Summer might finally be on the horizon and I realized my stock of tank tops is low. So, today I was browsing the JC Penney website (when I was supposed to be working). The search results came up on the screen and one of them has sleeves. ??
Doesn't that make it a shirt or am I missing something? Or maybe it's a New Fashion Fad - Slanktops!!*
The post is mine, but credit for Slanktops goes to Janice Limbaugh, editor of Wyoming Now/Kentwood Now at WKTV.
I am really tired of the high energy adventure commercials that have at the bottom of the screen in 4 pt font,
"Professional driver, closed course. Do not attempt."
I saw one commercial that showed a skateboarder doing tricks on a ramp. The disclaimer read, "Professional stuntman, do not attempt." Don't they have skateboarding competitions with such stunts? Does that mean we should we close down the competitions?
Going after golfers again. It's because I just don't quite understand the point of golfing. Take that tiny, pocked white ball and drop it on a stick crammed into the grass where it sits immobile (unless there is a strong wind). Next, spend a half-hour practice swinging, digging cleats into the grass pretending to be a baseball player - which every golfer secretly wants to be, otherwise they wouldn't wear shoes with spikes when all they are doing is standing in one place. I mean, how hard can it be to stand in one place for crying out loud? But I digress.
Finally, after the wait, the anticipation and the windup, the swing is taken, contact is made and (if the golfer is any good), the ball goes flying! Mission accomplished.
But then uncertainty and confusion enters the golfer's mind. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. What if I need that ball again? Everyone else on the course has one. I'll be the only one without a ball. They'll all laugh at me in the clubhouse. So, said golfer hops into a cart and at a speed that can only be described as "I'm 90 years old and even I can walk faster than that," the golfer takes off in search of the ball. Should I mention that the carts are electric because a golf course is the only place in the world that a 100% electric vehicle will EVER be accepted by mainstream society? No? Okay, I won't mention it. But it's true.
The panic-stricken and insecure golfer finds the innocent ball lying in the emerald grass. Joy fills the golfer's heart. Yay, I found the ball! I'm one of them again! But you know what? I don't need to be like everyone else. I don't need this ball to be cool. How dare they pressure me into being like them! I'm just as cool without it. Said golfer channels that anger into the iron club he carries with him at all times (which only shows their latent hostilities, because I don't personally know anyone else who walks around with an iron club, do you?). WHACK! And the little white ball goes flying again.
But I did like joking around in the clubhouse over a drink of Arnold Palmer iced tea/lemonade. That sure was a swell time. Maybe I do want to be part of the club. Hmm, I'd better go get the ball. And so the pointless process continues. Hit the ball, chase after it, hit it again, chase after it, hit it again, chase after it.
I guess the game of golf puts into action the phrase, "You don't know what you've got until it's gone."
Why do golfers need it quiet when the rest of the world's athletes play before screaming crowds and those athletes manage to focus and concentrate?
Picture the World Series of MLB: Game 7, bottom of the 9th, score is tied, 2 outs. The batter walks up to the plate. All the pressure on that batter. The fate of the game, the fate of BOTH teams, the fate of the entire season rests on his shoulders. Teammates, sponsors, agents, millions of fans - all screaming at the top of their lungs: "You suck!", "You can do it!", "Your contract is almost up!"
He digs his shoe into the dirt, he swings his bat back and forth a couple times, he centers himself and manages to tune everything out and focus on a ball that is about to come hurling toward his head at the same rate of speed as a car on a freeway.
And then there is the pro golfer. All dressed up in pastel plaids, he strolls out onto the green. He casually drops a tiny white ball down on the tee. Choosing a club from a bag, he takes his sweet time lining up the ball and practicing his swing. He decides when he will hit the immobile little ball. It isn't decided for him at 90 miles an hour. He alone decides. And this decision apparently demands absolute silence.
Just as he is starting his swing, someone in the crowd farts! Gasp! Security rushes over with guns drawn! The fan is promptly arrested and escorted off the green.
I've had reason enough to be tense lately. So I thought I would look into the mysterious world of meditation. Wanting to try something for free first, I hopped onto the website for the local library. It took me to the Lakeland Cooperative website search screen. I looked up 'meditation DVD' and it returned a few hits, displaying that none of the copies were located close by. I would have to request that they be transferred to my library. Instant gratification - denied.
I clicked on one that said it was in Idaho or Pluto or something of equal distance. It said, "on shelf." I clicked on "Place Hold." A message was returned, "We don't have any copies." Huh? I just saw one!
Thinking I did it wrong (but knowing deep in my heart that I didn't), I tried it all over again. KDL.org, 48 digit library card number, Lakeland Cooperative, MetCal (whatever that is), look up the DVD and again got rejected.
I ended up trying three different ways and almost dissolved in to tears, swearing at my laptop and yelling, "it's there! it's there!"
I thought of the irony and just started laughing. I was about to have a stroke caused by the sheer anger of trying to locate a DVD that would relax me. Laughing about it made me feel better and that is when I realized that laughter - not meditation - is the best medicine.
Pearls are incredible. They are the result of the oyster's way of protecting itself from substances that do not belong inside of it. The oyster combats the substance and in doing so creates the indelible pearl. Pearls come in many sizes, colors, and prices. Despite these variations, they always convey grace and beauty, their soft and circular edges in contrast to the jagged harshness of today's world.
So why would anyone associate such nature-generated brilliance that hangs around the neck of royalty with something that catches the monthly excretion of a uterine wall?
I was driving along today and passed a sign I've seen a bajillion times in my travels. Today, I felt the need to say something.
I was driving up a hill and saw this ridiculous sign. Someone spent money to craft a sign that tells me what I am looking at? I can see that I can't see much past the hill! I don't need a yellow sign to remind me of it. And actually, the sign poses a danger by making me take my eyes off the road (with its faulty visability) to read this stupid sign.
They should have signs at the bottom of stairways pointing up with the word "Up". Or how about a sign that says "You Are Reading This".
It could mean Help or it could mean
Secretary of State.In this case, it
My birthday is in a few days and
being the detail oriented person that I am, I JUST noticed (on the paperwork
that the Secretary of State sends six weeks in advance of the birth date) that
I have to renew my license in
So I went down there yesterday.And the SOS did not disappoint! They
were as rude and bored as I expected them to be. First of all, the
first lady I talked to, who gave me my number, talked super fast.It was like three beats between what she said
and my actually processing it.I
understand they say the same things every single day, but I don’t hear those things every
Oh, and the number she gave
me?Zero-Zero. I think karma is trying to tell me something
After about 15 minutes, the counter-help
lady called my number.But to me, it
sounded like someone just said “Hey” really loud so I dismissed it.
She called it again, this time I actually heard “zero.” I grabbed my absolutely
adorable purse from 31, stood up and before I could take two steps, she called
One. I trotted up and said, “hold it, I'm zero.” She said, "Are you zero or one?"
(didn’t we just go through this??) I said, "I'm zero."
She said, "Well I called it twice." I felt like saying ,
"and your point would be...?"
I will admit that the rest of the transaction went smoothly, aside from
the fact that her words were really flat, “sign this”, “pay this”, etc.What cracked me up was when she took my
picture for my license.She told me to
smile. I thought, take your own advice
Wow, can I have the part of my tax
dollars back that went to pay her salary?
And while I was getting said
photo taken, there was a very short and very thin Hispanic man at the counter
next to me, literally with hat in hand.His counter-lady was a very large black woman who looked like she just
found out she was getting audited by the IRS.The contrast between the two was like the gigantic power chair behind a
large desk and the kiddie chair on the other side to make the visitor feel
small and weak.
"Come in lad! Don't let my enormous
chair intimidate you!"
Anyway, I heard her say
to him, “Is it an 0-2 Honda?Which is
it?(dramatic sigh) Gimmie your license,
I’m gonna have to look ALL this up.(another dramatic sigh)if I can
even find any of it.”I thought to
myself, “Wow, you mean you are going to have do your job?You are going to have to perform the tasks
that the state pays you to perform?On a
job, which you have, unlike a hefty bunch of people in our state?(who you can find over at another government
office, the Unemployment Office.They
actually smile over there.)Were we supposed
to feel sorry for this woman?Whatever.
Oh, and I am proud to announce that
my new drivers license photo looks like a "before" picture.
(Before rehab, before Weight Watchers, before hair coloring was invented,
before Prozac was covered by insurance, etc.Pick one, any of them will do).
Hubby and I were driving somewhere the other day. The car is a stick-shift, and I was the driver. As we are humming along down the street, out of the corner of my eye I see him sliding his hand toward me.
His hand landed softly atop mine and I thought to myself, "How sweet! 17 years of marriage and he still does romantic things like holding my hand while driving!"
But then, I realized he was lifting my hand up and moving it to the shifter. He dropped my hand onto the shifter knob and said, "You're in the wrong gear."
Pretty much let the air out of my balloon.
For any men who happen to be reading this, THIS is why women are forced to read romance novels!
Have you ever been driving around and you see one of those signs posted to the light post or a telephone pole that says,
"Queen Mattress $170
I always wonder who these people are that are selling the mattresses. Why are they advertising on street corners in that way? I have to assume that it isn't Art Van or Sealy running around trying to sell their overstock. It just doesn't seem legitimate.
Queen Mattress Sale - Everything must go!
But then I also have to wonder about the consumers who are buying the mattresses from these people. I wouldn't trust even calling the telephone number, let alone actually driving to a dark alley to climb into the back of the abandoned semi trailer to see their stock. This isn't a fruit stand or those velvet paintings being sold out of the back of a van on a Sunday afternoon. This is a mattress. You have it for 10 years, it is as large as the car you intend to strap it to in order to get it home, weighs 400 pounds. You know - a mattress. Yet all they could use to advertise their product in order to get the buyer's attention was a yellow piece of plastic and a Sharpie marker?
My husband and I were driving to the Detroit area last
weekend.I was bored so I passed the
time reading all the billboards.Several of the them were promoting an area university.The advertising money was so well spent that I can’t even remember which college it was (Lansing Community, Michigan State, I don't know).
Anyway, the ad showed a picture of a smiling high school graduate and their corresponding fantabulous grade point average that apparently helped get them into the mystery college.
What caught my attention was that several of these GPAs were over 4.00. One of the ads said the girl
graduated with a 4.75.Not having a
grade point that high, I didn’t realize they could go over 4.00. I thought a 4.00 was like 100% or like bowling a perfect game.
So to me, telling someone you graduated school with a 4.75 grade point average is like telling someone you bowled a game that scored 315 points.