The First Conversation Of The Day

•  Here’s what I said to Zen-Den first thing this morning:

“What do you want to do… oh never mind, we can’t do that.”

•  Here’s what I was thinking as I said what I said:

“What do you want to do…

…it’s cold outside this morning, we should make waffles… yeah waffles… oh no, we don’t have any whole wheat flour or buttermilk to make Alton Brown‘s basic waffles… phooey… hey wait a minute, we could make those cornmeal waffles that are so good with maple syrup on them… yeah waffles… wait… i used all the cornmeal last week to make cornbread to go with the chili… humph… i really need to put those items on the grocery list…

oh never mind, we can’t do that.”

•  Here’s what he said to me upon hearing my statement:

“Of course.”

•  And then here is what he did– and has continued to do off and on for the last three hours.  He stepped away from me as if he was on stage, and started singing/dancing/arm moving to the Backstreet Boys classic hit, “I Want It That Way.” Except that he changed the words to:

“I WANT IT YOUR WAY.”

•  And here is what I’m thinking:

Great idea.  But could you lose the bad singing, goofy dancing and ridiculous arm gestures when saying it.  It’d make me think that you were more sincere– and really meant what you are saying!


Facebook, Friends & Flow Charts

Here’s what I’ve been thinking about this week.  Brought to you by the letter “F.”

• Facebook.  I was talking with a casual acquaintance the other day.  Over the years we’ve gotten to know each other– sort of.  She is nothing if not outspoken.

Often we talk about FB.  It fascinates her that I just left it.  Like that.  No worries, no looking back.  It’s kind of a theme with her.

And honestly, I’m fascinated about why she doesn’t leave FB.  She hates it– complains about it every time we are together.  In fact one of her biggest complaints is that her friends have the audacity to post status updates using words. That they think she’ll read about what they’re doing.  This seems to bother her to no end.  She mentions it often.

So, I asked her straight up why she messes around with something that so clearly upsets her.

And she told me that the only reason she stays on FB is so that she can see the photos that her friends post.  She wants to see these photos so that she can judge how these friends look.  Her word: judge.

Being the polite soul that I am, I just nodded my head up & down, mumbled a vague sort of “uh-huh,” and quickly changed the topic of conversation to something that didn’t give me a glimpse into the psyche of someone so shallow– and probably– more typical than I care to admit.

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• Friends.  I stumbled upon this article: Bitter About Your Life? Blame Facebook.  The subtitle says: “New research suggests heavy Facebook users are more likely to believe other people have happier lives.”  

According to this article, researchers posit that this perception is due to the fact that people see all sorts of happy photos that FB friends post.  Then these people assume that other people are having a better time than they are.  Enter bitter feelings.

Wonder if that is what’s going on with my acquaintance… seeing how she is a nut for photos.

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• Flow charts.  While I was enjoying all that Pinterest has to offer, I came upon this wonderful How to Delete Half Your Facebook “Friends” flow chart.  It is by a blogger named Samantha who keeps a blog called ashore.

I love this chart.  Now I just need to get my acquaintance to understand it and use it.  Might make her happier about her experiences on FB.  Maybe.


The Lighter Side Of Marital Miscommunication

We were watching a football game on TV.  And by we were watching I mean Zen-Den was watching the football game and commercials, while I was looking through a stack of home decor catalogues… and aware that a game was on TV.

In one of the catalogues I saw an outdoor small table with two chairs that at first struck me as something that we might want.  The table and chair were made of metal but looked like twigs had been put together in such a way as to create a table and chairs.  Very chic.  I thought that they might work on our deck over against one wall for me to use at noontime when I’m eating lunch by myself.

So I started to show Z-D the photo of the small table with two chairs, but in mid-show I decided that I didn’t like the table and two chairs after all.

Z-D wasn’t really paying much attention to what I was doing.  No surprise there.  Instead he was staring at a commercial for Cialis— and as with all commercials for Cialis the serious male announcer voice was telling us very important information.

TV commercial:  “Blah, blah, blah… When the moment is right, will you be ready?”

Me, referring to the photo in the catalogue:  “That’d make nervous if I had to look at it very much.”

Z-D, thinking that I’m watching the TV commercial:  “Why?”

Me, staring at the photo:  “Because pieces of it stick out funny.”

Z-D, still thinking that I’m talking about the topic of the TV commercial:  “Why would you care about that?  That’s not your problem.”

Me, getting ready to turn the page in the catalogue:  “Because I’d have to sit on it and that’d be uncomfortable.”

Z-D, finally paying attention to me:  “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

Me, handing him the catalogue with the photo:  “This chair that looks like it’s made of twigs.  Why?  What’d you think I was talking about?”

Z-D, dissolving into laughter: “The commercial on TV for ED.  I thought you were watching it.”

Me, indignant then realizing what I’d just said:  “No, of course I wasn’t watching that… HEY WAIT A MINUTE.  You thought I was talking about THAT?”

Z-D, staring at me in amazement:  “Yep.  And you were darned funny, too.”

Cross Examined At Breakfast

I walked into the kitchen the other morning wearing five pocket straight leg jeans and a t-shirt.  I was carrying my sweater to put on after I ate breakfast, but before I went out the door.  The following conversation ensued.

~ • ~ 

Him:  You have sparkles on your butt.

Me:  [shaking my tail feathers]  You like?

Him:  There’s shiny stuff on your back pockets.

Me:  [reaching for the carafe and pouring myself a cup of coffee]  Pretty, huh?

Him:  What are those sparkles doing on your butt?

Me:  [pushing him aside to get into the pantry]  They’re fashionable.  They’re just there.

Him:  Does your sweater cover your butt?

Me:  [ripping open a breakfast bar and biting into it]  I dunno.

Him:  Well, if it’s long enough your sweater will cover the sparkles on your butt.

Me:  [taking another bite of breakfast bar]  Yes, and if it’s short enough you’ll see all the shiny on the pockets.

Him:  Is that what you want?

Me:  [eating my last bite of breakfast bar]  I don’t care.

Him:  Here, put on your sweater.

Me:  [putting on my sweater]  Okay.  How’s it look?  Sparkles or not?

Him:  Your sweater covers part of your pockets.  You’re only half shiny.

Me:  [slurping my last slug of coffee]  Okie dokie then.  I’m a sparkly half-ass.  It’s confirmed.

Him:  Why’d you buy those jeans?

Me:  [grabbing my purse from the floor where I’d put it beside my canvas tote]  I bought them because they were on sale.  I don’t care what happens on the backside.  I don’t see it.  And they fit really well.

Him:  Hmmm.  Yes, they do.

~ • ~ 

And this my friends is what it’s like being married to a lawyer.  He can’t just say “pretty.”  Oh no.  He has to get all the details first.  Establish a fact pattern.  And then he’ll comment.  If he’s in the mood.

The Story Of How We Got A Color TV

Yesterday after I posted two b&w commercials, I got thinking about the events that lead up to my mother finally allowing us to have a color TV.  I don’t usually talk about my childhood, but just this once I’ll tell you more than you’ll probably ever want to know about me– and how it came to be that my mother allowed the two of us to have an extravagance such as a color TV.

~ ~ • ~ ~

In May of my freshman year of high school we had unusually intense spring thunderstorms.  Very windy, very rainy, with lots of lightning.

Our house didn’t have cable so to get reception our TV had an antennae attached to it.  One night after Mom and I had gone to bed a bolt of lightning hit the antennae, came into the house, and went straight to the TV (which was off at the time).  In an instant, the old b&w TV caught on fire.

The burning TV sounded like someone making popcorn.  In fact, when I heard the popping sound I figured that Mom couldn’t sleep and had got up to make herself a snack.  Naturally, I wanted some of it so I hurried into the kitchen to get something to eat.

But what I found in the kitchen was my mother on the phone with our small town fire department.  They responded quickly and almost the entire fire department arrived to watch our TV burn up.  This was because most of the firemen had heard about how old TVs could catch on fire, but had never actually seen one in real life on fire, so this was a learning experience for them.

They dragged the TV outside into the rain and then axed it to pieces.  There was almost no damage to the inside of the house, but the old b&w TV was toast.

Weird as it is to say, the dramatic end of our TV got Mom and me laughing every time we talked about it.  The whole absurd thing was funny to us.

Already that year: 1) my dad had died after a lengthy illness;  2) I’d had major surgery on my knee;  and 3) while driving into the garage Mom had accidentally run over the family cat [who went on to live a very long and grouchy life].  So having your TV burst into flames seemed rather minor to us.  Just something to laugh about.  Endlessly.

Which was just as well considering that Mom had lots of bills to pay– and getting a new TV was not a priority.  So for the next twelve months we lived in a very quiet home with only the radio, playing cards, boxed games and books for entertainment.

Eventually Mom decided that it was time for us to get a new television.  She and I went to some local furniture/appliance store where we bought a brand-new top-of-the-line [Magnavox, maybe?] color TV.

Our first one.  Finally.

Well, Who’d Of Thought?

For a pleasantly scented work area do this:

  • Go for an early morning walk.
  • Upon returning home but before entering the house– pluck stray dried leaves out of the pot of rosemary that sits on the front stoop.
  • Enter home and immediately go to desktop computer to catch up on email.
  • When finished with email– shower and dress for the day.
  • Return to home office and sit down in front of computer to start day in earnest.

Result?  The most delightfully aromatic keyboard I ever did smell.  🙂

Serenaded By Flugelhornists

We went to a college football game yesterday afternoon.  The weather was clear and crisp with lots of sunshine.  Our club seats were wonderful and the home team won.

After watching the marching bands in the halftime show, I’d had enough of sitting in the sun.  I suggested to Zen-Den that we go inside to the private eating area and get something to eat.  Then I suggested in the most adamant terms possible that we should stay inside in the shade to watch the third quarter on one of the many TVs provided therein.  He went along with my idea because: 1) he’s older now and has learned that when he goes to a game he doesn’t have to watch every second of it live to enjoy the game;  and 2) I mentioned food.

So, in we went.

###

We got our food, found a nice place to sit and were in the process of munching when we heard the marching band.  At first we thought that it was on TV but realized that the noise was getting louder and louder.  [Hello doppler effect.]  The noise was coming from the other side of eating area, so we turned around to see what was happening.

What we saw were 9 members of the flugelhorn section of the home team’s marching band– in full dress band uniform– not quite marching, but kind of kick stepping through the room.  [Think John Cleese in the Minister of Funny Walks.]  They were playing the home team’s fight song–very loudly and not all that tunefully.

It was Monty Pythonesque absurdity at it’s best.  Both of us started to laugh so hard that we were crying.

###

We couldn’t figure out why a roaming band of flugelhornists had chosen to visit the club section of the stadium.  Was this a reward for them or a punishment for them within the band hierarchy?  Was this a reward for those of us who had paid more for club seats– or was it a punishment for those of us who didn’t get invited to the classy box seats on the quiet level above?  Who knew?

Nor could we figure out if these were first team flugelhornists– or, as Z-D suggested, the freshman reserve flugelhornists allowed to strut their stuff later in the game when a victory was certain.  Considering that they weren’t exactly on key, I’m going with freshman reserve.

I suspect that we’ll never know the answers to these probing questions about the inner workings of Team Flugelhorn.  And that’s okay.  I like a bit of mystery in my life.  But what I do know is that we’ll always remember attending this football game– and our chance encounter with a roaming band of very loud flugelhornists.