Saturday, March 26, 2011

Nothing That Can't Wait Until Later

   My husband and I went out to dinner this week to celebrate his break from the Capitalist Machine (aka his job).   We went to a local steakhouse.  Ok, it was a chain restaurant, but since it is in our neighborhood, that makes it “local”. 

   Anyway, we sat down at the bar while we waited for our plastic remote control thingy to buzz that our table was ready.  We ordered two wines, clinked glasses and sipped.  I set my glass down and glanced over the bar area.  There was a couple at a table nearby.   Both the man and the woman were texting on their cell phones.  When they were done, they set the phones down in front of them.  Why?  Why not put them back in their pockets?

   Then I watched a couple sit down next to us.  The woman was texting something irrelevant to someone of little importance while her husband just stood there being ignored.  Truth be told, he didn’t look much like he cared that he was thrown over for a keyboard the size of a fingernail.   

   Right next to that couple was another couple.  The man, a military looking jock with a buzz cut, sat there manipulating his blackberries while his girlfriend sat next to him literally with her mouth open, in a fog.  I watched her for a full minute.  Her hand was keeping her head up, her eyes were unfocused staring at nothing.   She didn’t blink the entire time I stared at her.   Next to her, he just typed away.  

   Back to the couple next to us, she finally finished whatever conversation she was having and put the phone down in front of her.   She took a sip of wine, glanced down at the phone.  Said something to her husband, looked at the phone.  Although she finally set it down, it still dominated her interest.  

    Once we were seated, I looked around.  The couple in the booth next to us munched away, but both had a phone on the table in front of them.  They each periodically picked it up to check on it.  I have no idea what they were looking for or hoping to find.   And I didn’t really care. 

   Meanwhile, I sat at our table with my husband, my best friend.   I wanted to hear what he wanted to tell me.  He was sharing his last day with the company to whom he has given 20 years of his life.  He told me how he said goodbye to his friends, he talked about what he will do in the next few weeks.  He mentioned a couple jobs he would like to pursue.  

   And I soaked up every word.  I love the sound of his voice, I always have.   I love to watch him when he talks about something that excites him.  And I think his eyes are beautiful.  I adore the way he looks at me. 
I was there to spend time with my husband, not my stupid cell phone.  I wanted to know what HE had to say, not what someone else can wait until later to tell me.  

   I abhor the use of cell phones in a place people go to be together and share thoughts with each other.  Why go out and be together if you are just going to sit there checking your stupid phones just in case you hear something more interesting from a person you aren’t even with.  What the hell can’t wait until later? 
If I had pulled out a phone and started checking it while my husband was talking, what message would that have sent to him?   That what he had to tell me wasn’t very important and in the middle of a conversation, I was seeking other companionship by checking my phone to see if someone more fascinating was trying to get in touch with me.   

   Why on earth would I want to send that terrible message to him?  I went to dinner with my husband and during that dinner, I wanted to focus on him and I wanted him to focus on me.  
It is just so disrespectful to the person you are with to keep checking your stupid phone.   Pay attention to the person you are with. You are with them for a reason.  

   Hang up your damn phone.  Turn it off.  Put it in your pocket.  Don’t look at it for an hour.  Quit worrying that you are going to miss something.   Cuz you know what?  You aren’t.  Life isn’t that interesting to require an update every 10 minutes.  You are not that interesting and neither are your friends.  You aren’t going to die if you don’t hear about Betty Sue’s breakup until tomorrow morning.  Just chill.

    We went to the mall today and saw the same thing.  We got a slice of pizza in the food court and sat down to watch all the techies play with their stupid phones.  There was one table of teenage girls that just made me laugh out loud.  All three girls just sat there not talking to each other because they were all texting on their phones.  If you think about it, each girl was with two of her friends, but that wasn’t enough.  Each girl had to pull into the moment someone from another galaxy or zip code because what, her two tablemates were boring?  They weren’t enough stimulation?  Then why be with them?  

    I don’t know, maybe its just me.  But I think you should focus on the person across the table from you. Make that person feel like you find them as interesting as you find your phone.  Respect them by listening to them, making eye contact when they speak, laughing at their jokes and showing them you enjoy their company.  Make them feel loved and important.     

    And if you do keep checking your phone, then leave your friend and go sit on park bench all by yourself.   Obviously the person you are with isn’t important enough to require your full attention.   So just go somewhere that you can be alone with your phone.  Snuggle up to it, have dinner with it.  Text until your thumbs fall off.   I don’t care.  Know why?  Because I am at home, nice and warm with a man who enjoys me just because I am me.

     I love the one I’m with.  At least who I am with is human.   Who do you share your nights with?  


Thursday, March 24, 2011

If You Open It - They Will Come

I was doing my shift at the kitty shelter last night, Focus on Ferals.  One of the residents, Kipton, is on medication this week.   I have to put a little bit of wet food (otherwise known as Gourmet Puree) on a plate, then pour the powered medication over it, mix in all the yummy pharmaceutical goodness and feed it to him.   

Well, the other cats know that what I don't feed to Kipton, they get.  I barely picked up the can and the alert went out!  They started moving toward me, paw by paw, inch by inch.  

I then opened the can and that did it!  The frenzy started.   "Mew", less polite was the "Meow, ahem, I said, me-OW!", and the totally pushy "Hey you there girly human, I am RIGHT HERE!".  Such language...

I started scooping the goop onto some paper plates and they were yelling and closing in on me and one even tried to climb my jeans!  

I suddenly felt like Tippi Hedren in The Birds!!!

they are so cute...



Sunday, March 13, 2011

Daylight Savings - Mind Trick or Real Savings?

Spring forward.  So it will be darker in the morning but stay lighter later.   
All we did was shift the light, not extend it or save it. 

There are still 24 hours in each day.   And we still slept 8 hours last night.  Even if the clock when we woke up says we woke up an hour later.   It was still 8 hours.  If you went to bed at midnight and woke up at 9:00, it is still only 8 hours.  You are not more rested or less rested because the numbers on the clock reflect a different time.  

 I found an article on National Geographic that states that we really aren’t saving any energy by shifting the daylight.  That was the original notion by Ben Franklin oodles of years ago.  And it was again the notion when we extended the amount of months that we live under the premise of daylight savings.   

Yes, it is lighter longer, but now we are waking up in darkness again, so we are using the energy in the morning instead of the evening.  Wash out.  

I am not complaining.  I’ve learned to live with it.  I’m just saying, using the word “savings” is a marketing gimmick.  Still 24/7/365.  No matter how you tick off the minutes of the clock and if your lights are on while you are watching the minute hand.  

Don’t be late for work tomorrow!

Monday, March 7, 2011

Pandora's Pantyhose


Bought a pair of pantyhose last week.  Was in the unique position of feeling good about myself.   Thought I would dress up in a skirt and heels, show the world what I was made of and where I was keeping it.   You know the feeling, don’t you, girls? 

So I took a shower, used the scented shower gel to soften the skin, extra conditioner to soften the hair.   Dried off, scented lotion, scented deodorant (fresh mountain spring laundry on a rainy morning in a meadow or whatever flavor it was).  Then dried my hair, curled it so tight that even Shirley Temple  would have been in awe.  

My makeup was perfect.  My hair was perfect.  I was ready to get dressed.  

I opened Pandora’s Pantyhose.  The evil object jumped out of the package, laid on the floor and stared at me.  A tiny little beige ball.  I picked it up.   I just couldn’t imagine how I was going to get a tiny 4” long pair of nylons onto my considerable bottom half.  If I could manage it, I would simply dub the result as the 8th Wonder of the World.   

So, I sat on the edge of my bed, pointed my toes in a dainty fashion and wadded up one nylon portal.  I slid it halfway up my calf, then pointed the other group of toes, repeated procedure.  

Now my legs were bound together by this strange apparatus wrapped around my calves.  I had to hop down off the bed, tried to take a step and almost fell over.   I managed to work the nylons up to mid-thigh.   Wiping the sudden droplet of sweat from my brow, I bent over and started to work on the right leg again.   Inch by inch I eeked the nylon northward.  

The skirt I had chosen to wear was a beautiful tweed pencil skirt.  One of the few clothing items that actually makes me look thin.  I started chanting to myself, “it’ll be worth it, really, it’ll be worth it.”

The left leg took a wrong turn somewhere.  It was going sideways and just didn’t feel right.  I slid it back down, struggled to straighten it, and started yanking again.  

As I wiped another bead of sweat from my makeup-covered forehead, I cast a weary glance at the sweater I had chosen to pair with the skirt.   Ugh.  It looked hot.  And not in the good fashion-model way.

Tug, tug.  The waistband of this evil product was finally around my hips.   My left leg was going a bit numb, the tight fabric must have been pressing on a random nerve.  Keep pulling, keep tugging.  

Damn, the crotch part was like an inch too low.  I knew it would bug me all day if I didn’t fix it.  And I’d walk like a penguin.   Not classy.  I pushed the fabric down, pulled it back up.  Tug, tug and I was back in business. 

Almost there, another inch or so.  Control top will suck in all my fat, make my tummy look like I do 1,000 sit-ups a day.  Oh yeah, this will be worth it.  

Inch, pull, inch, scoot and *snap*, the waistband is in place!  Voila

I looked down.   When did I grow a second row of boobs?   WTH?   I stomped into the bathroom and looked at the reflection glass.  Pandora’s Pantyhose - what have you done to me?   I see why my stomach looks so flat.  All you did was push all the flab up.  My muffin cup runneth over!!   

Control Top Pantyhose?  B. Freaking S.  Muffin Top Pantyhose is more like it!   


By the way, I still looked fabulous that day.  After I wiped all the sweat off my face, reapplied all my makeup and pulled a tank top out of my closet.   But that is another blog entry.   




Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Did I just see what I think I just saw?


Was that…?  I’m sorry, was that a PINK pick-up truck that I just saw?   Who in the world buys a PINK pick-up truck?!

What?  Oh, it’s not pink? Well, what is it then?   It’s what?  Fuchsia?  A fuchsia pick-up truck?  Is that supposed to make me feel better?

I can hear it now, in a restaurant, the announcement booming over the P.A, “Will the owner of a fuchsia pick-up truck please raise their hand?  Anyone? Anyone?  The owner of a fuchsia pick-up, please raise your hand.”

Yeah – I wouldn’t raise my hand either.    Go get your truck painted heather grey or something manly like that.  

Goob.