest of us, and for those kids in that woman's car. After the lesson they learned today, they're gonna need all the help they can get.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Perfect For The Job
At my first newspaper job, one of my duties was to type up and edit the letters to the editor. Most of them were incoherent rants that, had I been in charge, I'd never have printed, but unfortunately, those decisions weren't mine to make. So instead, I would simply read and laugh at the letters with anyone who would listen, most of the time a guy named Lou. Lou was, direct, shall we say, with his comments, never hesitating to say just what was on his mind. And his response to most of these letters was the same.
"Never underestimate people's power to be stupid."
How right he was. I could probably write a hundred blog entries about stupid people (and probably a hundred more about Lou, who was quite a character). However, today, I choose to focus on a story in which I am assumed to be the stupid one, which is both annoying and insulting.
A month or so ago, as I was updating my bank account, auto loan, credit cards, etc. with my new, married name. While I was at it, I figured I'd hit the staffing agencies and job search Web sites on which I'd posted my resume, so that when I'm ready to look for a new job, the information will already be current and correct. Had I known about the deluge of spam I would receive from one particular site, I might have removed my resume entirely.
Since I updated my information, I have received about five e-mail messages that might as well have "spam" in the subject line. The "job," according to the "employers," is transferring money from offshore bank accounts to theirs, via your own. You transfer the bulk of the money and keep a percentage. The take is bucketloads, and the only requirement for the job is a bank account.
Hey, I have a bank account. Sign me up, baby!
Really -- how stupid do these people think we are? Identity theft and internet crime have been discussed so much in the media that even people who can't think for themselves should certainly know by now that these operations are scams. Please -- money transfer via your bank account? Anyone who falls for that deserves to be ripped off.
I read an article this morning about a new scam in which a person receives an e-mail message from someone claiming to be a mafia hitman. The recipient of the message is next on his list for a hit, he says, but he'd be willing to call it off if the recipient pays him anywhere between $30,000 and $80,000. Hey, at least that one is creative, but according to the article, one of the messages reported to the FBI included personal contact information and names of family members. That is downright scary.
But for the most part, the thing that scares me is the fact that some people actually fall for these schemes. They really believe that a legitimate company wants to pay them top dollar to sit at home and transfer money, or they really believe that someone has ordered a hit on them. I don't know a lot about mobsters, but I'm pretty sure they don't just kill people for no reason, especially regular people.
There is a lesson to be learned in all of this, though. People will fall for anything! Why haven't I thought of an internet scheme that would trick people out of millions? Why have I ignored this fantastic opportunity for so long?
Guess I've just been stupid.
"Never underestimate people's power to be stupid."
How right he was. I could probably write a hundred blog entries about stupid people (and probably a hundred more about Lou, who was quite a character). However, today, I choose to focus on a story in which I am assumed to be the stupid one, which is both annoying and insulting.
A month or so ago, as I was updating my bank account, auto loan, credit cards, etc. with my new, married name. While I was at it, I figured I'd hit the staffing agencies and job search Web sites on which I'd posted my resume, so that when I'm ready to look for a new job, the information will already be current and correct. Had I known about the deluge of spam I would receive from one particular site, I might have removed my resume entirely.
Since I updated my information, I have received about five e-mail messages that might as well have "spam" in the subject line. The "job," according to the "employers," is transferring money from offshore bank accounts to theirs, via your own. You transfer the bulk of the money and keep a percentage. The take is bucketloads, and the only requirement for the job is a bank account.
Hey, I have a bank account. Sign me up, baby!
Really -- how stupid do these people think we are? Identity theft and internet crime have been discussed so much in the media that even people who can't think for themselves should certainly know by now that these operations are scams. Please -- money transfer via your bank account? Anyone who falls for that deserves to be ripped off.
I read an article this morning about a new scam in which a person receives an e-mail message from someone claiming to be a mafia hitman. The recipient of the message is next on his list for a hit, he says, but he'd be willing to call it off if the recipient pays him anywhere between $30,000 and $80,000. Hey, at least that one is creative, but according to the article, one of the messages reported to the FBI included personal contact information and names of family members. That is downright scary.
But for the most part, the thing that scares me is the fact that some people actually fall for these schemes. They really believe that a legitimate company wants to pay them top dollar to sit at home and transfer money, or they really believe that someone has ordered a hit on them. I don't know a lot about mobsters, but I'm pretty sure they don't just kill people for no reason, especially regular people.
There is a lesson to be learned in all of this, though. People will fall for anything! Why haven't I thought of an internet scheme that would trick people out of millions? Why have I ignored this fantastic opportunity for so long?
Guess I've just been stupid.
Friday, June 15, 2007
The Clue In The Mysterious Message
When I was younger, nothing in the world made me happier than books.
I loved to read, was always reading; in fact, I actually got books taken away from me as a punishment because I was reading instead of doing schoolwork. The characters in my books were like friends; I knew them so well, knew everything about them and couldn't wait to go on more adventures with them.
One of my favorite fictional pals was Nancy Drew.
I loved Nancy Drew books; I relished every one I read. I remember the first one I ever opened, "The Secret of the Wooden Lady," a hand-me-down from my mom or one of my aunts. I even remember my mom recommending Nancy Drew to me, telling me how much she'd once enjoyed reading them. I even played Nancy Drew on the elementary school playground with my (real live) friends Krista and Kelly. (I took the part of Nancy's friend George Fayne).
When I saw the previews for the new Nancy Drew movie recently, I couldn't help feeling nostalgic -- so nostalgic that on a visit to my local library, I found myself in the young adult section and chose two of the old mysteries to take home and read. They were just like I remembered. Sure, my reading tastes have evolved, but opening a Nancy Drew book was like stepping back into my childhood, if only for a little while, until I realized that while the books are the same, I am not.
Even when I was little, I recognized the dated quality of the books -- particularly some of the language (in one, George's favorite expression is "hypers," which even at age eight I would have found goofy) -- I'm not sure I fully grasped the ridiculousness of the whole thing when I was young. Back then, it didn't occur to me how weird it was that all the folks around town all the 18-year-old Nancy as an amateur sleuth or that she and her friends hardly ever called the police or that her father actually condoned her going into potentially deadly situations. Now, of course, I have a more realistic view.
But that doesn't mean I'm feeling any less nostalgic, especially after a mysterious phone call I received two days ago. I was on my way home from work when my cell phone rang. I fumbled for my phone but missed the call and ended up with an automated voice mail message from Emma Roberts, who plays Nancy Drew in the new movie. Whoever sent the message entered details about me on a Web site, provided my phone number and the system generated a "personalized" message for me. While it wasn't as cool as the automated Samuel L. Jackson message promoting last year's "Snakes On A Plane," this voice mail entertained me...but it perplexed me as well.
Who sent me this message? And why did they get so many details about me wrong?
Suddenly, I found myself embroiled in a real life mystery! Hypers!
The only clues I have are quotes from the message itself.
"One of your friends wanted me to check up on you in Indiana." Actually, I don't live in Indiana. When I first listened to the message, I thought she'd said something about my friend being in Indiana, so I called the only friend I have who lives there, but she insisted she hadn't done it. I listened again and realized that the person who sent the message doesn't live in Indiana but thinks I do.
"You've got an ipod crammed full of classic rock, you're up to your ears in the newest Us Weekly and you've got more friends than you can count on AOL." While I do have some classic rock on my ipod, I wouldn't call myself a big classic rock fan. I have read Us Weekly about three times my whole life, and actually, I can count the number of my friends on AOL -- one one hand. I'm not sure who would have thought of me as a classic rock and Us Weekly fan, but I suppose whoever it was could have chosen AOL because he or she is on AOL, which leaves exactly four suspects.
"I hear you have awesome taste in clothes. So throw on your favorite designer outfit and call up your friends, you know, the in crowd, and tell them to forget getting a mani pedi. Instead, you want to go see 'Nancy Drew.'" This clue was the most telling. Obviously, whoever sent me the message does not know me at all. Awesome taste in clothes? Designer outfit? Mani pedi? Well, maybe the mani pedi thing could fly -- I do enjoy a little girly pampering once in awhile, but the closest thing I have to a designer outfit is my Nick and Nora pajamas.
One additional clue was provided by someone who called just a few minutes after I received the mysterious Nancy Drew call and didn't leave a message. Did this person want to know if I'd received a strange voice mail? Perhaps.
I'm still reviewing the clues. I have it narrowed down to a few suspects, but I wouldn't want to falsely accuse anyone. But I vow to get to the bottom of this mystery -- I wouldn't want to let down my favorite girl sleuth.
I loved to read, was always reading; in fact, I actually got books taken away from me as a punishment because I was reading instead of doing schoolwork. The characters in my books were like friends; I knew them so well, knew everything about them and couldn't wait to go on more adventures with them.
One of my favorite fictional pals was Nancy Drew.
I loved Nancy Drew books; I relished every one I read. I remember the first one I ever opened, "The Secret of the Wooden Lady," a hand-me-down from my mom or one of my aunts. I even remember my mom recommending Nancy Drew to me, telling me how much she'd once enjoyed reading them. I even played Nancy Drew on the elementary school playground with my (real live) friends Krista and Kelly. (I took the part of Nancy's friend George Fayne).
When I saw the previews for the new Nancy Drew movie recently, I couldn't help feeling nostalgic -- so nostalgic that on a visit to my local library, I found myself in the young adult section and chose two of the old mysteries to take home and read. They were just like I remembered. Sure, my reading tastes have evolved, but opening a Nancy Drew book was like stepping back into my childhood, if only for a little while, until I realized that while the books are the same, I am not.
Even when I was little, I recognized the dated quality of the books -- particularly some of the language (in one, George's favorite expression is "hypers," which even at age eight I would have found goofy) -- I'm not sure I fully grasped the ridiculousness of the whole thing when I was young. Back then, it didn't occur to me how weird it was that all the folks around town all the 18-year-old Nancy as an amateur sleuth or that she and her friends hardly ever called the police or that her father actually condoned her going into potentially deadly situations. Now, of course, I have a more realistic view.
But that doesn't mean I'm feeling any less nostalgic, especially after a mysterious phone call I received two days ago. I was on my way home from work when my cell phone rang. I fumbled for my phone but missed the call and ended up with an automated voice mail message from Emma Roberts, who plays Nancy Drew in the new movie. Whoever sent the message entered details about me on a Web site, provided my phone number and the system generated a "personalized" message for me. While it wasn't as cool as the automated Samuel L. Jackson message promoting last year's "Snakes On A Plane," this voice mail entertained me...but it perplexed me as well.
Who sent me this message? And why did they get so many details about me wrong?
Suddenly, I found myself embroiled in a real life mystery! Hypers!
The only clues I have are quotes from the message itself.
"One of your friends wanted me to check up on you in Indiana." Actually, I don't live in Indiana. When I first listened to the message, I thought she'd said something about my friend being in Indiana, so I called the only friend I have who lives there, but she insisted she hadn't done it. I listened again and realized that the person who sent the message doesn't live in Indiana but thinks I do.
"You've got an ipod crammed full of classic rock, you're up to your ears in the newest Us Weekly and you've got more friends than you can count on AOL." While I do have some classic rock on my ipod, I wouldn't call myself a big classic rock fan. I have read Us Weekly about three times my whole life, and actually, I can count the number of my friends on AOL -- one one hand. I'm not sure who would have thought of me as a classic rock and Us Weekly fan, but I suppose whoever it was could have chosen AOL because he or she is on AOL, which leaves exactly four suspects.
"I hear you have awesome taste in clothes. So throw on your favorite designer outfit and call up your friends, you know, the in crowd, and tell them to forget getting a mani pedi. Instead, you want to go see 'Nancy Drew.'" This clue was the most telling. Obviously, whoever sent me the message does not know me at all. Awesome taste in clothes? Designer outfit? Mani pedi? Well, maybe the mani pedi thing could fly -- I do enjoy a little girly pampering once in awhile, but the closest thing I have to a designer outfit is my Nick and Nora pajamas.
One additional clue was provided by someone who called just a few minutes after I received the mysterious Nancy Drew call and didn't leave a message. Did this person want to know if I'd received a strange voice mail? Perhaps.
I'm still reviewing the clues. I have it narrowed down to a few suspects, but I wouldn't want to falsely accuse anyone. But I vow to get to the bottom of this mystery -- I wouldn't want to let down my favorite girl sleuth.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
We Are The Goon Squad, And We're Coming To Town
I'm no fashion plate -- in fact, I am one of the least fashionable people I know. I've committed many a fashion crime in my time, but even I can spot a faux pas when I see one. Here are a few that I find particularly annoying.
1. Use of fancy store shopping bags as purses -- Once you've gotten the merchandise home, you need to be done showing off the bag. I'm all for reusing bags, especially the sturdy handled kind you'll get at a fancy store, but you've gotta use them for something like taking a bunch of your old books or clothes to a friend. These bags should be reused as a transportation vehicle only. Carrying a fancy store bag around town like a purse just looks sad. You do it because you want people to know you shop at nice stores, but all it says is, "I shopped at a nice store once and want to relive the dream."
2. Bermuda shorts on fat people -- I know that sounds mean, but clothing with lean lines should be worn only by lean people. Just because it is in style doesn't mean it will look good on everyone, and wearing classic, timeless clothes that look good on your body type always looks much better than donning trendy stuff that doesn't suit you.
3. The thrown-up-in-a-hair-tie-non-ponytail -- If you're going to go to the trouble of putting your hair up, at least make it neat.
4. The low cut tank top over a tee shirt -- If you don't have the boobs, or if you're too young to show them, don't wear the tank top. Wearing a tee shirt underneath a tank top is like wearing a tee shirt over your swimsuit when you go into the pool -- everyone knows you're only doing it because your mom told you to, and you look really dumb in the process.
5. Half-polished nails -- If it's wearing off, then take it off. Leaving your nails half-polished is like putting shadow on just one eye.
6. Too-small sandals -- If they don't have them in your size, look in another store. Toes spilling off the front of your shoes looks terrible.
1. Use of fancy store shopping bags as purses -- Once you've gotten the merchandise home, you need to be done showing off the bag. I'm all for reusing bags, especially the sturdy handled kind you'll get at a fancy store, but you've gotta use them for something like taking a bunch of your old books or clothes to a friend. These bags should be reused as a transportation vehicle only. Carrying a fancy store bag around town like a purse just looks sad. You do it because you want people to know you shop at nice stores, but all it says is, "I shopped at a nice store once and want to relive the dream."
2. Bermuda shorts on fat people -- I know that sounds mean, but clothing with lean lines should be worn only by lean people. Just because it is in style doesn't mean it will look good on everyone, and wearing classic, timeless clothes that look good on your body type always looks much better than donning trendy stuff that doesn't suit you.
3. The thrown-up-in-a-hair-tie-non-ponytail -- If you're going to go to the trouble of putting your hair up, at least make it neat.
4. The low cut tank top over a tee shirt -- If you don't have the boobs, or if you're too young to show them, don't wear the tank top. Wearing a tee shirt underneath a tank top is like wearing a tee shirt over your swimsuit when you go into the pool -- everyone knows you're only doing it because your mom told you to, and you look really dumb in the process.
5. Half-polished nails -- If it's wearing off, then take it off. Leaving your nails half-polished is like putting shadow on just one eye.
6. Too-small sandals -- If they don't have them in your size, look in another store. Toes spilling off the front of your shoes looks terrible.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Forget Paris
I've been reading with great interest the many, many news stories that have come out the past few days regarding Paris Hilton and her jail time.
Oh, wait...no, that's wrong. I haven't. Because I don't care.
I try to keep up with the news, to keep myself informed about what's going on around the world. But each day I become increasingly annoyed and perplexed by the amount of celebrity garbage out there. This person got arrested, that person is in rehab, this person made ethnic slurs, that person may or may not be pregnant. It's dizzying.
The thing is, it's not even Paris Hilton's fault. Sure, she does what she can to keep herself in the headlines, but it's not like she owns all the news outlets in the world. Personally, I think the Associated Press had the right idea when they adopted a Paris Hilton moratorium. I wish the ban had lasted longer, like forever.
It's not even that legitimate news stories are pushed aside for this crap, it's that the reason they do is because there's a huge market for celebrity gossip. People eat this stuff up, and for the life of me, I cannot understand why they find it so darned interesting. Why is it so important to know that Britney Spears shaved her head, or that Lindsay Lohan is in rehab? It's a mystery to me. I have never read a celebrity gossip story and thought, this information is very crucial to my life. Some people tell me they think it's funny, but I think it's more than that. I hope it is, anyway, because watching the train wreck that is today's Hollywood for pure pleasure is downright sadistic.
I don't feel bad for Paris Hilton. She broke the law and should be penalized for it. But I don't feel any pleasure at seeing her sitting in the back of a police car. Why would I? I don't know her, and I don't really care what happens to her.
Personally, I find that I enjoy the work of celebrities less when I know too much about their personal lives. There are certain actors whose movies I won't even watch, simply because I can't see anyone but the actor. Like Tom Cruise. They might as well just name all of his characters Tom Cruise as well.
I'm sure there's nothing I can do to stop the obsession, and some might argue that even mentioning it is fueling the fire. But honestly -- when will people be satisfied? At what point will people say, yes, I think I've had enough of Paris Hilton, or Lindsay Lohan, or Britney Spears, or whoever else comes along.
Probably never.
But a girl can dream.
Oh, wait...no, that's wrong. I haven't. Because I don't care.
I try to keep up with the news, to keep myself informed about what's going on around the world. But each day I become increasingly annoyed and perplexed by the amount of celebrity garbage out there. This person got arrested, that person is in rehab, this person made ethnic slurs, that person may or may not be pregnant. It's dizzying.
The thing is, it's not even Paris Hilton's fault. Sure, she does what she can to keep herself in the headlines, but it's not like she owns all the news outlets in the world. Personally, I think the Associated Press had the right idea when they adopted a Paris Hilton moratorium. I wish the ban had lasted longer, like forever.
It's not even that legitimate news stories are pushed aside for this crap, it's that the reason they do is because there's a huge market for celebrity gossip. People eat this stuff up, and for the life of me, I cannot understand why they find it so darned interesting. Why is it so important to know that Britney Spears shaved her head, or that Lindsay Lohan is in rehab? It's a mystery to me. I have never read a celebrity gossip story and thought, this information is very crucial to my life. Some people tell me they think it's funny, but I think it's more than that. I hope it is, anyway, because watching the train wreck that is today's Hollywood for pure pleasure is downright sadistic.
I don't feel bad for Paris Hilton. She broke the law and should be penalized for it. But I don't feel any pleasure at seeing her sitting in the back of a police car. Why would I? I don't know her, and I don't really care what happens to her.
Personally, I find that I enjoy the work of celebrities less when I know too much about their personal lives. There are certain actors whose movies I won't even watch, simply because I can't see anyone but the actor. Like Tom Cruise. They might as well just name all of his characters Tom Cruise as well.
I'm sure there's nothing I can do to stop the obsession, and some might argue that even mentioning it is fueling the fire. But honestly -- when will people be satisfied? At what point will people say, yes, I think I've had enough of Paris Hilton, or Lindsay Lohan, or Britney Spears, or whoever else comes along.
Probably never.
But a girl can dream.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Movie Scenes That Make Me Cry Every Time
"Oh Captain, My Captain" -- The last scene in Dead Poet's Society. I don't even have to see the rest of the movie; just seeing those boys standing on their desks is sufficient to open the floodgates. My senior year of high school, my idealistic English teacher showed us this movie, and, having seen it (and cried with it) many times before that, I knew I would bawl, so I made sure to find something else to look at during that scene so my classmates wouldn't know my secret.
"Anything You Want, You Got It" -- The last scene in Boys On The Side. It's harsh enough seeing Mary Louise Parker's gaunt face and emaciated body, pathetically sitting in that wheelchair, but when they go around the room and show the party guests, then go around again and show the empty room and empty wheelchair, it just makes me weep.
"Did I Ever Tell You You're My Hero?" -- It's such a classic tear-jerker that I'm almost embarrassed to admit it, but the scene in Beaches with "Wind Beneath My Wings" in the background, where one second, Bette Midler and Barbara Hershey are spending their last time together and the next, pallbearers are carrying Barbara Hershey's casket just breaks my heart. I don't even like that song, and it breaks my heart.
"They'll Be So Happy, Now And Forever" -- This is even more embarrassing, but Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy's wedding in The Muppets Take Manhattan. My flimsy excuse for this is that once when I was little, I was watching this movie and fell asleep, waking up just in time for the end, so I was all out of it when I saw the scene and heard their wedding song. For some reason, that day, it hit the right nerve, and ever since then, it just hasn't been the same. It's not so much the scene but the song that really gets me; even looking up the lyrics just now I got a little misty.
"Live In My House, I'll Be Your Shelter" -- I listened to the Rent Broadway soundtrack nonstop during the most lonely, excruciating summer of my life, so just about every song from that show gives me that weird sense memory thing, so even if I'm having the best day, all I have to do is hear one of its more tender songs (particularly the reprise of "I'll Cover You," sung at Angel's funeral), and I'm crying like a baby. I think I've grown out of Rent, having realized that I'd rather have food and heat than artistic principles, but hearing that music takes me back to the day when I didn't mind eating Ramen noodles if it meant I could create mediocre art.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go find a box of tissues.
"Anything You Want, You Got It" -- The last scene in Boys On The Side. It's harsh enough seeing Mary Louise Parker's gaunt face and emaciated body, pathetically sitting in that wheelchair, but when they go around the room and show the party guests, then go around again and show the empty room and empty wheelchair, it just makes me weep.
"Did I Ever Tell You You're My Hero?" -- It's such a classic tear-jerker that I'm almost embarrassed to admit it, but the scene in Beaches with "Wind Beneath My Wings" in the background, where one second, Bette Midler and Barbara Hershey are spending their last time together and the next, pallbearers are carrying Barbara Hershey's casket just breaks my heart. I don't even like that song, and it breaks my heart.
"They'll Be So Happy, Now And Forever" -- This is even more embarrassing, but Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy's wedding in The Muppets Take Manhattan. My flimsy excuse for this is that once when I was little, I was watching this movie and fell asleep, waking up just in time for the end, so I was all out of it when I saw the scene and heard their wedding song. For some reason, that day, it hit the right nerve, and ever since then, it just hasn't been the same. It's not so much the scene but the song that really gets me; even looking up the lyrics just now I got a little misty.
"Live In My House, I'll Be Your Shelter" -- I listened to the Rent Broadway soundtrack nonstop during the most lonely, excruciating summer of my life, so just about every song from that show gives me that weird sense memory thing, so even if I'm having the best day, all I have to do is hear one of its more tender songs (particularly the reprise of "I'll Cover You," sung at Angel's funeral), and I'm crying like a baby. I think I've grown out of Rent, having realized that I'd rather have food and heat than artistic principles, but hearing that music takes me back to the day when I didn't mind eating Ramen noodles if it meant I could create mediocre art.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go find a box of tissues.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
And Then...A Less Appetizing Thought
A coworker just asked me if I wanted to see "the biggest fly eyeballs ever."
At first, I thought she was using a euphemism I hadn't heard before, but then I saw that she was holding, on a ruler, a fly whose life another coworker had recently cut short.
"This fly has the biggest eyes I've ever seen!" she exclaimed. "Do you wanna see?"
I didn't. I politely declined my coworker's offer, and I think I actually might have hurt her feelings a little bit.
But when it comes right down to it, there are some things I just don't mind missing.
At first, I thought she was using a euphemism I hadn't heard before, but then I saw that she was holding, on a ruler, a fly whose life another coworker had recently cut short.
"This fly has the biggest eyes I've ever seen!" she exclaimed. "Do you wanna see?"
I didn't. I politely declined my coworker's offer, and I think I actually might have hurt her feelings a little bit.
But when it comes right down to it, there are some things I just don't mind missing.
Still There For The Food
As loyal Stapling Jello readers know, I'm not really into sports.
But compared to a few years ago, when I considered looking at the TV just long enough to figure out which team was wearing what color "watching the game," I'm a regular sports fan today. With this transition, I credit my husband and kosher hot dogs.
When we first started dating two years ago, I let my sweetheart know that the only way to guarantee my attendance at a sporting event was to buy me a hot dog at the event. He's always enjoyed sports, especially baseball, and, being a kosher dog fan himself, he happily complied. Thanks to his willingness to feed me, and a fantastic World Series winning 2005 season of my adopted hometown team, the Chicago White Sox, I actually started to enjoy watching games.
Two years later, I still enjoy going to baseball games. Sure, much of my enthusiasm is still brought on by kosher hot dogs, but I have fun actually watching the game as well. I still don't understand all of the rules and am constantly asking questions that make my sweetheart roll his eyes at me, but I think he privately is happy that I'm interested enough to ask.
Last year, I decided that I wanted a White Sox tee shirt. I'd watched the team for awhile, knew the names of most of the players and even imagined what each person would bring if I invited them to a backyard barbecue; I thought that made me enough of a fan to merit sporting Sox fashions.
My sweetheart disagreed, telling me I wasn't ready yet. He didn't say exactly why until the night before last, as we discussed our plans to attend our first game of the season together the next day. Over dinner, I said that I think since this is my third year following the team, I should be ready for a tee shirt now. He considered this for a moment and told me that he didn't think I would really be ready until I could go to a game and not have a kosher dog be the main event for me. Fair enough, I suppose, but I don't think that's the whole reason.
It has always disappointed him that I'm not a big cheerer. I grew up attending events like plays and the symphony concerts, where "inside voices" are used and polite clapping is the best way to show appreciation. And, being a pretty reserved person by nature, I couldn't easily make the transition to the screaming and jumping up and down commonly seen at sporting events. I used to clap during baseball games, but I was made fun of because I clapped politely like I would at a play, so now, I just watch quietly and let my husband do the cheering for both of us.
Last night on the way to the game, however, I proved myself without even trying. It had been raining for awhile, and my husband asked if I even wanted to bother going to the game, because he thought it might be called off. I said we ought to try; we'd been looking forward to this for awhile, and it wasn't raining all that hard, so maybe they wouldn't call it off. I realized how impressed by this he must have been when we passed a sports memorabilia shop and he said, "if the game does get rained out, we should go there and get you your tee shirt."
The game went on, the White Sox beat the Yankees 6-4 and my husband ate a kosher dog and curly fries while I enjoyed a funnel cake. My sweetheart, obviously noting the fact that I had not eaten a kosher dog myself, pointed to a fan's shirt halfway through the game and asked if that was the design I wanted; he even asked if I might want a hat as well. But now I'm wondering if he wasn't right the first time, that I am really not worthy of wearing the White Sox garb.
Like many ballparks, US Cellular Field entertains the fans between innings with various contests, including a race of a certain sponsor's products, in cartoon form. When fans walk in, they get a coupon for a pizza establishment, good only if the type of pizza noted on the coupon wins the race. Last night, my husband and I both got "cheese," and I was disappointed. Had one of us gotten "pepperoni" or "sausage," we would have had a two out of three chance of winning. But when I realized that also meant that a "cheese" victory would mean two free pizzas, I began to get excited.
When the race of the cartoon pizzas finally began, I watched, enraptured. Cheese ran to the front right away, but then Sausage and Pepperoni took turns passing him. It was a nail biter. Two pizzas were on the line here, and before I knew it, I found myself clapping and yelling, "go Cheese! Come on, Cheese, you can do it!" Even in the midst of it, I felt a bit sheepish. I'd been silent the entire first half of the ball game, yet here I was, screaming for a cartoon pizza, and high-fiving my husband when Cheese won.
I didn't even clap for the two Sox players who hit home runs.
Yeah, maybe I'm not ready for that Sox shirt just yet. But until I am, I think I'll try to find out whether that pizza place sells clothing.
But compared to a few years ago, when I considered looking at the TV just long enough to figure out which team was wearing what color "watching the game," I'm a regular sports fan today. With this transition, I credit my husband and kosher hot dogs.
When we first started dating two years ago, I let my sweetheart know that the only way to guarantee my attendance at a sporting event was to buy me a hot dog at the event. He's always enjoyed sports, especially baseball, and, being a kosher dog fan himself, he happily complied. Thanks to his willingness to feed me, and a fantastic World Series winning 2005 season of my adopted hometown team, the Chicago White Sox, I actually started to enjoy watching games.
Two years later, I still enjoy going to baseball games. Sure, much of my enthusiasm is still brought on by kosher hot dogs, but I have fun actually watching the game as well. I still don't understand all of the rules and am constantly asking questions that make my sweetheart roll his eyes at me, but I think he privately is happy that I'm interested enough to ask.
Last year, I decided that I wanted a White Sox tee shirt. I'd watched the team for awhile, knew the names of most of the players and even imagined what each person would bring if I invited them to a backyard barbecue; I thought that made me enough of a fan to merit sporting Sox fashions.
My sweetheart disagreed, telling me I wasn't ready yet. He didn't say exactly why until the night before last, as we discussed our plans to attend our first game of the season together the next day. Over dinner, I said that I think since this is my third year following the team, I should be ready for a tee shirt now. He considered this for a moment and told me that he didn't think I would really be ready until I could go to a game and not have a kosher dog be the main event for me. Fair enough, I suppose, but I don't think that's the whole reason.
It has always disappointed him that I'm not a big cheerer. I grew up attending events like plays and the symphony concerts, where "inside voices" are used and polite clapping is the best way to show appreciation. And, being a pretty reserved person by nature, I couldn't easily make the transition to the screaming and jumping up and down commonly seen at sporting events. I used to clap during baseball games, but I was made fun of because I clapped politely like I would at a play, so now, I just watch quietly and let my husband do the cheering for both of us.
Last night on the way to the game, however, I proved myself without even trying. It had been raining for awhile, and my husband asked if I even wanted to bother going to the game, because he thought it might be called off. I said we ought to try; we'd been looking forward to this for awhile, and it wasn't raining all that hard, so maybe they wouldn't call it off. I realized how impressed by this he must have been when we passed a sports memorabilia shop and he said, "if the game does get rained out, we should go there and get you your tee shirt."
The game went on, the White Sox beat the Yankees 6-4 and my husband ate a kosher dog and curly fries while I enjoyed a funnel cake. My sweetheart, obviously noting the fact that I had not eaten a kosher dog myself, pointed to a fan's shirt halfway through the game and asked if that was the design I wanted; he even asked if I might want a hat as well. But now I'm wondering if he wasn't right the first time, that I am really not worthy of wearing the White Sox garb.
Like many ballparks, US Cellular Field entertains the fans between innings with various contests, including a race of a certain sponsor's products, in cartoon form. When fans walk in, they get a coupon for a pizza establishment, good only if the type of pizza noted on the coupon wins the race. Last night, my husband and I both got "cheese," and I was disappointed. Had one of us gotten "pepperoni" or "sausage," we would have had a two out of three chance of winning. But when I realized that also meant that a "cheese" victory would mean two free pizzas, I began to get excited.
When the race of the cartoon pizzas finally began, I watched, enraptured. Cheese ran to the front right away, but then Sausage and Pepperoni took turns passing him. It was a nail biter. Two pizzas were on the line here, and before I knew it, I found myself clapping and yelling, "go Cheese! Come on, Cheese, you can do it!" Even in the midst of it, I felt a bit sheepish. I'd been silent the entire first half of the ball game, yet here I was, screaming for a cartoon pizza, and high-fiving my husband when Cheese won.
I didn't even clap for the two Sox players who hit home runs.
Yeah, maybe I'm not ready for that Sox shirt just yet. But until I am, I think I'll try to find out whether that pizza place sells clothing.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Aunt Erika
I'm an aunt!
...again...kinda.
At 9:22 a.m. today, my husband's brother's wife gave birth to a 6 lb. 15 oz. baby boy. This is a very exciting time for the whole family, of course, but for me, it has a very different significance.
Today is the day I really became an aunt. At least in my mind.
This is the couple's third child, so technically, as soon as I got married, I had a niece and nephew. But I didn't really feel like an aunt. The other two were born way before I came along; they were established members of the family when I became a part of it. And frankly, it's been weird enough getting used to calling myself someone's wife; I couldn't even think about the other corresponding titles that carried.
Until now. Now that I've settled into married life, I am firmly cemented in my husband's family. This new little baby has firmly cemented me in aunthood as well.
I hope to be a good aunt. I don't really know much about aunting, although I crocheted him a blanket, which seemed to me an aunt-like thing to do. I hope he likes it, and I hope he likes me.
But I have a hunch we'll get along just fine.
...again...kinda.
At 9:22 a.m. today, my husband's brother's wife gave birth to a 6 lb. 15 oz. baby boy. This is a very exciting time for the whole family, of course, but for me, it has a very different significance.
Today is the day I really became an aunt. At least in my mind.
This is the couple's third child, so technically, as soon as I got married, I had a niece and nephew. But I didn't really feel like an aunt. The other two were born way before I came along; they were established members of the family when I became a part of it. And frankly, it's been weird enough getting used to calling myself someone's wife; I couldn't even think about the other corresponding titles that carried.
Until now. Now that I've settled into married life, I am firmly cemented in my husband's family. This new little baby has firmly cemented me in aunthood as well.
I hope to be a good aunt. I don't really know much about aunting, although I crocheted him a blanket, which seemed to me an aunt-like thing to do. I hope he likes it, and I hope he likes me.
But I have a hunch we'll get along just fine.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
I Want To Ride My Bicycle, Bicycle, Bicycle
When faced with a task one hasn't done in some time, the comforting phrase often uttered is, "it's like riding a bicycle."
The meaning, of course, is that once you've learned how to do certain things, you never forget how to do them, no matter how long it has been since you've last done them.
Yesterday, I learned that, despite the expression, riding a bicycle is not one of those things for me.
Granted, I don't have that much experience. Growing up, I lived on a hilly road with no berm, hence no good place to ride a bicycle. The only time I ever did much riding was around the state park my family visited for a week each summer, because it was the only time bicycling was a viable transportation option for me. I've never even had my own bike, always having used my sister's hand-me-downs.
Since I reached adulthood and moved to the Prairie State, where hills are never a problem, I have thought a few times about buying a bicycle, but having no urgent need for one, I always pushed the idea aside.
Then, on our honeymoon last month, my new husband announced his plan to buy me a bicycle as a wedding gift. He has one, he knew I'd been wanting one, and he thought it would be fun for us to ride together. I thought that was a great idea, especially now as summer approaches. There are all sorts of trails in our area, and even just riding around the neighborhood together would be a nice summer pastime.
Yesterday, we finally got around to looking for a bike for me. I sat on a few, and my husband urged me to take one for a spin inside the store. The bicycle area wasn't very big, but I gave it a whirl.
It didn't work out so well. I couldn't get my feet on the pedals before I reached the end of the aisle, and I couldn't go very fast, because the aisle was short. Each time I tried, I wobbled back and forth before putting my foot to the ground to stop.
"I can't ride a bicycle!" I exclaimed in awe. "I can't believe I can't ride a bicycle!" Suddenly, my hubby was rethinking his gift idea, worrying I'd end up with bloodied limbs and a cracked skull.
I insisted it was just because the aisle was so short (you can't really go fast enough to stay balanced when your "course" is only 15 feet long), but deep down, I wondered if I really had forgotten how to ride. By my best guess, it's been about 14 years since I've taken a spin on a bicycle, and considering that I didn't even learn to ride until I was eight, that's saying something.
But I'm not ready to give up just yet. I'm excited about the prospect of riding around the neighborhood this summer, and I certainly wouldn't mind having a way to get around that does not require the purchase of gasoline, although I think it will be a good long while before I am ready or willing to take my bike on anything but the backest of back roads.
Besides, I think I'm due this. I didn't get to do the whole bike riding thing as a kid, and I always wanted to. My friends who lived "in town" rode their bikes together all the time, and I never got to do that. It's like I missed out on a part of childhood. And if I end up with some scraped knees and elbows, well, that's just part of the experience.
The meaning, of course, is that once you've learned how to do certain things, you never forget how to do them, no matter how long it has been since you've last done them.
Yesterday, I learned that, despite the expression, riding a bicycle is not one of those things for me.
Granted, I don't have that much experience. Growing up, I lived on a hilly road with no berm, hence no good place to ride a bicycle. The only time I ever did much riding was around the state park my family visited for a week each summer, because it was the only time bicycling was a viable transportation option for me. I've never even had my own bike, always having used my sister's hand-me-downs.
Since I reached adulthood and moved to the Prairie State, where hills are never a problem, I have thought a few times about buying a bicycle, but having no urgent need for one, I always pushed the idea aside.
Then, on our honeymoon last month, my new husband announced his plan to buy me a bicycle as a wedding gift. He has one, he knew I'd been wanting one, and he thought it would be fun for us to ride together. I thought that was a great idea, especially now as summer approaches. There are all sorts of trails in our area, and even just riding around the neighborhood together would be a nice summer pastime.
Yesterday, we finally got around to looking for a bike for me. I sat on a few, and my husband urged me to take one for a spin inside the store. The bicycle area wasn't very big, but I gave it a whirl.
It didn't work out so well. I couldn't get my feet on the pedals before I reached the end of the aisle, and I couldn't go very fast, because the aisle was short. Each time I tried, I wobbled back and forth before putting my foot to the ground to stop.
"I can't ride a bicycle!" I exclaimed in awe. "I can't believe I can't ride a bicycle!" Suddenly, my hubby was rethinking his gift idea, worrying I'd end up with bloodied limbs and a cracked skull.
I insisted it was just because the aisle was so short (you can't really go fast enough to stay balanced when your "course" is only 15 feet long), but deep down, I wondered if I really had forgotten how to ride. By my best guess, it's been about 14 years since I've taken a spin on a bicycle, and considering that I didn't even learn to ride until I was eight, that's saying something.
But I'm not ready to give up just yet. I'm excited about the prospect of riding around the neighborhood this summer, and I certainly wouldn't mind having a way to get around that does not require the purchase of gasoline, although I think it will be a good long while before I am ready or willing to take my bike on anything but the backest of back roads.
Besides, I think I'm due this. I didn't get to do the whole bike riding thing as a kid, and I always wanted to. My friends who lived "in town" rode their bikes together all the time, and I never got to do that. It's like I missed out on a part of childhood. And if I end up with some scraped knees and elbows, well, that's just part of the experience.
The Key To One-Eyed Willy
I don't know if I'm thrilled or horrified by the news that there may be a Goonies musical on the horizon.
I haven't really been all that eager to see musical versions of popular movies, a Broadway trend of late. I've heard good things about The Wedding Singer and Legally Blonde on the Great White Way, but I don't really have a desire to see them.
But The Goonies might be different. That was my all-time favorite movie for years, until Waiting For Guffman came along. I vividly remember going to see it in the theatre with my parents when I was a kid, and spouting quote upon quote to anyone who would listen, which I still do on occasion. Even today, I could probably recite the entire script verbatim if pressed.
When the movie came out, it was the ultimate fantasy for me. I wanted to know the characters and be a part of their lives. I longed for a sequel that never materialized, wanting to know more of the story.
Now I might get what I've been wanting, in the form of a musical. It certainly has possibilities to be amazing -- even more amazing than that time Michael Jackson came over to my house to use the bathroom. The article I linked mentioned a "Truffle Shuffle" dance number, which I don't even need to say would be awesome. I would eat that up like a pint of Super Duper Chocolate Eruption.
I have a few song ideas, too.
- A Spanish duet by Mouth and housemaid Rosalita.
- A rousing musical listing of ice cream varities by Chunk. A reprise could include tales of pranks he'd played, culminating in the classic "fake puke in the movie theatre" gag.
- A song about inventions by Data, containing all sorts of mispronounced words.
- "Troy's Bucket," a heartfelt ballad by Mikey.
- And, of course, there would have to be a battle type song between the rich kids, lead by Troy Perkins, and the scrappy kids, lead by Mikey.
If it materializes, I think I'll have to check out the musical when it gets to Chicago. I just hope they don't ruin it. It's one of the few things from my childhood that still holds much of its original magic. But if it works, it will be the best invention since Slick Shoes.
I haven't really been all that eager to see musical versions of popular movies, a Broadway trend of late. I've heard good things about The Wedding Singer and Legally Blonde on the Great White Way, but I don't really have a desire to see them.
But The Goonies might be different. That was my all-time favorite movie for years, until Waiting For Guffman came along. I vividly remember going to see it in the theatre with my parents when I was a kid, and spouting quote upon quote to anyone who would listen, which I still do on occasion. Even today, I could probably recite the entire script verbatim if pressed.
When the movie came out, it was the ultimate fantasy for me. I wanted to know the characters and be a part of their lives. I longed for a sequel that never materialized, wanting to know more of the story.
Now I might get what I've been wanting, in the form of a musical. It certainly has possibilities to be amazing -- even more amazing than that time Michael Jackson came over to my house to use the bathroom. The article I linked mentioned a "Truffle Shuffle" dance number, which I don't even need to say would be awesome. I would eat that up like a pint of Super Duper Chocolate Eruption.
I have a few song ideas, too.
- A Spanish duet by Mouth and housemaid Rosalita.
- A rousing musical listing of ice cream varities by Chunk. A reprise could include tales of pranks he'd played, culminating in the classic "fake puke in the movie theatre" gag.
- A song about inventions by Data, containing all sorts of mispronounced words.
- "Troy's Bucket," a heartfelt ballad by Mikey.
- And, of course, there would have to be a battle type song between the rich kids, lead by Troy Perkins, and the scrappy kids, lead by Mikey.
If it materializes, I think I'll have to check out the musical when it gets to Chicago. I just hope they don't ruin it. It's one of the few things from my childhood that still holds much of its original magic. But if it works, it will be the best invention since Slick Shoes.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Shouting Parlay In A Crowded Movie Theatre
I wouldn't want to break a promise.
Last July, I gave a lukewarm review of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest in this entry. At the time, I was disappointed at having seen a 2 1/2 hour movie with no resolution to the problem at hand and a cliffhanger advertising the next -- in short, I saw half of a movie. So I gave half of a review.
Last night, I saw the third movie in the Pirates franchise: At World's End. I wasn't expecting much, and that's exactly what I got.
First of all, the movie is three hours long. I am so annoyed by the trend of late to make movies as long as possible. I'm not sure if it's meant to make up for the fact that it costs so much to get in these days, or if today's filmmakers really think their stuff is so good that none of it can be left on the cutting room floor. It makes a good movie boring and my butt numb.
Secondly, it would have been so very easy -- with some much-needed-anyway editing -- to resolve the story at hand in Dead Man's Chest with the first part of the story in At World's End. And they would have had a fine cliffhanger opportunity there as well. The first hour or so was what should have been the end of the last movie, and I found myself annoyed about that all over again.
But my main complaint at this juncture is that they really don't seem to care anymore. They know people will come to see this movie, so they slap together as many swashbuckling special effects as they can, along with plenty of swaggering from Johnny Depp (who, beautiful as he is, loses some of his Jack Sparrow-ness as time goes on -- there were moments this time in which his character seemed downright serious). Taking the last installment into account, the plot of this one didn't even make sense. A couple of characters went through complete character changes, without any explanation whatsoever. It's like they said, well, we have to put these characters in these scenes, so let's give them something interesting to do, even if it has nothing to do with anything they've done before.
Taking it for what it was, I found the movie entertaining; I enjoyed the swashbuckling, and the swaggering. But I don't know if I'll feel the need to return to the theatre for another Pirates experience, should there be one. It looks like there will be, because although this movie settled the plot from the last movie, it never really resolved the issues that began in this movie. So I suppose that means each installment to come will simply be an advertisement for the next one.
Well, they'll have to get their booty somewhere else, 'cause I don't think I'm buying.
Last July, I gave a lukewarm review of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest in this entry. At the time, I was disappointed at having seen a 2 1/2 hour movie with no resolution to the problem at hand and a cliffhanger advertising the next -- in short, I saw half of a movie. So I gave half of a review.
Last night, I saw the third movie in the Pirates franchise: At World's End. I wasn't expecting much, and that's exactly what I got.
First of all, the movie is three hours long. I am so annoyed by the trend of late to make movies as long as possible. I'm not sure if it's meant to make up for the fact that it costs so much to get in these days, or if today's filmmakers really think their stuff is so good that none of it can be left on the cutting room floor. It makes a good movie boring and my butt numb.
Secondly, it would have been so very easy -- with some much-needed-anyway editing -- to resolve the story at hand in Dead Man's Chest with the first part of the story in At World's End. And they would have had a fine cliffhanger opportunity there as well. The first hour or so was what should have been the end of the last movie, and I found myself annoyed about that all over again.
But my main complaint at this juncture is that they really don't seem to care anymore. They know people will come to see this movie, so they slap together as many swashbuckling special effects as they can, along with plenty of swaggering from Johnny Depp (who, beautiful as he is, loses some of his Jack Sparrow-ness as time goes on -- there were moments this time in which his character seemed downright serious). Taking the last installment into account, the plot of this one didn't even make sense. A couple of characters went through complete character changes, without any explanation whatsoever. It's like they said, well, we have to put these characters in these scenes, so let's give them something interesting to do, even if it has nothing to do with anything they've done before.
Taking it for what it was, I found the movie entertaining; I enjoyed the swashbuckling, and the swaggering. But I don't know if I'll feel the need to return to the theatre for another Pirates experience, should there be one. It looks like there will be, because although this movie settled the plot from the last movie, it never really resolved the issues that began in this movie. So I suppose that means each installment to come will simply be an advertisement for the next one.
Well, they'll have to get their booty somewhere else, 'cause I don't think I'm buying.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Don't Masquerade With A Girl In Shades -- Oh No
Someone has put a sunglasses hex on me.
It all started about eight years ago. I'd been wearing a crappy pair of sunglasses I'd gotten for free when I signed up for a Discover card on campus my first semester at college. (I was smarter then and never actually used the card they sent me). But I wanted better ones, so right before I began my senior year, I bought a pair at Wal-Mart.
Inexpensive but of fine Wal-Mart quality, they were perfect. They were stylish (but not too stylish, lest they go out of fashion and leave me stuck with stupid looking sunglasses), and they looked great on me.
As I began the semester, the future was bright. I was doing alright, getting good grades (you know the deal). Mid-September, however, something happened. My sunglasses disappeared. I don't know if they fell out of my backpack or I left them somewhere or what, but suddenly, they were gone. I went back to wearing my Discover card sunglasses for a good two years.
One night, I was having dinner at TGIFriday's, when I noticed something under the table. It was a pair of sunglasses. Cheap, certainly, but for some reason, I picked them up.
At some point, the Discover card glasses wore out, and I had to throw them away. (Or I lost them, I can't remember). I might have bought another pair to replace them, but if I did, I lost it too. So I started wearing the TGIFriday's sunglasses. Yeah, it's kind of gross to wear something I found on the floor at TGIFriday's, but they were just sunglasses, and I cleaned them and everything. I kept them in the car and pretty much only wore them when I drove anyway.
But I always wanted a nicer pair. I saw people with their stylish sunglasses that they'd bought brand new and got jealous. I wanted nice sunglasses, too. I looked sometimes, but I couldn't find anything that looked all that great or was of better quality than the TGIFriday's pair.
A month ago, I found them. I was determined to find them, because I was leaving for Hawaii the next day and wanted a better pair than the ones I'd found on the floor. It took a good long time to find them on the walls of sunglasses at Target, but I found them. They looked good, they went far enough back on my face that no sun would sneak in the side. They were perfect. So I bought them.
I was nervous; I hadn't had good luck with purchased sunglasses. But I managed to get through my trip without losing my perfect new shades. I rejoiced, believing at last that the curse was broken.
Well, the curse wasn't broken, but my sunglasses now are.
About a week ago, I was putting them in my purse and part of one of the stems broke off. I tried to superglue it, but it didn't work. I wore them for a few days with the broken stem (it was pretty much only the behind-the-ear part that was broken off, and when I had my hair down, you couldn't tell). But then yesterday, I went to put them on and the other stem broke off. Almost the entire thing. I had no choice but to throw them away and go back to the TGIFriday's pair.
I've got to break the curse. I've got to be free to wear nice sunglasses and not ones I got for free, either by bribery or eating at sit-down fast-food restaurants. So here's my plan.
I'm going to buy a new pair, a good pair, another perfect, perfect pair. Then I'm going to throw them on the ground in the parking lot of the store and walk away for five minutes. If they're there when I return, they're mine for good, or at least a reasonable amount of time that is more than a month.
If they're not, well...I guess it's back to TGIFriday's, unless Discover card has something better to offer.
It all started about eight years ago. I'd been wearing a crappy pair of sunglasses I'd gotten for free when I signed up for a Discover card on campus my first semester at college. (I was smarter then and never actually used the card they sent me). But I wanted better ones, so right before I began my senior year, I bought a pair at Wal-Mart.
Inexpensive but of fine Wal-Mart quality, they were perfect. They were stylish (but not too stylish, lest they go out of fashion and leave me stuck with stupid looking sunglasses), and they looked great on me.
As I began the semester, the future was bright. I was doing alright, getting good grades (you know the deal). Mid-September, however, something happened. My sunglasses disappeared. I don't know if they fell out of my backpack or I left them somewhere or what, but suddenly, they were gone. I went back to wearing my Discover card sunglasses for a good two years.
One night, I was having dinner at TGIFriday's, when I noticed something under the table. It was a pair of sunglasses. Cheap, certainly, but for some reason, I picked them up.
At some point, the Discover card glasses wore out, and I had to throw them away. (Or I lost them, I can't remember). I might have bought another pair to replace them, but if I did, I lost it too. So I started wearing the TGIFriday's sunglasses. Yeah, it's kind of gross to wear something I found on the floor at TGIFriday's, but they were just sunglasses, and I cleaned them and everything. I kept them in the car and pretty much only wore them when I drove anyway.
But I always wanted a nicer pair. I saw people with their stylish sunglasses that they'd bought brand new and got jealous. I wanted nice sunglasses, too. I looked sometimes, but I couldn't find anything that looked all that great or was of better quality than the TGIFriday's pair.
A month ago, I found them. I was determined to find them, because I was leaving for Hawaii the next day and wanted a better pair than the ones I'd found on the floor. It took a good long time to find them on the walls of sunglasses at Target, but I found them. They looked good, they went far enough back on my face that no sun would sneak in the side. They were perfect. So I bought them.
I was nervous; I hadn't had good luck with purchased sunglasses. But I managed to get through my trip without losing my perfect new shades. I rejoiced, believing at last that the curse was broken.
Well, the curse wasn't broken, but my sunglasses now are.
About a week ago, I was putting them in my purse and part of one of the stems broke off. I tried to superglue it, but it didn't work. I wore them for a few days with the broken stem (it was pretty much only the behind-the-ear part that was broken off, and when I had my hair down, you couldn't tell). But then yesterday, I went to put them on and the other stem broke off. Almost the entire thing. I had no choice but to throw them away and go back to the TGIFriday's pair.
I've got to break the curse. I've got to be free to wear nice sunglasses and not ones I got for free, either by bribery or eating at sit-down fast-food restaurants. So here's my plan.
I'm going to buy a new pair, a good pair, another perfect, perfect pair. Then I'm going to throw them on the ground in the parking lot of the store and walk away for five minutes. If they're there when I return, they're mine for good, or at least a reasonable amount of time that is more than a month.
If they're not, well...I guess it's back to TGIFriday's, unless Discover card has something better to offer.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
The Huggy Huggy Dilemma
I never write about my job on this blog, mostly because nothing ever happens that is interesting enough to write about, but something happened today that gave me pause.
My boss and I went downtown to have lunch with two people from an organization we work with. I don't meet in person with clients very often, because they're all over the country, and there's no reason for me to meet them, although my bosses do occasionally. It's fine with me; I don't really like these meetings all that much, because I don't have a whole lot to contribute. These people already know what my part of the process is and what I need from them and what they'll get from me. And the questions they have are all better answered by my boss. I'm left trying to find any relevant comment to throw in just so it won't seem like I'm unfriendly.
Today's meeting wasn't bad, but at the end, something happened. When we were saying goodbye, my boss hugged the clients. She's very outgoing and very huggy, and like I said, she's used to meeting clients and befriending them, so it's totally natural to her. But I am not a hug initiator. I'll return a hug, but I'll rarely start one, especially with someone I just met. So when I saw my boss hug these people, my first thought was, am I supposed to hug them too? It didn't feel natural to me; these are business associates that I'd just met, and I'm not a huggy person. So I shook their hands.
But I am left wondering, how might I have better handled this awkward social situation? Should I have just hugged these people? Would that have been weird? Or was it weird that I just shook their hands after my boss hugged them? I wish there were a rule book for these things.
My boss and I went downtown to have lunch with two people from an organization we work with. I don't meet in person with clients very often, because they're all over the country, and there's no reason for me to meet them, although my bosses do occasionally. It's fine with me; I don't really like these meetings all that much, because I don't have a whole lot to contribute. These people already know what my part of the process is and what I need from them and what they'll get from me. And the questions they have are all better answered by my boss. I'm left trying to find any relevant comment to throw in just so it won't seem like I'm unfriendly.
Today's meeting wasn't bad, but at the end, something happened. When we were saying goodbye, my boss hugged the clients. She's very outgoing and very huggy, and like I said, she's used to meeting clients and befriending them, so it's totally natural to her. But I am not a hug initiator. I'll return a hug, but I'll rarely start one, especially with someone I just met. So when I saw my boss hug these people, my first thought was, am I supposed to hug them too? It didn't feel natural to me; these are business associates that I'd just met, and I'm not a huggy person. So I shook their hands.
But I am left wondering, how might I have better handled this awkward social situation? Should I have just hugged these people? Would that have been weird? Or was it weird that I just shook their hands after my boss hugged them? I wish there were a rule book for these things.
Friday, May 18, 2007
What's Your Name, What's Your Number?
"It's official!" my husband cried as he walked in the door, waving the mail in his hand.
I knew what he was talking about when I saw the return address on the envelope he was holding: Social Security Administration. I opened it up, and there it was. My new social security card, complete with my new last name. Official, indeed.
I've had bank cards with my new name for a week or so now, and I got new checks the other day. I've been using the new name at work since I got married. But social security really has the final say in what one's name is, so seeing it in print on this new card made me feel...well, official.
I'm pretty much used my new last name, although it doesn't really roll off the tongue -- not that my old one did, either, but I'd lived with it for almost 30 years, so it didn't sound strange to me. But with the new one, there are times I still don't recognize it as my name.
Right before the wedding, I had a bit of an identity crisis about my name. Don't get me wrong -- I am proud to take my husband's name, and other than not wanting to go to the trouble of having all of my records changed over, I didn't see any point in not changing it. But it was still a little jarring to think that the person I'd been all my life would suddenly not exist anymore.
But then I started thinking, maybe this is a good thing. After all, I was preparing to enter a whole new phase of my life, so why not just consider it a whole new me? For example, the old me was afraid to fly. The new me would not be afraid to fly. (And, in fact, we flew to Hawaii on our honeymoon and I did not get nervous at all, so it must have worked).
And unlike the old me, the new me would be good with money. Like many who leave home seeking their fortune and finding low-paying jobs, I'd found myself in my early 20s relying on credit cards. I knew they could mean trouble, but at the time, I didn't have much of a choice. Considering that some people find themselves owing tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands, my debt of just a few thousand was a drop in the bucket, but then again, I wasn't making enough money to even cover my normal expenses, let alone pay down a debt, so it was tough.
Nonetheless, it was my debt, and I had to pay it off. So I lowered my expenses and eventually got a new, better paying job, so I was able to put enough money toward my debt every month to actually see the balance going down.
One of my two credit cards was paid off in a matter of months. No drama, I just paid and was eventually done. The other credit card company, however, made things difficult. They just couldn't seem to get enough of my money. (I just know that someday that will be in a book of quotes, because it is such a brilliant and keen observation that no one else would make). Even after I'd paid off the balance, they socked me with interest charges from the month before, then interest on the interest, until eventually, they were actually sending me a notice that I owed two dollars. Two days before my wedding, I paid the last little bit, hoping (but not at all sure) that this would be it.
I gave them four weeks, fully expecting them to charge me interest on that two dollars, but I heard nothing. Today, I called them, and they told me the words I'd been longing to hear for a long time -- "your balance is zero." I've met my goal -- I might not have learned it till today, but I was debt free before I got married, just as I wanted to be.
I'm pretty disappointed in myself to have gotten into this mess, but I'm hardly the first person to have trouble managing money. Anyway, that was the old me. I'm a whole new person now.
And I've got the documentation to prove it.
I knew what he was talking about when I saw the return address on the envelope he was holding: Social Security Administration. I opened it up, and there it was. My new social security card, complete with my new last name. Official, indeed.
I've had bank cards with my new name for a week or so now, and I got new checks the other day. I've been using the new name at work since I got married. But social security really has the final say in what one's name is, so seeing it in print on this new card made me feel...well, official.
I'm pretty much used my new last name, although it doesn't really roll off the tongue -- not that my old one did, either, but I'd lived with it for almost 30 years, so it didn't sound strange to me. But with the new one, there are times I still don't recognize it as my name.
Right before the wedding, I had a bit of an identity crisis about my name. Don't get me wrong -- I am proud to take my husband's name, and other than not wanting to go to the trouble of having all of my records changed over, I didn't see any point in not changing it. But it was still a little jarring to think that the person I'd been all my life would suddenly not exist anymore.
But then I started thinking, maybe this is a good thing. After all, I was preparing to enter a whole new phase of my life, so why not just consider it a whole new me? For example, the old me was afraid to fly. The new me would not be afraid to fly. (And, in fact, we flew to Hawaii on our honeymoon and I did not get nervous at all, so it must have worked).
And unlike the old me, the new me would be good with money. Like many who leave home seeking their fortune and finding low-paying jobs, I'd found myself in my early 20s relying on credit cards. I knew they could mean trouble, but at the time, I didn't have much of a choice. Considering that some people find themselves owing tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands, my debt of just a few thousand was a drop in the bucket, but then again, I wasn't making enough money to even cover my normal expenses, let alone pay down a debt, so it was tough.
Nonetheless, it was my debt, and I had to pay it off. So I lowered my expenses and eventually got a new, better paying job, so I was able to put enough money toward my debt every month to actually see the balance going down.
One of my two credit cards was paid off in a matter of months. No drama, I just paid and was eventually done. The other credit card company, however, made things difficult. They just couldn't seem to get enough of my money. (I just know that someday that will be in a book of quotes, because it is such a brilliant and keen observation that no one else would make). Even after I'd paid off the balance, they socked me with interest charges from the month before, then interest on the interest, until eventually, they were actually sending me a notice that I owed two dollars. Two days before my wedding, I paid the last little bit, hoping (but not at all sure) that this would be it.
I gave them four weeks, fully expecting them to charge me interest on that two dollars, but I heard nothing. Today, I called them, and they told me the words I'd been longing to hear for a long time -- "your balance is zero." I've met my goal -- I might not have learned it till today, but I was debt free before I got married, just as I wanted to be.
I'm pretty disappointed in myself to have gotten into this mess, but I'm hardly the first person to have trouble managing money. Anyway, that was the old me. I'm a whole new person now.
And I've got the documentation to prove it.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Haunted By A German Ghost
For some reason, the month headings on the archives of this blog went from English to German for about two minutes today.
I happened to notice while reading some of my old entries, but as soon as I posted about the German titles, they went back to English.
I wonder if this is the work of a ghost of a German ancestor of mine who is upset that I now have an Italian last name.
I happened to notice while reading some of my old entries, but as soon as I posted about the German titles, they went back to English.
I wonder if this is the work of a ghost of a German ancestor of mine who is upset that I now have an Italian last name.
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