Random Act Of Kindness Or Minor Misdemeanor?

Refrain from anger, and forsake wrath! Fret not yourself; it tends only to evil.  Psalm 37:8

If a bumper sticker makes fun of, puts down, accuses, antagonizes, rejects, hates, pees upon, or whines about <any topic you can think of>, I’ve seen it on a vehicle in the last few weeks.

To say that I’m tired of these hostile, rude bumper stickers on vehicles would be an understatement.  Really people, get a clue.  Your bumper stickers are not contributing to the national discourse.  They add nothing of value to society.  They are a distraction while driving.  And they’re just plain tacky.

Nope.  I don’t like ’em one bit.  Which got me thinking…

How do I make this situation better?

And here is my solution: a mischievous plan that is delightful in its subtlety and entertaining in its message.  *bwha-ha-ha*   A plan so ingenious that I’m surprised that no one has thought of it before.  A plan so clever that it made the Lawyer Bean laugh and promise to provide legal counsel for me should there be a need.

First, I’d buy a couple dozen of this positive, upbeat bumper sticker and keep them in my car.  Only a cretin could not be charmed by the message: “wag more bark less.”

Then when I see one of these previously mentioned annoying bumper stickers on a vehicle in a parking lot, I’d wander over to the vehicle with one of my more encouraging bumper stickers in hand.  Making certain that I was unnoticed, I’d slap my sweet little oval sticker over the offensive, negative bumper sticker.

And *bam* just like that I’d have quietly neutralized the negativity and made the world a better place– while simultaneously ensuring that I receive one more brownie point in heaven.  Talk about your win-win situation!

So what do you think, gentle readers?  Good idea?  Couldn’t possibly be an act of vandalism with a court date and a fine, could it?  And if so, how much do you suppose I’d have to pay for refusing to let stupid get the last word in– or on, as the case may be?

Making Myself Useful

People think of me at the strangest times.

I received an email from a former boss of mine who I haven’t heard from in five years– haven’t worked for in about two decades.  Not to be cynical, but I figured there was a reason that she thought of me all of a sudden and sent me this email. And I was right.

The first part of her message told me what she and her husband had done. Retired now.  Moved to another state.  Built a house on 10+ acres.  Raising farm animals.

Then she explained that she had written to ask me about events that happened in a bar near where we worked– twenty years ago— when Bailey’s Irish Cream was a new and exotic drink to us. Specifically, she wanted to know if I remembered the names of any of the drinks with Bailey’s Irish Cream in them that we used to enjoy.

I could only think of two drinks, a Nutty Irishman [Bailey’s and Frangelico] and a B-52 [Bailey’s, Grand Marnier, and Kahlua], but I emailed to her what I could remember.  I figured she was hosting some shindig and wanted to have some special drinks.

But I could not have been farther from the truth, as I learned when former boss emailed back and finally told me what she was really up to.

One of her alpacas, named Bailey, had just given birth. And former boss thought that it’d be fun to name her newest little girl alpaca, the daughter of Bailey, after one of those drinks we enjoyed years ago. But former boss couldn’t think of the names of any of them, so naturally she thought of me.

Well, of course. Makes perfect sense.

At first I was a bit miffed about why former boss had contacted me.  But as I got thinking about it I decided that I liked my newfound title of She Who Names Alpacas.  It had a certain ring to it.

So I sent former boss an email suggesting that “Bea,” a shortened form of B-52, would be a good name for an alpaca.  I liked it because I figured that if I was an alpaca I’d want a respectable name– not something silly like Nutty.  Me, a suburbanite, being so knowledgeable about alpacas and all….

Former boss emailed back, said that she liked the name, and promised to send photos of Bea, just as soon as she got around to taking them. Which in my estimation will be about the time Bea becomes a mother herself and former boss, needing yet another “Bailey” name, thinks of me again.

Oh. No. Not. This.

I was shopping for some clothes for me.  I found a few things to try on so I stepped into a dressing room.  At first my focus was on the clothes, but gradually it shifted and I realized that playing loudly from a speaker right above my head was a cutesy, wordy song that I’d never heard before.

So I stopped what I was doing and had a listen.  Big mistake.  Now I have an ear worm… and this is what I’m hearing.

[You’ve been warned.  Click on the link at your own peril.]

I Have A Crush

I was at the supermarket checking out at one of the four U-Scan areas.  I swiped a six-pack of beer across the scanner and it registered the price.  The scanner screen then stopped, waiting for the employee watching over the U-Scans to bypass the need for me to show ID.

But the employee, a kid around 20, didn’t hit the bypass button.

He shouted over to me to show him some proof that I was old enough to buy beer.  At first, I thought that he was talking to someone else behind me who was checking out.

But he wasn’t.

Then I figured that he was joking around with me.  After all, I’m closer to Medicare than the magical age of 21.

But he wasn’t goofing with me.  He was serious.

In fact, by then he’d walked over to me and was standing right in front of me, demanding ID.  So I yanked my wallet from my purse– which caused my lipstick to go flying onto the bagging area of the U-Scan– and started to show my driver’s license to the guy.

But something about the amazed look on my face + the close-up of my wrinkled skin/graying blonde hair must have startled this guy because his demand for my ID suddenly turned into a quiet little question: “Ma’am, are you old enough to buy alcohol?” 

To which I answered a simple little:  “yes.”

And with that, the employee guy picked up my lipstick and handed it to me.  Then he walked back to his U-Scan post where he hit the button that allowed me to buy beer.

I finished scanning my items without incident and put them in my bags.  Then I left the supermarket with a big smile on my face– and a crush on this kid who takes his job very seriously.

God bless him and his bad eyesight.

[WordPress automatically generates suggested tags for each post.  The three it suggested for this post are:  Beer – Medicare – God.  A glimpse into my future, perhaps?!]

The Perfect Color

We’re in the process of redecorating our home.  Instead of the original color scheme of drab taupe/pinkish-beige walls, we’re changing the color scheme to relaxing golden/sandy/khaki colors.

As you can imagine, this project has made me just a bit crazy.  I’m obsessed with choosing the perfect new color for each room.  So we paint large splotches of a potential color on all four walls in the room we’re working on, and then I look at the color in different light for a few days until I decide what I want.

But on Saturday morning I was indecisive.  So very early Saturday morning, before it was light out, I got Zen-Den to paint one more splotch of the potential color on a wall.  I figured that I’d get dressed, the sun would come out, and then I’d give this color one more look-see.

To decide for sure.

Well, as usual, Zen-Den got dressed much more quickly than I did.  And, as usual, he was standing around in the foyer waiting for me to get ready.  He had no idea that I’d stopped for one last glance at our color-to-be, so he shouted upstairs and asked me what I was doing.

To which I answered without one ounce of irony: “I’m watching paint dry.”

Because I was.  Darn it.

Instantly, from below in the foyer I heard Zen-Den burst out laughing.  He realized that I hadn’t a clue what I’d just said– and he could barely contain himself waiting for me to realize what I’d just said.

Eventually I realized what I’d said and started laughing at myself… which made Zen-Den laugh even more about what I’d just said.

And continue to laugh… all the way to the paint store.  Where I’m happy to report that the one of us who wasn’t laughing like a nut purchased the perfect color of paint for our bedroom walls.

So there.  HA!

You Have To Latch On To The Affirmative

You’ll be happy to know that the physical therapist, recommended by my doctor to evaluate my lower back strength and flexibility, has established that I have the hamstrings of a Rockette.”

This is a good thing.

You’ll be equally happy to know that said physical therapist, who is the epitome of tact and grace, did not mention my Mama Cass Eliott thighs.

Not once.

Reflecting on the above I have concluded that: 1) I’ll take good news, no matter how unique, wherever I find it;  and 2) it’s time for me to get walking on a regular basis again.