Ridiculous Stupidity

It is not often that something grates my last nerve to the point where I want to grab the largest soap box in sight. In fact, it is rare that something crawls under my skin to such a degree that I must share it with anyone willing to listen. Who am I kidding? Occasionally, I am compelled to share the details regardless of such willingness. Every so often, I get a case of “let-me-shove-my-opinion-down-your-throat-itis.”

This past week, I have suffered (along with those around me) a massive case of the disease. Maybe it was the full moon. Maybe it was just time to balance my positive energy with back to back negativity. Our unseasonably warm October turned cold and rainy. I didn’t mind the weather as much as the sinus-ear infection it caused my daughter. When my kids aren’t feeling well, I tend to feel the same. Still, I was grateful for the shift to cooler weather.

I was not so grateful for our son’s baseball coach. I struggled immeasurably when he insisted our kids come play baseball in the rain one night. My opinions were not kept to myself. Low and behold, the opposing team did not have enough kids prepared to play in the drizzling, dark wetness. Instead of asking the parents, he made a decision to reschedule the game to a day where three of us could not be there. Oh, joy! I was just glad that I was not the only parent wishing he had taken the option of a forfeit from the other team.

Weather and moonlight aside, I allowed the negative energy to grab a hold of me. It’s like a domino effect. The minute you allow one thing to bother you, other things will quickly follow suit. I had to identify the root of my own issue. It was Mr. Mercedes Man. The only way to expel him and rid myself of “let-me-shove-my-opinion-down-your-throat-itis” is to share his evil ways. Or my own ridiculous stupidity.

On my commute home the other day, Mr. Mercedes Man decides to get *thisclose* to my economical Ford Focus. Granted, the back roads I use for my commute are picturesque and filled with luxury vehicles. Still, I don’t feel out of place or uncomfortable. Well, until you get so close to my ass that there should be a tube of Astroglide serving as your hood ornament. Yes, he was that close.

Tailgating to that degree qualifies him for asshat status in the Book of Carol. However, looking into my rear view mirror, I noticed a boy who could not have been more than five-years-old sitting in the front seat. I would peg him at maybe 45 pounds. Small kid. Despite my obvious tailgating discomfort, this absolutely sent me into a tizzy.

As a mother, I attempt to refrain from passing judgment on others. Don’t laugh. Really, I do my best to keep my opinions to myself. I won’t even venture down the path of spewing the Tennessee State Law. Okay, I will. Here are the exact specifications for young children:

• Children age one (1) through age three (3), and weighing more than twenty (20) pounds, must be secured in a child safety seat in a forward facing position in the rear seat, if available, or according to the child safety restraint system or vehicle manufacturer’s instructions.
• Children age four (4) through age eight (8), and measuring less than four feet nine inches (4′9″) in height, must be secured in a belt-positioning booster seat system, meeting federal motor vehicle safety standards in the rear seat, if available, or according to the child safety restraint system or vehicle manufacturer’s instructions.

It is not just the fact it’s a law which bothers me. Mr. Mercedes Man seems to think that his child is beyond the reach of every other bad driver on our roads. Clearly, his luxury sedan offered a back seat. Clearly, if he can afford a Mercedes, purchasing the proper booster seat should not be an issue. Instead, he chooses to defy the law, put his child in harm’s way and totally aggravate me in the process. To me, risking the safety of a child is both selfish and stupid. It was the catalyst for my bad case of “let-me-shove-my-opinion-down-your-throat-itis.” But, in the end, I know I let it happen.

Easily, this entire episode could have led me down a very different route.

Dammit, self-awareness!

Just as love begets love, perhaps ridiculous stupidity begets ridiculous stupidity.

What about you? What seemingly small thing can set your temper a-flare, or drive you crazy? Do you tend to feel irritated or sick when those close to you are not feeling their wheaties? Please, for the love of all that is ridiculous…share something that gives you a dose of what I felt this week!

Are You What You Eat?

Exactly how much time do you spend getting to know your food?  I’ve lovingly caressed a cheeseburger a time or two, but that’s not what I’m getting at here.  (I’d like to let the record stand, mind you, that the cheeseburger totally had it coming.)  In this case I’m referring to food trends, the latest being that of Organic Food versus all the other stuff.  You know the other stuff.  It’s cheaper, shinier, crunchier and may or may not be damaging our internal organs and future generations. The ‘other stuff’, as it happens, is being marketed as ‘Conventional’.  This sounds decidedly better than, ‘We sprayed this with something that’s legally tolerable’.

Hell of a trade off, no?  The trend however, is hard to ignore.  Being a Nation both obsessed with our health, and willing to shoot our selves in our fat foot for a Value Meal; it’s no wonder Organic Food has become big business.  First, let’s define the terms.  What exactly is Organic Food?  If you answered anything you can buy at Whole Foods, such as Häagen-Dazs or Fudge Brownie Mix, you’re wrong (but I like the way you think).

No, The United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) has rules about what can be labeled USDA Certified Organic.  Just looking for the word ‘Organic’ is not enough.  As there is a difference between Low-Fat, Non-Fat, Fat-Free, Lite, Sugar Free and Diet; different products will label different ways based on their ingredients.  Oh, how they know of our hate to read labels in a crowded supermarket on a Sunday.

If the label claims the food is ‘100% Organic’ then it is.  Any product with a USDA Organic symbol or sticker means that the product was made in accordance with Federal Standards.  Those grading standards are varied whether we’re talking about frozen vegetables or frozen chicken.   Here are the basics:

Organic Food cannot be processed in the following ways:

• In the raising of livestock, no antibiotics, growth hormones or medications shall be administered in order to advance growth or prevent diseases from occurring.
• For crop and pest control chemical pesticides and herbicides may not be used.
• Chemical fertilizers to promote growth and crop abundance are not allowed.

Well thank you, Organic Food!  We all want to avoid those practices, don’t we?  I don’t want the ‘other stuff’ creeping into my liver, polluting my soil.  I’d much rather buy the Organic aspar…what?  Organic isn’t good enough, you say?  Now I’ve got to go local?

That’s right; Farmer’s Markets are the only way to go if you really care about what you put into your side dishes and snacks.  It is no longer good enough to eat your vegetables.  You have to date them, develop an honest working relationship.  Meet their parents and get to know the kind of neighborhood they grew up in.  Just as Organic food stuffs have infiltrated every aisle of our Grocery Stores; the Farmer’s Market is the latest uprising into better food practices.  It’s fresh, it hasn’t spent days on a truck and helps boost the local economy.

Is it convenient?  Maybe so in some cities, but I live in the Northeast.  There is a local Farmer’s Market in Boston’s City Hall Plaza; I could make the effort to go.  Unfortunately three miles later and 25 minutes in traffic are likely to make my blood boil.  Doesn’t really seem to up the value or make it worth it for ½ pound of locally raised broccoli crowns.

Is it too much to ask that we don’t have to hire an entire food investigation team just to incorporate healthier foods into our diet?   When I pick up a tomato do I really need to wrestle with organic vs. conventional, grown in California vs. grown in Maine.  Can’t I simply feel virtuous about eating the tomato in a salad, instead of ordering a pizza covered in tomato sauce?  I’m beginning to wonder how much responsibility I need to be taking on as far as my single gal’s grocery basket.

The bottom line is that you have to be the judge of your own body and food temples.  How important any of this is to you just might dictate just how far this food trend will take you.  Maybe you’ll start a garden; maybe you’ll read your labels and find new organic or local alternatives.  Or maybe you’ll drive by your local Whole Foods or Specialty Market raising a middle finger salute to the entire idea of it all.

The great food trend debate!  Are you currently 100% Organic?  Maybe 75% Organic? At what level do you investigate the food on your plate?  Are we all comfortable asking these questions or do we just want to shop and eat in peace?  Any food trends you follow?  What do you hate about the continuing change in food trends?  Do you trust the standards in the processing of your food?  Was it all so simple when we just thought we had to clean our plate?

Sweet and Sour Ideas

After a hard day of crunching numbers, spending time with loved ones, chores, bills, etc. I like to take at least an hour or two a day to unwind.   Some folks enjoy a little bit of tai chi, meditation, yoga, a hot bath even.  I like to surf the net at night to find my inner peace.  Not the depressing news but more “Recreational” surfing.  There are a certain number of sites I go to regularly to giggle and read about things that apply to me and my mine.  Some are silly, some are serious, but most of them lull me into a better sense of self and allow me to schluff off the days stressful vibes.

One evening I ran across a topic I was unfamiliar with, Chindogu.  Chindogu is the Japanese art of taking existing inventions and making them better, so to speak.  It is a great concept but it seems to be a bit out of hand and the term is now known more for making existing or new objects ridiculously useless.  After digging a bit deeper into this subject and of inventions all together, I found what I believe are the worst inventions ever.  These gems take the innovation and drive behind the cotton gin and the light bulb and flush them right down the toilet.

Please enjoy the top 5 of what I consider to be the worst inventions ever.  In no particular order.

The Hair Splash Guard

I can see where they were going with this, but I have found when I am eating spaghetti or some sort of wet noodle it gets on my shirt not in my hair.  Have I been walking around with foo young hair this entire time and no one said anything???  Maybe a shower cap and a lobster bib would be more acceptable in a dining atmosphere than a rubber lions mane.

The Flipper Heels

I understand the need to be fashionable at all times.  I do.  But let’s work on beautifying the snorkel before we slap 3 inch heels on swimming flippers.  How would one even attempt to walk in these?  Anyone with a you tube clip will win a years worth of jams and jellies.  OK, not really but I would still like to see someone do runway in these.

The Cinch Waist

This never has nor ever will be an option in my book.  Hey everyone I have a 36 inch waist!  Come see it is here right under my brushed nickel belt buckle.  I have spent time trying to get into the head of the inventor of this but all I picture is Susan Powder and I never like to picture Susan Powder.

The Jump

It can’t be called a jump rope without the rope.  Yes my friends this is a ropeless jump rope.  We have hit the epitome of laziness when we have decided to remove the most important part of the exercise.  This device allows you to jump in place, Mock Roping as I like to call it, and it counts how many times.  I can do that and still have $19.95 in my wallet for a smoothie afterward.  I can’t wait for the lawsuits when those pretty blue egg things hit someone or someones Flat screen TV.

Woofers

Speakers themselves are not a new invention.  Decapitating a plastic dog to use them, now that is a new concept.  Where is the head?  Do I get to re-attach it when I am done with my listening needs?  I am shocked there was a financial backer for these beauties.

There were several others I found.  But it would take nine blogs to showcase the hilarity that is “Bad inventions.”  I don’t want you to think though that I would leave you all with five bad inventions and not leave you with one good one.

While web boarding and giggling at bad inventions I came across the most innovative idea I had heard of in a very long time.  Something I think is long overdue and will help each and every one of us.

Google’s Goggles

This is an upcoming Google application that will allow you to set a timer on your G-mail for when you may be too incapacitated to decide on correct e-mail etiquette.  Whether it be the evenings, or the weekends.  Once you have set this timer you now must pass an E-mail Test to send your e-mail.

Yes friends, this helps you NOT send the drunken late night e-mails!  If you are sitting there at your computer at 2am e-mailing your ex about how you don’t care that they smell like Puppy Chow and Limes you just want to be NEAR them and if they could just call you later…

Not tonight my friend.  Not tonight.

Brilliant I say.  Brilliant!

Ever find this type of wackiness on the web?  Or do you have your own inventions or ideas?  Or, do you house one of these types of inventions?  Don’t be shy.  We all wave the crazy flag from time to time.  We won’t judge.

Bringing Home The Bliss

Every Friday night at 7pm, an amazing transformation takes place sending me into an altered state of living.  After 5 solid days creating domestic bliss through nutritious meals, organized linens, cataloging receipts and folding clothes…The Nanny clocks out for the weekend.  The symbolic apron strings are ripped off, the hair is let down. I am now retreating from the scent of dinner on the table and neat counter tops, straight into my own disorganized ways.

There is a huge disconnect that appears to be growing between how I treat, love and manage the homes of my employers; to how I treat my own single woman’s palace off hours.  Somehow between those two front doors, I have managed to exceedingly lose a sense of the practices that make their homes run so well.

They are eating off of a crock pot full of 3 bean chili with corn bread dumplings. I am eating a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and all I have in the refrigerator is some low carb wheat wraps and a few bottles of Blue Moon.  Huh?

I have recognized over these last few weeks that I need to harness some of the practices I employ in my own living space.  I should be eating those healthy meals!  My receipts should be ordered, tabbed and filed.  Why do I tolerate that over flowing junk drawer that contains silly putty, a rusty hammer and approximately 200 feet of telephone cord?!  I don’t even have a landline.  No, I needed some help.  I went to the only place that seemed fitting, The Container Store.

I must tell you, that the second I walked in, it was as if the glass doors blew out behind me into blinding glorious golden rays of light.  As far as my current mission goes, I was in a heaven of sorts.  I could have very well died right there, being lifted up on the voices of the Angel’s Choir I heard in my head.

Aisle by aisle, the cart filling at a steady pace, I saw my life coming together in product (or rather product placement) perfection.  Immediately, I felt the pep in my step and my wallet trying to drag my ass out the door in the opposite direction.  My wallet knows I am a sucker for packaging, and this entire place was dedicated to it.

Then it happened.  It was an innocent small box with a lid.  A clerk noticed my inspection and informed me it was for my tea bags.  Apparently, I can put my tea bags in a box roughly the size of the box they come in when I buy them at the store.  I’m now confused, but I have been reassured by the clerk I am simply misinformed.  This box is clear and I can see my tea bags clearly!  I don’t mention to him I can read, and my ordinary method of tea selection has done me no irreparable harm.  I just politely put it back on the shelf.

Further down into the middle of the store, I encounter bathroom items.  Excellent shelving, soap dispensers and a small wire mesh box with no description on the tag.  I assume it’s for soap, but I am quickly approached by Happy Helper #2.  Without a word she pulls a rubber duck off the adjacent display and pops it into the mesh box asking me, “Isn’t it great?”

Yes people, it is a cage for a rubber duckie!  He might make bath time lots of fun, but after that you best shell out $8.95 putting that bitch on lock down.  I came relatively close to a PETA like fist pumping outrage, but I held my tongue and whispered to the duck that I would be back for him.

Clearly this had gone too far.  I glance down at my former cart full of wonderful and realize none of this shit is necessary.  The problem isn’t the lack of empty containers, the problem is me.  I can buy more junk to store and manage my junk; or I can simply choose to better manage myself with the same amount of respect I do for the people who afford me the luxury of On Line shopping and On Demand ‘Weeds’ reruns.

I’m worth my salt, and I am going to take some time to pinch some and toss it over my shoulder for good luck that I figure out my own domestic bliss…in the 10 items or less aisle.

How organized are you ladies and gents?  Do you have aspirations of filing it all away neatly?  Any professional traits you’d like to incorporate in your personal lives in order for some order?  Do these home organization items make absolute sense?  Or is it more junk for our junk?  I am on a mission for palace appreciation so leave your comments and tips below! And if you missed it, check us out at www.thestream.tv for some great EVE-101 moments!

Make Me Laugh

“Mom, there is NOTHING fancy about this catsup!”

You should have heard the attitude of disgust and blatant shock which tumbled out of the mouth of my six-year-old daughter the other day. In between the daily grind, rush hour traffic, picking up the kids and attempting to get them to the ballpark on time, we occasionally slack off and end up with drive-thru goodies in the car. I have discovered healthy choices for all of us and we don’t do the burger and fries route very often. I allowed her to have the fries on this particular day.

My repayment, if you will, was a great giggle. (note to self: allow the fries more often)

Perhaps it was funny to me because (a) she is my daughter and her various tones make me laugh, (b) she is absolutely right or (c) it made me recall other oxymorons like “government intelligence”. The point is, my kids make me laugh. The timing is always impeccable and those crisp one-liners are perfect memory markers. For the rest of my days, I will see those little packets which say “fancy catsup” and hear her sweet voice at the tender age of six. I will recall the joy and laughter in our car and how it replaced the stressful hustle and bustle of our day.

In our home, there are several things which are guaranteed to bring laughter. Whoever said farts are always funny was pretty close to accurate. My son tells the same story about his dad whenever he wants to make me laugh. Suffice it to say, my kids are fantastic story tellers. They have delivery unparalleled by many, ranking up with the likes of Steven Wright. There are cartoons and movies which have hilarious lines or physical comedy in them. My Little Man has mastered the art of remote-controlled replay. He will literally watch the same scene ten times, given the opportunity.

My daughter is another story. She uses me for most of her humor. In the pool last year, she was grabbing at my bikini top. I stopped her and told her ,“Honey, those are NOT yours anymore!“. My kids know they were breastfed. My son ensured his sister got the full scoop on that one. In perfect comedic timing she spouts off, “Duh, mom…I sucked every last drop out of them!”. Seriously. Those words tumbled out of her mouth. Then, as if on camera, she gave me a sheepish-silly grin and said, “Milky-Milky”, as she pretended to reach for my breasts. To this day, she wil choose to use “Milky-Milky” if she is really wanting to make me laugh. She does not hesitate to pull that one out of her arsenal, regardless of who else may be present.

Oh, I know her game. She likes to disarm me with her humor and then go in for the kill in whatever she may be seeking. However, there are many times she will say or do things with the only intent being to make me smile or laugh.

We all know laughter is good for the soul. But, as I pondered the things I found funny this week, I decided to share the Top Ten things that made me laugh . A few made me laugh so hard I could have peed my pants. Actually, it’s not so much a top ten as the first ten things which come to mind.

10. The Family Guy - a comment about mistaking the intent of the mom’s mowing needs

9. Fancy Catsup

8. Phone calls with friends. *cough* no details

7. A friends quasi-dilemma over being sent extra sex toys with her rubber duckie vibrator.

6. My khaki shorts which now bear a shade of purple. Not a laundry accident!

5. Multiple orgasmic bliss after a series of multiples. It makes me giggle. You can’t pee your pants if you are not wearing any!

4. Eureka - great show and the company I was keeping at the time had me rolling

3. Post Secret (the chicken nugget is still making me laugh)

2. My new co-workers. Apparently, I can be a very funny girl.

1. My kiddos. Always, always, always the best source of humor. My two each day keep the doctor away!

What made YOU laugh this week? What do you find can ALWAYS make you laugh?

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