Here in Casa de la Robinson Dos, we are connoisseurs of good quality water. Sadly Florida just doesn’t make the grade. Ralphie, my red betta fish, is a water snob. He doesn’t like the water in Florida. Then again, I can’t stand it either. We both wonder if the water here is safe for fish and human consumption.
This never was a problem in Georgia. We loved the water there. I regularly drunk faucet water via a filter. Ralphie’s bowl water came straight from the sink too. If I changed his bowl on Sunday, the water looked pristine and clear for the entire week.
Such is not the case in my home state. The first time I tried the water here, it didn’t taste right, even at water fountains. The taste can only be described as yucky with a hint of eww! Poor Ralphie’s water starts to look murky after three days. Imagine having to live in this water? The little guy can only tolerate it for so long.
I should have known there was something wrong with the water from growing up here. My parents and grandma have always kept case after case of bottled water in their homes. You would think they have stock in Zephyrhills. My dad says the faucet water here is only safe for bathing. I’m not too sure about that either.
Initially, I resorted to buying bottled water for my household of two. That soon became a problem. I drink too much water a day. A pack of 32 bottles may seem like a lot of water, but I drink at least four bottles a day. One pack only lasts me about a week. That doesn’t even factor Ralphie’s bowl water into the equation.
Sure, I could buy cheaper water than Zephyrhills. But why bother? Most of the time its purified water. I hate purified water. It doesn’t taste right. And I don't even like other brands of water. Aquafina, Nestle, and Dasani: all are pitiful excuses of water, if you ask me. Once I even tried “smart water.” I didn’t feel smart afterwards. It probably dropped my IQ that day.
Only in extreme cases will I tolerate other water brands. My first choice is always Zephyrhills (or Deer Park in Georgia). If it’s not spring water, why even drink it? But who has money to spend on packs of water every week? Not me.
So Ralphie and I are lowering our standards a bit. We both just have to tolerate the faucet water. Now his bowl water gets changed every five days. I fill a jug with water and a dash of lemon juice and keep it in the fridge overnight to enhance the taste. It’s not Zephyrhills, but we make it work.
For now, our water snobbery has ended. But occasionally I’ll get us a case of Zephyrhills. Just so we can remember what the finer things in life taste like. One day we shall snob again.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Chronicles of Life … No. 2 dilemma
Pencils are a danger to mankind and should be described as weapons, not writing utensils. Therefore, I am personally boycotting the use of pencils. Oh sure, pencils look all safe and appealing. You sharpen it to a tee and prepare to write away. Don’t fall for it. Pencils will injure you. I have learned one too many times about the dangers of pencils.
My pencil injuries started off with randomly poking myself occasionally. I always seem to write on myself. It’s not so bad with a pen. All I end up with is ink. Write on yourself with a pencil and you get scratches. Really painful scratches that sometimes draw blood and not lines.
Just this week I somehow managed to scrape off a bit of skin on my hand. Don’t ask me how. Of course it bled profusely. I had to treat it with a whole bottle of peroxide and a tube of Neosporin. OK maybe just a capful of each. But the bad thing is the cut is so awkward I can’t get a Band-Aid to stick there. So now I’m walking around with an open wound. Even worse I could cut myself in the same spot again.
However, none of these incidents compare to my worse pencil experience ever. One day I was walking with a pad in one hand, pencil in the other and a camera around my neck. I made a sudden movement to take a quick picture. Before I could push click, I felt a sharp pain shoot up my hand. I thought I was dying. I looked down and realized in my haste the pencil had collided with my hand. In the process, an inch of pencil lead broke off in my thumb. I almost fainted from the sight of it. And I couldn’t get it out.
I thought about calling 911, and then I went into panic mode. I just knew doctors would need to amputate my thumb. I called my parents in tears, but they thought I was over dramatizing the whole situation. Excuse me, but there’s a pencil lead in my thumb. HOW WOULD YOU REACT? Pain soon started spreading to my whole arm. Something had to be done immediately. So I stopped crying long enough to pull the lead out with tweezers. Left behind was a big bleeding hole in my thumb. I probably used half a bottle of peroxide and globs of Neosporin to clean it up.
Currently only two pencil battle scars are visible on my body: my new open wound, and a little gray circle under the skin of my thumb. This will forever serve as a reminder of why I must boycott pencils. Of course I’ll probably be back to using a pencil again in a few days. Scars fade and the gray circle’s not that noticeable. One silver lining is I won’t get lead poisoning. Pencil lead is made from graphite. However, pencils still aren’t safe for human use. At least not for me.
My pencil injuries started off with randomly poking myself occasionally. I always seem to write on myself. It’s not so bad with a pen. All I end up with is ink. Write on yourself with a pencil and you get scratches. Really painful scratches that sometimes draw blood and not lines.
Just this week I somehow managed to scrape off a bit of skin on my hand. Don’t ask me how. Of course it bled profusely. I had to treat it with a whole bottle of peroxide and a tube of Neosporin. OK maybe just a capful of each. But the bad thing is the cut is so awkward I can’t get a Band-Aid to stick there. So now I’m walking around with an open wound. Even worse I could cut myself in the same spot again.
However, none of these incidents compare to my worse pencil experience ever. One day I was walking with a pad in one hand, pencil in the other and a camera around my neck. I made a sudden movement to take a quick picture. Before I could push click, I felt a sharp pain shoot up my hand. I thought I was dying. I looked down and realized in my haste the pencil had collided with my hand. In the process, an inch of pencil lead broke off in my thumb. I almost fainted from the sight of it. And I couldn’t get it out.
I thought about calling 911, and then I went into panic mode. I just knew doctors would need to amputate my thumb. I called my parents in tears, but they thought I was over dramatizing the whole situation. Excuse me, but there’s a pencil lead in my thumb. HOW WOULD YOU REACT? Pain soon started spreading to my whole arm. Something had to be done immediately. So I stopped crying long enough to pull the lead out with tweezers. Left behind was a big bleeding hole in my thumb. I probably used half a bottle of peroxide and globs of Neosporin to clean it up.
Currently only two pencil battle scars are visible on my body: my new open wound, and a little gray circle under the skin of my thumb. This will forever serve as a reminder of why I must boycott pencils. Of course I’ll probably be back to using a pencil again in a few days. Scars fade and the gray circle’s not that noticeable. One silver lining is I won’t get lead poisoning. Pencil lead is made from graphite. However, pencils still aren’t safe for human use. At least not for me.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Chronicles of Life … Dueling Memories
Not so long ago, I was one of the best duelers in the West. At least I was in my mind. Granted, I’ve never actually been there. For me, the West was at my grandparents’ house. There I fought many a battle. My granddaddy often played the villain in our imaginary town, and I was the sheriff. We would fight for the title of “Quickest Draw in the West.”
“This town ain’t big enough for the both of us,” someone would say. “I challenge you to a duel!”
Granddaddy would count out “One, two, three,” and yell, “Now draw!” We both would respond with a loud, “Bang!” as we pointed our weapons (fingers, random objects and of course toy guns).
“Oh you got me!” one of us would yell.
Sometimes Granddaddy would draw first and get me. More often than not, I got him, because I was the quickest draw. Or at least he let me think I was. Dramatics would ensue with his death drop. And oh what a drop Granddaddy could do. He always managed to fall into his favorite chair. Some days he played possum, and would jump up saying I missed him. The duel would have to start anew. After checking to see if he was really gone, I would gallop off into the sunset (actually the kitchen) on my faithful steed Widow Maker.
Now Widow Maker was no ordinary horse. For one thing, she had the head of a horse and the body of a broom. You know those old school stick horses. Nonetheless, I loved Widow Maker to death. Granddaddy would share tales of all the riders Widow Maker took down. She turned many a wife into a widow. Only I was able to calm Widow Maker enough to ride her.
It’s funny how I should think of Widow Maker and those duels after all these years. That was well before my brother was born. I probably was 5 or 6 at the most. Just today, my mom sent me a text message asking if I remembered Widow Maker. Indeed I did. Those fun times with Granddaddy and Widow Maker first came back to my mind on Sunday. While leaving the library, I noticed someone had this giant rocking horse on the back of a truck. Immediately I thought of Widow Maker, Granddaddy and those duels.
These days, I don’t find myself in many duels. My best dueling opponent ever has gone to Heaven. And Widow Maker has long since gone out to pasture. Actually, I think my granny took her to the glue factory. She didn’t like Widow Maker for some reason. Once while cleaning up the house, Granny told Widow Maker to get her behind out the way (in not such nice terms).
I’ll always have the precious memories of my dueling days. And the title of “Quickest Draw in the West.” Don’t believe me? In the words of yesterday, “I challenge you to a duel! One, two, three. Now draw. Bang!”
“This town ain’t big enough for the both of us,” someone would say. “I challenge you to a duel!”
Granddaddy would count out “One, two, three,” and yell, “Now draw!” We both would respond with a loud, “Bang!” as we pointed our weapons (fingers, random objects and of course toy guns).
“Oh you got me!” one of us would yell.
Sometimes Granddaddy would draw first and get me. More often than not, I got him, because I was the quickest draw. Or at least he let me think I was. Dramatics would ensue with his death drop. And oh what a drop Granddaddy could do. He always managed to fall into his favorite chair. Some days he played possum, and would jump up saying I missed him. The duel would have to start anew. After checking to see if he was really gone, I would gallop off into the sunset (actually the kitchen) on my faithful steed Widow Maker.
Now Widow Maker was no ordinary horse. For one thing, she had the head of a horse and the body of a broom. You know those old school stick horses. Nonetheless, I loved Widow Maker to death. Granddaddy would share tales of all the riders Widow Maker took down. She turned many a wife into a widow. Only I was able to calm Widow Maker enough to ride her.
It’s funny how I should think of Widow Maker and those duels after all these years. That was well before my brother was born. I probably was 5 or 6 at the most. Just today, my mom sent me a text message asking if I remembered Widow Maker. Indeed I did. Those fun times with Granddaddy and Widow Maker first came back to my mind on Sunday. While leaving the library, I noticed someone had this giant rocking horse on the back of a truck. Immediately I thought of Widow Maker, Granddaddy and those duels.
These days, I don’t find myself in many duels. My best dueling opponent ever has gone to Heaven. And Widow Maker has long since gone out to pasture. Actually, I think my granny took her to the glue factory. She didn’t like Widow Maker for some reason. Once while cleaning up the house, Granny told Widow Maker to get her behind out the way (in not such nice terms).
I’ll always have the precious memories of my dueling days. And the title of “Quickest Draw in the West.” Don’t believe me? In the words of yesterday, “I challenge you to a duel! One, two, three. Now draw. Bang!”
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Chronicles of Life ... the cook war
An epic battle is upon me. It cannot be won with guns, cannons or violence. Instead it requires preparation, planning and food. Yes, food, glorious food. My mother and I are in a cook war. We are fighting for the title of top chef in the family. Normally my parents never cook, especially when I’m home on the weekend. Then one day that all changed.
A few weeks ago, Ma Dukes decided to cook shrimp etouffee over rice, along with sourdough bread and a Cesar salad. And on a Saturday nonetheless! WHAT? Mind you I was by my lonesome in Lake City and Brother was out of town. She never cooks when we’re around. My poor brother has to cook for himself at home. I’m lucky if I can find a potpie when I visit. It’s been some years since I had a mama cooked meal.
Apparently she can wine and dine her little husband but not her children. She even had the nerve to post pictures on Facebook. Everybody was asking for a plate. It was on like Donkey Kong after that.
I didn't need her little meal anyway. I could cook my own. Immediately I went to the kitchen and pulled out my arsenal of ingredients. The end result was pecan encrusted chicken, seasoned brown rice and a medley of mixed vegetables. I quickly let her know there’s a new chef in town. War was immediately declared.
She accepted the challenge and came back that next week with Tuscan roast pork loin, a wild herb rice pilaf and a vegetable medley of asparagus, squash, broccoli and water chestnuts. It was all good until she busted out with a surprise sneak attack: a rum cake! That blasted cake ruined everything! My meal of chicken jambalaya was good but no match for a cake. She knows I don’t normally bake. Curses! I was foiled this time. She may have won the battle, but the war is far from over.
Today I plan on knocking her socks off with my rosemary-onion roasted chicken. That's all I can share for now lest she steal my menu. Just know it will be a delicious meal.
This cook war is about more than just my mother not fixing a home cooked meal. It’s about respect. My family seems to think I can’t cook. I merely don’t like to cook. I never said I can’t. I did demonstrate my cooking skills on New Year’s Day with this shrimp and rice pilaf dish and oven fried chicken wings. Everyone was surprised I cooked it, but they enjoyed the food. That was just a taste of things to come.
The “Art of War” says you must know your opponent. I know mine very well. Sure, she's got years of cooking experience on me, but I have a secret weapon. It's so secret, even I haven't figured it out yet. But when I do, the cook war will be over.
Only one can be the victor of this war. It shall be me!
A few weeks ago, Ma Dukes decided to cook shrimp etouffee over rice, along with sourdough bread and a Cesar salad. And on a Saturday nonetheless! WHAT? Mind you I was by my lonesome in Lake City and Brother was out of town. She never cooks when we’re around. My poor brother has to cook for himself at home. I’m lucky if I can find a potpie when I visit. It’s been some years since I had a mama cooked meal.
Apparently she can wine and dine her little husband but not her children. She even had the nerve to post pictures on Facebook. Everybody was asking for a plate. It was on like Donkey Kong after that.
I didn't need her little meal anyway. I could cook my own. Immediately I went to the kitchen and pulled out my arsenal of ingredients. The end result was pecan encrusted chicken, seasoned brown rice and a medley of mixed vegetables. I quickly let her know there’s a new chef in town. War was immediately declared.
She accepted the challenge and came back that next week with Tuscan roast pork loin, a wild herb rice pilaf and a vegetable medley of asparagus, squash, broccoli and water chestnuts. It was all good until she busted out with a surprise sneak attack: a rum cake! That blasted cake ruined everything! My meal of chicken jambalaya was good but no match for a cake. She knows I don’t normally bake. Curses! I was foiled this time. She may have won the battle, but the war is far from over.
Today I plan on knocking her socks off with my rosemary-onion roasted chicken. That's all I can share for now lest she steal my menu. Just know it will be a delicious meal.
This cook war is about more than just my mother not fixing a home cooked meal. It’s about respect. My family seems to think I can’t cook. I merely don’t like to cook. I never said I can’t. I did demonstrate my cooking skills on New Year’s Day with this shrimp and rice pilaf dish and oven fried chicken wings. Everyone was surprised I cooked it, but they enjoyed the food. That was just a taste of things to come.
The “Art of War” says you must know your opponent. I know mine very well. Sure, she's got years of cooking experience on me, but I have a secret weapon. It's so secret, even I haven't figured it out yet. But when I do, the cook war will be over.
Only one can be the victor of this war. It shall be me!
Monday, January 18, 2010
A new year theme again
Happy Belated 2010 to my faithful readers (if I may steal a line from Cee, “all four of you”).
I am supposed to “Do It BIG, Then” in all areas of my life this year. Clearly I’ve been slipping on the blog game. Well worry no more. I’m officially back.
Cee is not participating in Writing Wednesday anymore, so official posts will be moved to at least once a week. I’m aiming to keep it on Wednesday, but as the need arises, I will post on other days.
In my quest to “Do It BIG, Then,” I have set a goal of 52 posts this year. So expect several this week. Not all on the same day though. Fan Club Prez dislikes multiple posts as it is, but even more so when I give a three in one special.
Another goal is to write tight. No more 500+ words. This will aid me in my career because space is limited and I have to tell the story as concisely as possible. Don’t worry. It won’t be less than 150.
I hope everyone is enjoying their year so far. If not, take the necessary measures to make it better. I already am by posting back on my blog.
I am supposed to “Do It BIG, Then” in all areas of my life this year. Clearly I’ve been slipping on the blog game. Well worry no more. I’m officially back.
Cee is not participating in Writing Wednesday anymore, so official posts will be moved to at least once a week. I’m aiming to keep it on Wednesday, but as the need arises, I will post on other days.
In my quest to “Do It BIG, Then,” I have set a goal of 52 posts this year. So expect several this week. Not all on the same day though. Fan Club Prez dislikes multiple posts as it is, but even more so when I give a three in one special.
Another goal is to write tight. No more 500+ words. This will aid me in my career because space is limited and I have to tell the story as concisely as possible. Don’t worry. It won’t be less than 150.
I hope everyone is enjoying their year so far. If not, take the necessary measures to make it better. I already am by posting back on my blog.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
chronicles of life ... the new year theme
The passing of another birthday can only mean one thing: a new year! So my year begins Dec. 30. Pop the champagne, blow the noise makers and cut the cake.
It’s time for me to unveil my yearly theme. Every year needs one, or at least that’s my mindset. A theme helps define how you will live the year ahead.
My home slice, Cee, hipped me to the theme game. Right before 2009, she told me her theme was “Living off the Wall.” Her actions that year strongly adhered to the theme, some of which even rubbed off on me. We went on many a road trip in Florida and Georgia while “living off the wall.” Sometimes you’ve just got to step outside your comfort zone. Mind you, nothing we did was illegal or wild and crazy. But we did enjoy the year a lot more.
I was inspired by her quest and followed suit with a theme of my own, “The Year of the Do Better.” Instead of just merely telling others to “Do Better,” I wanted to reach that goal for myself. It wasn’t easy. I tried to do better last year in many aspects of my life. Some were hit or miss, but it’s all a growing process.
For 2010, I have decided to step my theme game up. Earlier this month, my theme came to me. The concept is very simple. If 2009 was “The Year of the Do Better,” then in 2010 I will “Do It BIG, Then!” I’ve done better, now I need to do it BIG!
What is IT, you may wonder? IT is any and everything. Whatever I do, I will not stop at simply doing better. I am going to do it BIG! Work has already begun to fulfill the expectations of my theme.
I will “Do It BIG, Then” when I move to a new apartment Saturday. Gone is this rinky dink, one bed and one bath, dark abyss I live in now. Instead my new apartment is two beds, two baths and in a gated community. Ralphie can have his own room again.
Reading is always something I enjoyed. No more one book every two weeks. I’m going to “Do It BIG, Then” and read 35 this year. All the great writers were great readers.
This year I wrote about 40 notes, maybe half of which I actually liked. There are 52 weeks in a year. The goal is to “Do It BIG, Then” and write at least one note per week.
I could go on and on about how I plan on following my theme. I won’t bore you with my list of 20 theme points (think resolutions but with a way cooler name). Just know in every situation I will “Do It BIG, Then.”
Essentially, I want to challenge and push myself to the limit. How often do we get complacent and settle for the subpar? At times I struggle with mediocrity and a lackadaisical attitude. No more of that. I’m going to “Do It BIG, Then” for 2010. And when the end of my year rolls around, I can proudly look back and say I “Did It BIG, Then.”
It’s time for me to unveil my yearly theme. Every year needs one, or at least that’s my mindset. A theme helps define how you will live the year ahead.
My home slice, Cee, hipped me to the theme game. Right before 2009, she told me her theme was “Living off the Wall.” Her actions that year strongly adhered to the theme, some of which even rubbed off on me. We went on many a road trip in Florida and Georgia while “living off the wall.” Sometimes you’ve just got to step outside your comfort zone. Mind you, nothing we did was illegal or wild and crazy. But we did enjoy the year a lot more.
I was inspired by her quest and followed suit with a theme of my own, “The Year of the Do Better.” Instead of just merely telling others to “Do Better,” I wanted to reach that goal for myself. It wasn’t easy. I tried to do better last year in many aspects of my life. Some were hit or miss, but it’s all a growing process.
For 2010, I have decided to step my theme game up. Earlier this month, my theme came to me. The concept is very simple. If 2009 was “The Year of the Do Better,” then in 2010 I will “Do It BIG, Then!” I’ve done better, now I need to do it BIG!
What is IT, you may wonder? IT is any and everything. Whatever I do, I will not stop at simply doing better. I am going to do it BIG! Work has already begun to fulfill the expectations of my theme.
I will “Do It BIG, Then” when I move to a new apartment Saturday. Gone is this rinky dink, one bed and one bath, dark abyss I live in now. Instead my new apartment is two beds, two baths and in a gated community. Ralphie can have his own room again.
Reading is always something I enjoyed. No more one book every two weeks. I’m going to “Do It BIG, Then” and read 35 this year. All the great writers were great readers.
This year I wrote about 40 notes, maybe half of which I actually liked. There are 52 weeks in a year. The goal is to “Do It BIG, Then” and write at least one note per week.
I could go on and on about how I plan on following my theme. I won’t bore you with my list of 20 theme points (think resolutions but with a way cooler name). Just know in every situation I will “Do It BIG, Then.”
Essentially, I want to challenge and push myself to the limit. How often do we get complacent and settle for the subpar? At times I struggle with mediocrity and a lackadaisical attitude. No more of that. I’m going to “Do It BIG, Then” for 2010. And when the end of my year rolls around, I can proudly look back and say I “Did It BIG, Then.”
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Chronicles of Life ... on TVs this holiday season
Holiday traditions are built around many things. For some it’s in their gift giving. Others incorporate it in their food. In my family, our traditions revolve around the movies and shows we watch. It’s just not the holidays unless we see our Christmas favorites. I present to you the Robinson Family Holiday Viewing List. Perhaps some of these are favorites for your family too.
1. A Charlie Brown Christmas. This is a classic. A tear comes to my eye every time Charlie Brown puts an ornament on his sad little Christmas tree. It reminds us to not let the holidays become too commercialized.
2. How the Grinch Stole Christmas. We watch the animated. It’s all about seeing the Grinch slither like a snake. And why does poor little Max always think he’s going for sleigh ride? Instead, he has to be the reindeer with that one sad antler.
3. A Christmas Story. My mother, brother and I will sit and watch the marathon over and over on Christmas Eve. I think we have to make sure Ralphie is going to get his BB gun and not put his eyes out. My daddy just looks at us and shakes his head. I named my betta fish, Ralphie, in honor of this movie.
4. A Garfield Christmas. Have you ever seen how the grandma laughs? It’s like her whole mouth is eating her head. I don’t know who laughs harder, her or my mom.
5. The Preacher’s Wife. Back before Whitney Houston was a recovering crack head, she had a voice. And she acted decently. The movie is heartwarming. I wish an angel looking like Denzel Washington would come visit my family.
6. Home Alone 1 & 2. I think my dad likes these movies more than everybody else. I feel like we are always watching them. I’m not going to lie, though; these are some of the best holiday movies around.
7. Friday After Next. My parents own this movie. We watch it during Christmas. After Christmas. Before Christmas. Everyone in the family can quote lines verbatim from the movie. Sad, I know. But it brings us oh so close together.
I have several of my own Christmas favorites in addition to the above:
1. Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer. Come on now. You know the Island of Misfit toys does it for you every year.
2. The Year Without a Santa Claus. I know the lyrics and the dance routine to the songs by the Heat Miser and Snow Miser.
3. Frosty the Snowman. I don’t know why I even watch this show every year. I think I just do it out of habit.
4. The Nutcracker. I have to see some variation of The Nutcracker. My grandmother used to take me to see the ballet every year when I was little. It is the very essence of Christmas.
5. A Christmas Carol. I’ve seen the Muppets’ Christmas Carol, A Diva’s Christmas Carol and Scrooged. I watch some variation of this story too. It’s yet another reminder about the true meaning of Christmas.
Whatever your holiday viewing may be, make sure you enjoy it the right way, with your family.
1. A Charlie Brown Christmas. This is a classic. A tear comes to my eye every time Charlie Brown puts an ornament on his sad little Christmas tree. It reminds us to not let the holidays become too commercialized.
2. How the Grinch Stole Christmas. We watch the animated. It’s all about seeing the Grinch slither like a snake. And why does poor little Max always think he’s going for sleigh ride? Instead, he has to be the reindeer with that one sad antler.
3. A Christmas Story. My mother, brother and I will sit and watch the marathon over and over on Christmas Eve. I think we have to make sure Ralphie is going to get his BB gun and not put his eyes out. My daddy just looks at us and shakes his head. I named my betta fish, Ralphie, in honor of this movie.
4. A Garfield Christmas. Have you ever seen how the grandma laughs? It’s like her whole mouth is eating her head. I don’t know who laughs harder, her or my mom.
5. The Preacher’s Wife. Back before Whitney Houston was a recovering crack head, she had a voice. And she acted decently. The movie is heartwarming. I wish an angel looking like Denzel Washington would come visit my family.
6. Home Alone 1 & 2. I think my dad likes these movies more than everybody else. I feel like we are always watching them. I’m not going to lie, though; these are some of the best holiday movies around.
7. Friday After Next. My parents own this movie. We watch it during Christmas. After Christmas. Before Christmas. Everyone in the family can quote lines verbatim from the movie. Sad, I know. But it brings us oh so close together.
I have several of my own Christmas favorites in addition to the above:
1. Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer. Come on now. You know the Island of Misfit toys does it for you every year.
2. The Year Without a Santa Claus. I know the lyrics and the dance routine to the songs by the Heat Miser and Snow Miser.
3. Frosty the Snowman. I don’t know why I even watch this show every year. I think I just do it out of habit.
4. The Nutcracker. I have to see some variation of The Nutcracker. My grandmother used to take me to see the ballet every year when I was little. It is the very essence of Christmas.
5. A Christmas Carol. I’ve seen the Muppets’ Christmas Carol, A Diva’s Christmas Carol and Scrooged. I watch some variation of this story too. It’s yet another reminder about the true meaning of Christmas.
Whatever your holiday viewing may be, make sure you enjoy it the right way, with your family.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Chronicles of Life ... what do YOU want
Christmas is one of my favorite holidays. I love the music, the family togetherness, the food and most of all the gifts. Getting is wonderful, but I especially love giving. The problem is most of my gift recipients are making hard for me to shop for them.
It’s my own fault. I should know the things they like. They are my family. My friend, Cee, does an excellent job of gift giving by keeping track of things people mentioned during everyday conversation throughout the year. If I did that, and shopped year-round for gifts instead of waiting until Dec. 23, I would be amazing! Well I don’t!
Why can’t everyone just give me a list of what they want? I do it every year. My parents received my Christmas/birthday list Dec. 7. Neither they nor my brother extended that same courtesy.
Long ago I gave gifts without asking. Most were hit or miss. There was the era of the homemade gifts like key chains, pot holders and vases. Nothing says “I love you” like a nice homemade gift. Or at least that’s what I thought until my mother said the vases looked like they came from the Dead Sea.
Everyone received unique presents from the art museum gift shop I worked at during college. Then my parents laughed at the nose-shaped eyeglass holders they got one year. I don’t know why. They both wear glasses.
I put a lot of thought into the gifts I made/bought. But I got tired of the smart remarks. Apparently, no one appreciates my thoughtfulness. So I prefer to buy exactly what a person wants.
I’m getting better at buying mainstream gifts, I think. I bought my dad a GPS system for his birthday. It was just what he wanted. I should have saved that as his Christmas present. Now Christmas is nearly here and I still don’t know what to get him. When I first asked he said, “I don’t know.” WHAT KIND OF RESPONSE IS THAT? If you don’t know, then how am I supposed to know?
It would also be nice to receive gift lists featuring items from a variety of price ranges. Whenever I ask my family for gift suggestions, they always remind me that I’m poor. Well then, suggest something that you want and know I can afford. Throw me a bone here.
I give up. Everyone’s just going to get a gift card somewhere. OK probably not. I don’t like giving out gift cards, unless it’s specifically requested. Otherwise it seems so impersonal. Kind of like how bath and body products and shaving kits are the generic gifts.
Gift giving is starting to make my headache and bring down my holiday cheer. Next year I’ll just be the Grinch. Nobody is getting a present from me.
Who am I kidding? I’ll be at the gift giving again by Valentine’s Day. I just like to give gifts. All I want for Christmas is to know what other people really want.
It’s my own fault. I should know the things they like. They are my family. My friend, Cee, does an excellent job of gift giving by keeping track of things people mentioned during everyday conversation throughout the year. If I did that, and shopped year-round for gifts instead of waiting until Dec. 23, I would be amazing! Well I don’t!
Why can’t everyone just give me a list of what they want? I do it every year. My parents received my Christmas/birthday list Dec. 7. Neither they nor my brother extended that same courtesy.
Long ago I gave gifts without asking. Most were hit or miss. There was the era of the homemade gifts like key chains, pot holders and vases. Nothing says “I love you” like a nice homemade gift. Or at least that’s what I thought until my mother said the vases looked like they came from the Dead Sea.
Everyone received unique presents from the art museum gift shop I worked at during college. Then my parents laughed at the nose-shaped eyeglass holders they got one year. I don’t know why. They both wear glasses.
I put a lot of thought into the gifts I made/bought. But I got tired of the smart remarks. Apparently, no one appreciates my thoughtfulness. So I prefer to buy exactly what a person wants.
I’m getting better at buying mainstream gifts, I think. I bought my dad a GPS system for his birthday. It was just what he wanted. I should have saved that as his Christmas present. Now Christmas is nearly here and I still don’t know what to get him. When I first asked he said, “I don’t know.” WHAT KIND OF RESPONSE IS THAT? If you don’t know, then how am I supposed to know?
It would also be nice to receive gift lists featuring items from a variety of price ranges. Whenever I ask my family for gift suggestions, they always remind me that I’m poor. Well then, suggest something that you want and know I can afford. Throw me a bone here.
I give up. Everyone’s just going to get a gift card somewhere. OK probably not. I don’t like giving out gift cards, unless it’s specifically requested. Otherwise it seems so impersonal. Kind of like how bath and body products and shaving kits are the generic gifts.
Gift giving is starting to make my headache and bring down my holiday cheer. Next year I’ll just be the Grinch. Nobody is getting a present from me.
Who am I kidding? I’ll be at the gift giving again by Valentine’s Day. I just like to give gifts. All I want for Christmas is to know what other people really want.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Chronicles of Life ... Barbie girl
Is it bad that I’m almost 25 and still love dolls? Occasionally, I visit the toy section in Wal-Mart and spend a good hour looking at them. I’ve probably scrutinized every brand of doll available. Unfortunately, there are very few I like. Most dolls seemed to have gone downhill.
For instance, baby dolls suck. What child in their right mind wants a fake baby? They weren’t my cup of tea growing up. Most of them, especially Baby Alive, are a little too realistic, and the rest are ugly.
The LIV Dolls are too bland. They all look exactly the same and lack personality. They seem so, well, plastic and doll like.
The Moxie Girlz dolls are Bratz lite. Bratz were hideous! Not to mention slutty. I don’t understand why little girls were crazy over them. But I digress. I see a vision of little girls thinking moxie means you can act grown. Then, I’m going to have to smack the moxie out of someone.
Best Friends Club Ink dolls are actually OK. They make good role models. Wait; can a doll be a role model? Nonetheless, all the dolls have a biography detailing their favorite subjects, personality profile and blah, blah, blah. Honestly, they’re kind of boring.
There is only one hope for doll kind. It is the same doll I have loved all my life. The name you know and trust: Barbie. She is officially the queen of the doll world. Who else in 50 years has had more identities than 50 women?
I got my last Barbie Doll when I was 13 from my granny. It was Peruvian Barbie from the Dolls of the World Series (turns out it’s a collector’s item). I still have that Barbie along with all my others from over the years. Somewhere in my parent’s garage is a bag filled with Barbie, Ken, Skipper, Stacey, Kelley and their friends.
Barbie keeps reinventing the wheel and diversifying because she is timeless. There is a new line called So-In-Style. These dolls are made to accurately reflect African American features. I want one so bad! I even told my parents they could buy me one (they ignored my requests). Walking through Wal-Mart is torture when I get to the Barbie section.
There is only one way to solve my Barbie obsession. I am going to become a Barbie doll collector. I needed a new hobby anyway. There is a collector Web site, newsletter, bulletin board and more. My eye is already on the Barbie Basics line which comes out in 2010. Picture it, Barbies of all shades in little black dresses. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I want the Lt. Uhura Barbie, Alvin Ailey Barbie, Julia Barbie, Pop Life Barbie and so many more. I’ll even go find my old Barbie dolls and work to restore them to their original glory. I want to collect Barbies of every style.
Some dolls run as low as $20. The big leagues are more than $100. My collection won’t be complete overnight. Slowly I will re-emerge myself in the Barbie world. I am, after all, a Barbie girl.
For instance, baby dolls suck. What child in their right mind wants a fake baby? They weren’t my cup of tea growing up. Most of them, especially Baby Alive, are a little too realistic, and the rest are ugly.
The LIV Dolls are too bland. They all look exactly the same and lack personality. They seem so, well, plastic and doll like.
The Moxie Girlz dolls are Bratz lite. Bratz were hideous! Not to mention slutty. I don’t understand why little girls were crazy over them. But I digress. I see a vision of little girls thinking moxie means you can act grown. Then, I’m going to have to smack the moxie out of someone.
Best Friends Club Ink dolls are actually OK. They make good role models. Wait; can a doll be a role model? Nonetheless, all the dolls have a biography detailing their favorite subjects, personality profile and blah, blah, blah. Honestly, they’re kind of boring.
There is only one hope for doll kind. It is the same doll I have loved all my life. The name you know and trust: Barbie. She is officially the queen of the doll world. Who else in 50 years has had more identities than 50 women?
I got my last Barbie Doll when I was 13 from my granny. It was Peruvian Barbie from the Dolls of the World Series (turns out it’s a collector’s item). I still have that Barbie along with all my others from over the years. Somewhere in my parent’s garage is a bag filled with Barbie, Ken, Skipper, Stacey, Kelley and their friends.
Barbie keeps reinventing the wheel and diversifying because she is timeless. There is a new line called So-In-Style. These dolls are made to accurately reflect African American features. I want one so bad! I even told my parents they could buy me one (they ignored my requests). Walking through Wal-Mart is torture when I get to the Barbie section.
There is only one way to solve my Barbie obsession. I am going to become a Barbie doll collector. I needed a new hobby anyway. There is a collector Web site, newsletter, bulletin board and more. My eye is already on the Barbie Basics line which comes out in 2010. Picture it, Barbies of all shades in little black dresses. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I want the Lt. Uhura Barbie, Alvin Ailey Barbie, Julia Barbie, Pop Life Barbie and so many more. I’ll even go find my old Barbie dolls and work to restore them to their original glory. I want to collect Barbies of every style.
Some dolls run as low as $20. The big leagues are more than $100. My collection won’t be complete overnight. Slowly I will re-emerge myself in the Barbie world. I am, after all, a Barbie girl.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Chronicles of Life ... the class cut up
There is just something about hair. The bond between it and a person should not be disturbed. I like to play in mine. Touching it has a soothing effect. I like feeling every little kink and curl. Who would think that’s a crime? Apparently it is if you’re in school.
A Wisconsin teacher cut one of the braids from a 7-year-old student’s hair because she wouldn’t stop twirling it. She made the little girl come up in front of the class, took the scissors and snipped about three inches. Then she told her more would get cut if she didn’t stop. The little girl went back to her seat in tears while all the other children laughed.
After school the little girl told her mother. The mother didn’t even believe the news at first. Who could imagine a teacher that cruel? Mom went to meet and discuss it with the teacher. Ms. Cuts and Such said she did it out of frustration. Is this really how you handle your frustrations? The little girl’s hair is naturally long, but the teacher thought it was fake and therefore OK to cut off.
Overall the teacher didn’t feel like she did anything wrong. The school moved the child to another classroom and is conducting a discipline hearing. The police department has issued a $175 citation for disorderly conduct. Personally, I think the teacher should be removed from teaching period. Obviously, she does not need to work with children.
Hair is a part of your body. If I cut somebody’s finger, that would be a major crime. The same should apply to cutting someone’s hair out of malice. Sure it might not hurt, but hair is a woman’s glory. Some of my friends have a hissy fit if hair dressers cut their hair unsolicited. I don’t even like people touching my hair without permission. They definitely can’t cut it.
This incident could greatly affect the child for the rest of her life. The littlest thing can leave an impression. I know firsthand. My kindergarten teacher made me drink a carton of milk in front of the entire class because I didn’t at lunch. I ended up crying and throwing it all up. To this day, I don’t like milk.
I understand teachers have a lot to deal with. Children these days are little monsters. Maybe the little girl’s hair was disruptive. She did have several beads on the end. The teacher had already kept her from recess because she didn’t stop playing. But shouldn’t the next step have been sending her to the principal’s office?
The mother said the little girl only plays in her hair when she’s nervous. How many times do we do something subconsciously? I bite my lip, play in my hair and even crack my knuckles without thinking all the time. I wouldn’t dare want to do act up in that teacher’s class. What does she do to a child talking too loud? Perhaps we’ll hear of her cutting a tongue next.
A Wisconsin teacher cut one of the braids from a 7-year-old student’s hair because she wouldn’t stop twirling it. She made the little girl come up in front of the class, took the scissors and snipped about three inches. Then she told her more would get cut if she didn’t stop. The little girl went back to her seat in tears while all the other children laughed.
After school the little girl told her mother. The mother didn’t even believe the news at first. Who could imagine a teacher that cruel? Mom went to meet and discuss it with the teacher. Ms. Cuts and Such said she did it out of frustration. Is this really how you handle your frustrations? The little girl’s hair is naturally long, but the teacher thought it was fake and therefore OK to cut off.
Overall the teacher didn’t feel like she did anything wrong. The school moved the child to another classroom and is conducting a discipline hearing. The police department has issued a $175 citation for disorderly conduct. Personally, I think the teacher should be removed from teaching period. Obviously, she does not need to work with children.
Hair is a part of your body. If I cut somebody’s finger, that would be a major crime. The same should apply to cutting someone’s hair out of malice. Sure it might not hurt, but hair is a woman’s glory. Some of my friends have a hissy fit if hair dressers cut their hair unsolicited. I don’t even like people touching my hair without permission. They definitely can’t cut it.
This incident could greatly affect the child for the rest of her life. The littlest thing can leave an impression. I know firsthand. My kindergarten teacher made me drink a carton of milk in front of the entire class because I didn’t at lunch. I ended up crying and throwing it all up. To this day, I don’t like milk.
I understand teachers have a lot to deal with. Children these days are little monsters. Maybe the little girl’s hair was disruptive. She did have several beads on the end. The teacher had already kept her from recess because she didn’t stop playing. But shouldn’t the next step have been sending her to the principal’s office?
The mother said the little girl only plays in her hair when she’s nervous. How many times do we do something subconsciously? I bite my lip, play in my hair and even crack my knuckles without thinking all the time. I wouldn’t dare want to do act up in that teacher’s class. What does she do to a child talking too loud? Perhaps we’ll hear of her cutting a tongue next.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Chronicles of Life ... lack of WWIT
Sometimes it's good to reminisce over the past. It helps provide insight and perspective to your life that can be valuable for the future. Recently, I took a trip down memory lane over my college days. An associate and I looked at various Facebook profiles of acquaintances. It was an enjoyable experience until I realized one tiny detail: I had a crush on almost every single cute (and not so cute) guy.
Some lasted a day and others a few weeks. The longest crush was for three years. Second place came in at about one year. I knew quite a few of the crushes on an associate level, but many more were just guys I happened to see a lot.
No one over the age of 20 should have as many crushes as me, or at least that's what my BFF said. I personally can't be bothered to actually talk to everybody I think is cute. Sometimes having a crush helps weed out candidates. But my constant state of having a crush on someone is a topic for another day. I digress.
My mother says I'm simply boy crazy. I'll cosign to that theory. Since kindergarten I have always had a crush on somebody. This got me to thinking about all my past crushes/relationships/whatever. I now realize some of those crushes were on less than ideal people. I’ve had one too many "What Was I Thinking" moments about the guys I’ve liked.
There was that irritating boy in 10th grade, the holier than thou dude who lived in my dorm complex and the guy who believed he was coming back as a cat. The list could go on and on. Out of an estimated 15 major crushes/relationships/whatever, there were maybe five who didn’t get the WWIT label.
I am greatly troubled by this revelation. Is my taste in men that bad? Do I merely go by appearance when beginning a crush before getting to know the real person? Apparently so.
I blame it on a lack of dating experience. I was a late bloomer. Dating was never really a top priority for me in high school and that extended into college. I didn't go on my first date until I was about 19, and I only went on like two thereafter. Who has time to date when you're always hanging with your friends, trying to make the grade and just enjoying the college life? Several of my friends say I'm on the dating level of about a 16-year-old. Don't teenagers make a plethora of bad dating decisions? At least the majority of mine are bad crush decisions.
Although my choice is some crushes have been really bad in the past, I am glad to recognize it now. Perhaps there is hope for me yet. Could this be a sign that I am leaving the teen years of crushes and moving forward to the adult world of dating and relating? For 2010 I plan to have more WIT, intelligence, when choosing who to date (or even just have a crush on). I don't want to wonder WWIT anymore.
Some lasted a day and others a few weeks. The longest crush was for three years. Second place came in at about one year. I knew quite a few of the crushes on an associate level, but many more were just guys I happened to see a lot.
No one over the age of 20 should have as many crushes as me, or at least that's what my BFF said. I personally can't be bothered to actually talk to everybody I think is cute. Sometimes having a crush helps weed out candidates. But my constant state of having a crush on someone is a topic for another day. I digress.
My mother says I'm simply boy crazy. I'll cosign to that theory. Since kindergarten I have always had a crush on somebody. This got me to thinking about all my past crushes/relationships/whatever. I now realize some of those crushes were on less than ideal people. I’ve had one too many "What Was I Thinking" moments about the guys I’ve liked.
There was that irritating boy in 10th grade, the holier than thou dude who lived in my dorm complex and the guy who believed he was coming back as a cat. The list could go on and on. Out of an estimated 15 major crushes/relationships/whatever, there were maybe five who didn’t get the WWIT label.
I am greatly troubled by this revelation. Is my taste in men that bad? Do I merely go by appearance when beginning a crush before getting to know the real person? Apparently so.
I blame it on a lack of dating experience. I was a late bloomer. Dating was never really a top priority for me in high school and that extended into college. I didn't go on my first date until I was about 19, and I only went on like two thereafter. Who has time to date when you're always hanging with your friends, trying to make the grade and just enjoying the college life? Several of my friends say I'm on the dating level of about a 16-year-old. Don't teenagers make a plethora of bad dating decisions? At least the majority of mine are bad crush decisions.
Although my choice is some crushes have been really bad in the past, I am glad to recognize it now. Perhaps there is hope for me yet. Could this be a sign that I am leaving the teen years of crushes and moving forward to the adult world of dating and relating? For 2010 I plan to have more WIT, intelligence, when choosing who to date (or even just have a crush on). I don't want to wonder WWIT anymore.
Chronicles of Life ... an ideal mate
Everyone should have some set of standards when dating. I’m single and not looking, but I’ve compiled a top 10 list. For the love of cupcakes, right at the top is a man that can bake. I figure if you can bake then you can cook.
I like to eat. I don’t like to cook. I’m also not a fan of going out to eat. By all means, fix pumpkin ravioli with glazed butternut squash on the side for dinner and then a batch of cupcakes for dessert. I have no problem with washing the dishes every night. Cooking is not my forte. And I have realized I get more joy from eating then cooking anyway.
Take for instance breakfast. I don’t eat breakfast mainly because I’m too lazy to get up and cook it. Cereal does not count. I call it a morning snack. I want grits, eggs, pancakes and sausage. I’d even settle for homemade oatmeal and bacon if someone else would make it. I want, no I need, someone that will fix a home cooked breakfast in the morning, lunch in the afternoon and a sensible dinner. OK maybe lunch is asking for too much.
I think I was spoiled from watching my daddy. He knows his way around the kitchen. His sweet potato pies and sausage cornbread dressing are always in high demand. Sometimes I think he cooks better than my mom. Of course she does make a mean lasagna and rum cake too. Together, my parents keep me well fed (when they actually, cook which is few and far between). Even my little brother is quite the chef. I seem to be the only one lacking in the kitchen.
Women are not the only ones that have to do the cooking. Everyone should know their way in the kitchen. Let the better person do the majority of the cooking. Just know it will not be me. I used to think I wanted to become Chef Girlardee. That got stressful real quick. I just don’t have the patience to cook. The key is to know your place in the kitchen hierarchy. For me, it’s washing dishes, taking food out the oven and taste testing.
In recognition of my love for eating, I have decided to pitch a new reality dating show called, “Cook to my heart.” At least 20 chefs (professional and otherwise) will vie for my affection through their meals. They will have to face numerous cooking challenges. Challenge winners receive quality time with me Think Flava of Love meets Top Chef. Players will wear chefs’ hats and remain on the show by being told “My compliments to the chef.” But you get the boot with “Check Please.”
I’m not asking for a top chef, just a good one, someone that can blow in the kitchen. It has been said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. What about the way to my heart? Well if you can cook, then I am hooked.
I like to eat. I don’t like to cook. I’m also not a fan of going out to eat. By all means, fix pumpkin ravioli with glazed butternut squash on the side for dinner and then a batch of cupcakes for dessert. I have no problem with washing the dishes every night. Cooking is not my forte. And I have realized I get more joy from eating then cooking anyway.
Take for instance breakfast. I don’t eat breakfast mainly because I’m too lazy to get up and cook it. Cereal does not count. I call it a morning snack. I want grits, eggs, pancakes and sausage. I’d even settle for homemade oatmeal and bacon if someone else would make it. I want, no I need, someone that will fix a home cooked breakfast in the morning, lunch in the afternoon and a sensible dinner. OK maybe lunch is asking for too much.
I think I was spoiled from watching my daddy. He knows his way around the kitchen. His sweet potato pies and sausage cornbread dressing are always in high demand. Sometimes I think he cooks better than my mom. Of course she does make a mean lasagna and rum cake too. Together, my parents keep me well fed (when they actually, cook which is few and far between). Even my little brother is quite the chef. I seem to be the only one lacking in the kitchen.
Women are not the only ones that have to do the cooking. Everyone should know their way in the kitchen. Let the better person do the majority of the cooking. Just know it will not be me. I used to think I wanted to become Chef Girlardee. That got stressful real quick. I just don’t have the patience to cook. The key is to know your place in the kitchen hierarchy. For me, it’s washing dishes, taking food out the oven and taste testing.
In recognition of my love for eating, I have decided to pitch a new reality dating show called, “Cook to my heart.” At least 20 chefs (professional and otherwise) will vie for my affection through their meals. They will have to face numerous cooking challenges. Challenge winners receive quality time with me Think Flava of Love meets Top Chef. Players will wear chefs’ hats and remain on the show by being told “My compliments to the chef.” But you get the boot with “Check Please.”
I’m not asking for a top chef, just a good one, someone that can blow in the kitchen. It has been said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. What about the way to my heart? Well if you can cook, then I am hooked.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Chronicles of Life ... Pennies From Heaven
We all probably grew up hearing the saying, “See a penny, pick it up, and all the day you’ll have good luck. See a penny, let it lay, and bad luck you’ll have all rest of the day.” However, luck is not a concept I buy. My Granny used to tell me Christians have no need to believe in luck. There is no such thing as good or bad luck. Only blessings and favor from God.
So no, I don’t say good luck. I say best wishes. I’m blessed, not lucky. Yes, I break mirrors without the slightest thought. I cross paths with a black cat quite frequently. I pay no mind to stepping on cracks. I’ll walk under a ladder in a heartbeat, if it’s the quickest route. And a severe rain storm calls for opening an umbrella inside before heading out to face the elements. The only thing I actually do is pick up pennies.
I saw a penny on the ground while walking into Wal-Mart Monday, and I picked it up. But luck has nothing to do with it. Instead it reminds me of a story I once read in a Dear Abby column. A reader sent in a letter saying when you see a penny on the ground it means someone you love in Heaven is thinking of you and wants you to know it. I remember reading this while still in elementary school. I put the story in the back of my mind, until it one day became of use to me.
Sometime later my granddaddy died, which tore me up. I was 12, and that was my first real experience with death. Not long after he died, I saw a perfectly clean penny on the ground. This reminded me of the letter. So I picked up the penny and thought about my granddaddy missing me as much as I missed him. For once I didn’t cry or feel sad. Now I was hooked on the penny legend.
Over the years, several loved ones have died. Each death is never easy, but finding the pennies help provide me with some comfort. When I find a penny, I simply look up and say, “I miss you too,” to whoever sent it. Each penny is attributed to the latest loved one that died.
I have determined this penny is from that same granny that taught me about luck. She died in February 2008. That was yet another hard death for me to take. There are good days when I don’t cry and bad ones that leaving me red in the face from sobbing. I miss her even more during the holidays. By finding that penny, I know she misses me too.
To some this is just a crazy old legend. And I’m crazy for even buying into it. But is it any crazier than believing in luck? For now, I’ll believe in pennies from Heaven. It’s nice to know you’re missed too. Now that’s something I can buy.
So no, I don’t say good luck. I say best wishes. I’m blessed, not lucky. Yes, I break mirrors without the slightest thought. I cross paths with a black cat quite frequently. I pay no mind to stepping on cracks. I’ll walk under a ladder in a heartbeat, if it’s the quickest route. And a severe rain storm calls for opening an umbrella inside before heading out to face the elements. The only thing I actually do is pick up pennies.
I saw a penny on the ground while walking into Wal-Mart Monday, and I picked it up. But luck has nothing to do with it. Instead it reminds me of a story I once read in a Dear Abby column. A reader sent in a letter saying when you see a penny on the ground it means someone you love in Heaven is thinking of you and wants you to know it. I remember reading this while still in elementary school. I put the story in the back of my mind, until it one day became of use to me.
Sometime later my granddaddy died, which tore me up. I was 12, and that was my first real experience with death. Not long after he died, I saw a perfectly clean penny on the ground. This reminded me of the letter. So I picked up the penny and thought about my granddaddy missing me as much as I missed him. For once I didn’t cry or feel sad. Now I was hooked on the penny legend.
Over the years, several loved ones have died. Each death is never easy, but finding the pennies help provide me with some comfort. When I find a penny, I simply look up and say, “I miss you too,” to whoever sent it. Each penny is attributed to the latest loved one that died.
I have determined this penny is from that same granny that taught me about luck. She died in February 2008. That was yet another hard death for me to take. There are good days when I don’t cry and bad ones that leaving me red in the face from sobbing. I miss her even more during the holidays. By finding that penny, I know she misses me too.
To some this is just a crazy old legend. And I’m crazy for even buying into it. But is it any crazier than believing in luck? For now, I’ll believe in pennies from Heaven. It’s nice to know you’re missed too. Now that’s something I can buy.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Chronicles of Life ... the ever changing hair journey
Chronicles of Life ... the ever changing hair journey
I miss my hair. Wait, let me clarify. I miss my LONG hair. I miss twisting it, touching it, washing it, combing it, playing it. You name it, I miss it.
Don't get me wrong, I do so enjoy the short 'fro. It's so much easier to maintain than one of those giant Angela Davis Afros. And I've always wanted to cut my hair. This summer I had motivation to really do it.
My little brother went bald because of chemotherapy, so I cut mine short in solidarity. His hair was gone by the end of July. Mine by August. Then the treatments ended early, and his hair was back by September. Now he's around here making the girls seasick with his waves (the new hair came back just as nice). Yours truly still has the short hair.
I just want my twists back. Is that too much to ask?
Honestly, I'm also bored with this whole short hair thing. There are only so many ways to wear a teeny weeny afro. I know of two. Combed out or wash and wear. I need more than two hair options. Granted, when I had longer hair I only wore three styles (twists, twist out, giant afro puff). But I had the opportunity for more versatility if I wanted to. I feel limited with the short fro. Or at least I just don't know of any other options
Therefore, I am currently growing out my hair. It's time for this to grow. I haven't been to the barber in about a month. However, I barely see any results (except with my eyebrows, which could stand a tweeze or two). Whoever said progress was a slow process was talking about hair growth for women. Men's hair seems to grow 10 inches overnight. I feel like it's going to take me 10 years just to get back to my old chin length hair (when straightened).
The need to play in my hair grows greater by the day. I've started subconsciously making itty bitty twists in my hair. I don't realize it until I look in the mirror and notice my 'fro is all messed up.
Just as soon as I have about one or two good inches of hair, I'm getting it twisted with extensions. Then I'll have hair to play with for days. I have no qualms about adding extensions to my head. I kept my hair braided and twisted up for about a year while growing out my relaxer four years ago. For the record, it was synthetic. No horse or human was hurt in the making of my hair products.
Better yet, I might just get some baby starter locs. Now there’s a new hair challenge for me. I'm always reinventing my hair. I did say I want locs and there is no time like the present. If nothing else, they'll be a little something to twirl around without messing up my hair style. And when I get tired of lock, I'll just cut my hair off again. The hair journey never ends.
I miss my hair. Wait, let me clarify. I miss my LONG hair. I miss twisting it, touching it, washing it, combing it, playing it. You name it, I miss it.
Don't get me wrong, I do so enjoy the short 'fro. It's so much easier to maintain than one of those giant Angela Davis Afros. And I've always wanted to cut my hair. This summer I had motivation to really do it.
My little brother went bald because of chemotherapy, so I cut mine short in solidarity. His hair was gone by the end of July. Mine by August. Then the treatments ended early, and his hair was back by September. Now he's around here making the girls seasick with his waves (the new hair came back just as nice). Yours truly still has the short hair.
I just want my twists back. Is that too much to ask?
Honestly, I'm also bored with this whole short hair thing. There are only so many ways to wear a teeny weeny afro. I know of two. Combed out or wash and wear. I need more than two hair options. Granted, when I had longer hair I only wore three styles (twists, twist out, giant afro puff). But I had the opportunity for more versatility if I wanted to. I feel limited with the short fro. Or at least I just don't know of any other options
Therefore, I am currently growing out my hair. It's time for this to grow. I haven't been to the barber in about a month. However, I barely see any results (except with my eyebrows, which could stand a tweeze or two). Whoever said progress was a slow process was talking about hair growth for women. Men's hair seems to grow 10 inches overnight. I feel like it's going to take me 10 years just to get back to my old chin length hair (when straightened).
The need to play in my hair grows greater by the day. I've started subconsciously making itty bitty twists in my hair. I don't realize it until I look in the mirror and notice my 'fro is all messed up.
Just as soon as I have about one or two good inches of hair, I'm getting it twisted with extensions. Then I'll have hair to play with for days. I have no qualms about adding extensions to my head. I kept my hair braided and twisted up for about a year while growing out my relaxer four years ago. For the record, it was synthetic. No horse or human was hurt in the making of my hair products.
Better yet, I might just get some baby starter locs. Now there’s a new hair challenge for me. I'm always reinventing my hair. I did say I want locs and there is no time like the present. If nothing else, they'll be a little something to twirl around without messing up my hair style. And when I get tired of lock, I'll just cut my hair off again. The hair journey never ends.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Chronicles of Life … the movie critic
Sunday night I went to see 2012. Overall, it was pretty good with its ensemble cast. However, there were still a few flaws I noticed. Some might say I am being too nitpicky, but somebody has to speak the truth. Honestly though, none of my complaints really have to do with the quality of the movie … or do they?
Complaint 1: The movie was too long. Seriously, we all know this is an end of the world movie. How long does it take to depict the end of the world? Surely not 10 hours? Do not go see this movie and drink one of those giant cups of soda. You will have to pee. And don’t think sneaking to the bathroom will solve it. You can go, just like I did during one of those tender “I love you and the world is ending” moments. Just know two hours later the movie will still be going strong and you’ll have to pee again.
Complaint 2: They killed the cute guy. I know, I know, people are supposed to die in this movie. But did the cutest one of all have to go? Johann Urb, plays Sasha, a Russian pilot for some billionaire. Granted he wasn’t a major character. He might have had maybe 30 minutes out of four hours of screen time. BUT HE WAS BEAUTIFUL AND HAD AN ACCENT! Kill somebody else off.
Complaint 3: The kids are annoying. If I’m trying to out drive the Apocalypse, Junior better not get a smart mouth with me yelling, “What are you doing? Go faster.” I will pull the car over, amid tidal waves and earthquakes, and punch him in the throat. If you are not the one driving, then you need to shut up. Talk smack after we survive.
Complaint 4: Some crazy chic keeps worrying about her dog. I’m sorry, but Fluffy would just have to die. Fluffy survived, but did she? I’m not going to spoil it for you. Just know this, every creature for itself.
Complaint 5: I had no one to hear my side commentary. Yes, I talk during movies. My commentary is sometimes more interesting than the actual movie. Since I went alone, and the theater was half full, nobody heard me. OK maybe this isn’t really a complaint against the movie. I’m just saying, my commentary greatly enhanced the “2012” viewing experience.
Complaint 6: People keep dying unnecessarily. Several had a chance at getting away and chose to stay behind! What is wrong with people? This is not a joke. It is the end of world as we know it. SAVE YOURSELF! Somebody has to live to tell the story. By all means, it’s going to be me.
SPOILER ALERT
Complaint 7: Somebody forgot to read the Bible. Genesis 9:11 reads, “And I will establish my covenant with you, neither shall all flesh be cut off any more by the waters of a flood; neither shall there any more be a flood to destroy the earth.” If 2012 is indeed the end, water is not how it will be played out (they even had arks as the escape vessels). I think massive earthquakes and volcanic eruptions would have been a much better choice of destruction.
There you have it folks, my thoughts on “2012.” I really shouldn’t complain about the movie. After all, I only paid $5 to see it. Regal Entertainment Group is doing a promotion where all movie tickets are $5. Somebody call Ebert. I’m about to see every major blockbuster while I can. Expect more from this movie critic.
Complaint 1: The movie was too long. Seriously, we all know this is an end of the world movie. How long does it take to depict the end of the world? Surely not 10 hours? Do not go see this movie and drink one of those giant cups of soda. You will have to pee. And don’t think sneaking to the bathroom will solve it. You can go, just like I did during one of those tender “I love you and the world is ending” moments. Just know two hours later the movie will still be going strong and you’ll have to pee again.
Complaint 2: They killed the cute guy. I know, I know, people are supposed to die in this movie. But did the cutest one of all have to go? Johann Urb, plays Sasha, a Russian pilot for some billionaire. Granted he wasn’t a major character. He might have had maybe 30 minutes out of four hours of screen time. BUT HE WAS BEAUTIFUL AND HAD AN ACCENT! Kill somebody else off.
Complaint 3: The kids are annoying. If I’m trying to out drive the Apocalypse, Junior better not get a smart mouth with me yelling, “What are you doing? Go faster.” I will pull the car over, amid tidal waves and earthquakes, and punch him in the throat. If you are not the one driving, then you need to shut up. Talk smack after we survive.
Complaint 4: Some crazy chic keeps worrying about her dog. I’m sorry, but Fluffy would just have to die. Fluffy survived, but did she? I’m not going to spoil it for you. Just know this, every creature for itself.
Complaint 5: I had no one to hear my side commentary. Yes, I talk during movies. My commentary is sometimes more interesting than the actual movie. Since I went alone, and the theater was half full, nobody heard me. OK maybe this isn’t really a complaint against the movie. I’m just saying, my commentary greatly enhanced the “2012” viewing experience.
Complaint 6: People keep dying unnecessarily. Several had a chance at getting away and chose to stay behind! What is wrong with people? This is not a joke. It is the end of world as we know it. SAVE YOURSELF! Somebody has to live to tell the story. By all means, it’s going to be me.
SPOILER ALERT
Complaint 7: Somebody forgot to read the Bible. Genesis 9:11 reads, “And I will establish my covenant with you, neither shall all flesh be cut off any more by the waters of a flood; neither shall there any more be a flood to destroy the earth.” If 2012 is indeed the end, water is not how it will be played out (they even had arks as the escape vessels). I think massive earthquakes and volcanic eruptions would have been a much better choice of destruction.
There you have it folks, my thoughts on “2012.” I really shouldn’t complain about the movie. After all, I only paid $5 to see it. Regal Entertainment Group is doing a promotion where all movie tickets are $5. Somebody call Ebert. I’m about to see every major blockbuster while I can. Expect more from this movie critic.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Chronicles of Life … the movie watcher
T’is the season of movies. Forget summer blockbusters. I get giddy around the holidays for all the great movies that come out. Especially the ones that open around Thanksgiving and Christmas. I have compiled quite an impressive list of movies I want to see. Some I will probably have to see alone. There is no shame in my game watching a nice matinee alone on a Saturday. Others, hopefully my friends might be interested in seeing too. Many movies spark dialogue and it sucks if no one you know has seen it yet.
My list of movies was compiled based on trailers I’ve seen. I visit Apple.com to watch movie trailers quite frequently. A girl’s got to stay in the know about what’s coming out. Usually, if I like the trailer and go see the movie, I am not disappointed. Of course, there are always a few exceptions to the rules where the trailer was 10 times better than the actual movie (Jumper I’m talking to you). I present to you my movie watching guide in no particular order:
Must see
1. Precious: The first time I saw a trailer, I was hooked. Now I’ve heard all the hype behind the movie and want to see it for myself. It needs to hurry up with this limited release and open up nationwide.
2. 2012: Mass destruction everywhere. What’s not to love?
3. Ninja Assassin: Sometimes I wish I was a ninja. Watching movies with ninjas always intrigue me.
4. The Princess and the Frog: Dear Santa, All I want for Christmas is a Princess Tiana doll. This movie has been the subject of so much controversy. Why is her name Tiana? Why isn’t the prince black? Can I not just enjoy the fact that Disney has a beautiful strong black female animated character? Boycott if you must. I’m going to see it opening night.
5. Avatar: There’s just something about CGI that draws me to a movie.
6. Sherlock Holmes: I never really thought of Holmes as a hardcore, action and adventure dude. But have you seen the trailer? He and Watson are forces to be reckoned with.
7. The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus: In honor of the late great Heath Ledger I shall see this movie. Plus the trailer was colorful enough to lure me in.
Maybe
1. Planet 51: I like cartoons. That is all. OK maybe not. While the trailer was appealing, I might be inclined to wait until it’s at Redbox.
2. Armored: Crime thrillers usually are interesting. I need to check out the trailer again though. This could be one that bores me (like 16 Blocks)
3. Transylmania: I remember watching this trailer and laughing. But is it something I really want to pay to see, or can I wait until it’s at Redbox? That is the question.
I’ve taken a sneak peak at movie trailers for 2010 and already I’m compiling a list. What will I watch next?
My list of movies was compiled based on trailers I’ve seen. I visit Apple.com to watch movie trailers quite frequently. A girl’s got to stay in the know about what’s coming out. Usually, if I like the trailer and go see the movie, I am not disappointed. Of course, there are always a few exceptions to the rules where the trailer was 10 times better than the actual movie (Jumper I’m talking to you). I present to you my movie watching guide in no particular order:
Must see
1. Precious: The first time I saw a trailer, I was hooked. Now I’ve heard all the hype behind the movie and want to see it for myself. It needs to hurry up with this limited release and open up nationwide.
2. 2012: Mass destruction everywhere. What’s not to love?
3. Ninja Assassin: Sometimes I wish I was a ninja. Watching movies with ninjas always intrigue me.
4. The Princess and the Frog: Dear Santa, All I want for Christmas is a Princess Tiana doll. This movie has been the subject of so much controversy. Why is her name Tiana? Why isn’t the prince black? Can I not just enjoy the fact that Disney has a beautiful strong black female animated character? Boycott if you must. I’m going to see it opening night.
5. Avatar: There’s just something about CGI that draws me to a movie.
6. Sherlock Holmes: I never really thought of Holmes as a hardcore, action and adventure dude. But have you seen the trailer? He and Watson are forces to be reckoned with.
7. The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus: In honor of the late great Heath Ledger I shall see this movie. Plus the trailer was colorful enough to lure me in.
Maybe
1. Planet 51: I like cartoons. That is all. OK maybe not. While the trailer was appealing, I might be inclined to wait until it’s at Redbox.
2. Armored: Crime thrillers usually are interesting. I need to check out the trailer again though. This could be one that bores me (like 16 Blocks)
3. Transylmania: I remember watching this trailer and laughing. But is it something I really want to pay to see, or can I wait until it’s at Redbox? That is the question.
I’ve taken a sneak peak at movie trailers for 2010 and already I’m compiling a list. What will I watch next?
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Chronicles of Life ... the barefoot walker
It’s been a while since I’ve walked. I don’t mean across the street and back, but like two and three miles.
In college, I participated in March of Dimes (once even with a broken foot) and the MLK Day march each year. While in Hartwell, I occasionally walked on Lake Hartwell’s dam and in Hart State Park when the weather was just right. Then I got lazy, real lazy. It’s probably been a good year since I walked.
Tomorrow that ends. I walk again to “Light The Night” for my little brother.
Light The Night Walk is a fundraising and awareness event hosted by The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. People walk in the evening to honor those that have battled blood cancers.
My mom always participated in Light The Night with her job just to do some community service.
It really hit home and became important after my brother was diagnosed with Burkett’s Lymphoma in May. This year she decided to branch off from her job and form a team too. Team Amp is made up of friends and family. My brother, Amp (aka Anthony, A.J., The Boy, Brother, Monday, AQ and Brethren) is the official team spokes model, mascot, figurehead, whatever. I know some people on the team, but many more are friends of my mom. Whether we know each other or not, we all have one reason in common for walking: my brother.
Initially there were some discrepancies between him and my mother about who was the team captain. He wanted the title. However, when she told him he could go to all the team meetings he settled for letting her be captain.
I’ve been excited about Light The Night since the team was formed. I was supposed to do some training for the walk, but never quite got around to it. Hopefully, I don’t pass out. Then again, how bad can two miles really be? I think I should be fine as long as I don’t run. A few team members have said they’re going to run. More power to them. I might die. Besides, it’s called the “Light The Night Walk” not "Light The Night Run." I will briskly walk from start to finish.
The team has been formed, the money’s been raised. All that’s left to do now is just walk. But first I need some sneakers. Yes, I have none. One pair, leftovers from college, fell apart. I lost another in New Orleans. Somehow I broke the third pair. Between now and Thursday night I need to buy sneakers.
And I need a walking outfit too. I have absolutely nothing to wear. I can’t just put on jeans and a T-shirt. I need to be comfortable.
Why did I wait until the last minute for all of this? I had several months to get it together. I need to get shoes quick, fast and in a hurry like. Otherwise Team Amp will have one barefoot member.
http://pages.lightthenight.org/nfl/Jacksonv09/sundayluv03
In college, I participated in March of Dimes (once even with a broken foot) and the MLK Day march each year. While in Hartwell, I occasionally walked on Lake Hartwell’s dam and in Hart State Park when the weather was just right. Then I got lazy, real lazy. It’s probably been a good year since I walked.
Tomorrow that ends. I walk again to “Light The Night” for my little brother.
Light The Night Walk is a fundraising and awareness event hosted by The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. People walk in the evening to honor those that have battled blood cancers.
My mom always participated in Light The Night with her job just to do some community service.
It really hit home and became important after my brother was diagnosed with Burkett’s Lymphoma in May. This year she decided to branch off from her job and form a team too. Team Amp is made up of friends and family. My brother, Amp (aka Anthony, A.J., The Boy, Brother, Monday, AQ and Brethren) is the official team spokes model, mascot, figurehead, whatever. I know some people on the team, but many more are friends of my mom. Whether we know each other or not, we all have one reason in common for walking: my brother.
Initially there were some discrepancies between him and my mother about who was the team captain. He wanted the title. However, when she told him he could go to all the team meetings he settled for letting her be captain.
I’ve been excited about Light The Night since the team was formed. I was supposed to do some training for the walk, but never quite got around to it. Hopefully, I don’t pass out. Then again, how bad can two miles really be? I think I should be fine as long as I don’t run. A few team members have said they’re going to run. More power to them. I might die. Besides, it’s called the “Light The Night Walk” not "Light The Night Run." I will briskly walk from start to finish.
The team has been formed, the money’s been raised. All that’s left to do now is just walk. But first I need some sneakers. Yes, I have none. One pair, leftovers from college, fell apart. I lost another in New Orleans. Somehow I broke the third pair. Between now and Thursday night I need to buy sneakers.
And I need a walking outfit too. I have absolutely nothing to wear. I can’t just put on jeans and a T-shirt. I need to be comfortable.
Why did I wait until the last minute for all of this? I had several months to get it together. I need to get shoes quick, fast and in a hurry like. Otherwise Team Amp will have one barefoot member.
http://pages.lightthenight.org/nfl/Jacksonv09/sundayluv03
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Chronicles of Life ... read before burning
You get directions for a reason. Unfortunately, I don't always seem to understand that concept. I usually throw directions aside without as much as a glance. However, I learned the hard way that’s not always a good idea.
Last Friday, I decided to donate blood. It was my first time ever donating. I don’t like needles or seeing my blood drawn, but I set aside my dislike for the greater good.
My little brother had several blood transfusions while going through chemotherapy. Somebody had to donate all that blood. What about the other children or adults out there that needed transfusions? Somebody has to step up and donate for them too. I decided that somebody should be me, so I offered my arm and strong veins for the cause. The bloodmobile wanted 13 donors for the day. Guess who was lucky number 13?
I was extremely nervous, but overall the experience wasn’t that bad. Sure I was poked three times (once to check my iron, then to get my blood type and finally for the donation), but I had the satisfaction of knowing that my amazing O blood helped save three lives.
Before leaving, I was given a sheet with directions on what to do after donating. I stuck it in my bag and went about my business. There it would remain until tragedy struck.
Dizziness suddenly hit me four hours later while I was at work. I stumbled to the bathroom and fell on the floor. I couldn’t even lift my head up. Then I started sweating. The AC was on, but my body was drenched in it. “Lord, please don’t let my mama find out I died in the bathroom,” I thought. Diabetes runs in my family, so I concluded I was going into a diabetic coma.
I lay on the floor for about 45 minutes before trying to head back to my desk. I didn’t make it and went back to the bathroom. I contemplated crawling out and asking someone to take me to the hospital, but I wasn’t sure if my condition was that serious. “I still have stories to write, and a hospital trip might make me miss deadline,” I thought. I am a diligent reporter even in the face of death.
When I made it back to my desk, a co-worker saw all the sweat and asked what was going on. I gave him my diabetic coma theory. He asked if I had looked at the donation directions. Nope.
Apparently, you are supposed to drink plenty of fluids and eat after giving blood. I was in the middle of eating when the dizziness hit, but I had only drunk maybe two juices since donating. Reading the directions would have probably saved me some grief.
Another wave of dizziness hit, and I went back to being one with the bathroom floor. One co-worker kept checking on me until I finally came out. Then the dizziness vanished just as quickly as it appeared. I still felt loopy, but another black out didn’t seem imminent.
The moral of this story is simple: Don’t donate blood! Just kidding. I’ll donate again in December, but this time I’m drinking a 24-pack of water, eating a hearty lunch and READING the directions before tossing them.
Last Friday, I decided to donate blood. It was my first time ever donating. I don’t like needles or seeing my blood drawn, but I set aside my dislike for the greater good.
My little brother had several blood transfusions while going through chemotherapy. Somebody had to donate all that blood. What about the other children or adults out there that needed transfusions? Somebody has to step up and donate for them too. I decided that somebody should be me, so I offered my arm and strong veins for the cause. The bloodmobile wanted 13 donors for the day. Guess who was lucky number 13?
I was extremely nervous, but overall the experience wasn’t that bad. Sure I was poked three times (once to check my iron, then to get my blood type and finally for the donation), but I had the satisfaction of knowing that my amazing O blood helped save three lives.
Before leaving, I was given a sheet with directions on what to do after donating. I stuck it in my bag and went about my business. There it would remain until tragedy struck.
Dizziness suddenly hit me four hours later while I was at work. I stumbled to the bathroom and fell on the floor. I couldn’t even lift my head up. Then I started sweating. The AC was on, but my body was drenched in it. “Lord, please don’t let my mama find out I died in the bathroom,” I thought. Diabetes runs in my family, so I concluded I was going into a diabetic coma.
I lay on the floor for about 45 minutes before trying to head back to my desk. I didn’t make it and went back to the bathroom. I contemplated crawling out and asking someone to take me to the hospital, but I wasn’t sure if my condition was that serious. “I still have stories to write, and a hospital trip might make me miss deadline,” I thought. I am a diligent reporter even in the face of death.
When I made it back to my desk, a co-worker saw all the sweat and asked what was going on. I gave him my diabetic coma theory. He asked if I had looked at the donation directions. Nope.
Apparently, you are supposed to drink plenty of fluids and eat after giving blood. I was in the middle of eating when the dizziness hit, but I had only drunk maybe two juices since donating. Reading the directions would have probably saved me some grief.
Another wave of dizziness hit, and I went back to being one with the bathroom floor. One co-worker kept checking on me until I finally came out. Then the dizziness vanished just as quickly as it appeared. I still felt loopy, but another black out didn’t seem imminent.
The moral of this story is simple: Don’t donate blood! Just kidding. I’ll donate again in December, but this time I’m drinking a 24-pack of water, eating a hearty lunch and READING the directions before tossing them.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Chronicles of Life ... the cook is in
There is a repressed chef somewhere inside of me. I think it's high time I let her out.
Lately I've been having this urge to cook more than just the simple dishes I make for dinner each week. Sadly, I mainly cook variations of baked chicken, brown rice and a green vegetable. My taste buds may not be that great, but a body does get tired of the same old thing.
I want food that touches my soul and my stomach, but mostly my soul. I could probably go to some restaurant and buy that type of food, but I think I want to actually make it.
This newfound desire to cook is a shock to me. I find the entire cooking process to be very challenging. For one thing, cooking stresses me out. I feel like I always have to labor over a hot stove and oven. Then I hate touching food, particularly raw meat. It tends to make me want to vomit. Also, cooking takes me forever. Those recipes that say 20 minutes or less equate to an hour for me.
Perhaps my problems are because I don't cook that often. Partially it's due to laziness. Rarely am I motivated to cook. I have to force myself to cook. I'm only cooking for me. Any meal I cook lasts a few days.
Nevertheless, I am determined to find my inner Chef Girlardee. I just need some taste testers. I used to have a few at my beck and call in college. One got to sample my peach cobbler. Others had my cinnamon pork chops. Some even sampled my chicken pesto. College is all about experimentation. Experiment I did with my cooking. I would take a recipe and add my own flair to it.
College students are more than happy to taste test for a free meal. My testers would tell me what was good or what was bad. I took their constructive criticism and used it to improve a particular dish. Once I graduated, I stopped cooking as much. I was busy with work, and I didn't have any taste testers.
I think I've finally figured out how to balance work and cooking. Instead of cooking because I'm hungry, I prepare a meal in advance and refrigerate it. Planning meals for a specific day also makes me a little more excited. I am determined to try one new recipe a week. Now I just need some new taste testers.
Lately I've been having this urge to cook more than just the simple dishes I make for dinner each week. Sadly, I mainly cook variations of baked chicken, brown rice and a green vegetable. My taste buds may not be that great, but a body does get tired of the same old thing.
I want food that touches my soul and my stomach, but mostly my soul. I could probably go to some restaurant and buy that type of food, but I think I want to actually make it.
This newfound desire to cook is a shock to me. I find the entire cooking process to be very challenging. For one thing, cooking stresses me out. I feel like I always have to labor over a hot stove and oven. Then I hate touching food, particularly raw meat. It tends to make me want to vomit. Also, cooking takes me forever. Those recipes that say 20 minutes or less equate to an hour for me.
Perhaps my problems are because I don't cook that often. Partially it's due to laziness. Rarely am I motivated to cook. I have to force myself to cook. I'm only cooking for me. Any meal I cook lasts a few days.
Nevertheless, I am determined to find my inner Chef Girlardee. I just need some taste testers. I used to have a few at my beck and call in college. One got to sample my peach cobbler. Others had my cinnamon pork chops. Some even sampled my chicken pesto. College is all about experimentation. Experiment I did with my cooking. I would take a recipe and add my own flair to it.
College students are more than happy to taste test for a free meal. My testers would tell me what was good or what was bad. I took their constructive criticism and used it to improve a particular dish. Once I graduated, I stopped cooking as much. I was busy with work, and I didn't have any taste testers.
I think I've finally figured out how to balance work and cooking. Instead of cooking because I'm hungry, I prepare a meal in advance and refrigerate it. Planning meals for a specific day also makes me a little more excited. I am determined to try one new recipe a week. Now I just need some new taste testers.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Chronicles of Life ... trust issues
I think I’m a pretty trusting person. Perhaps too trusting. I’ve gotten in cars with strangers, walked through the drive thru at McDonald’s with strangers and I probably make myself way too accessible to, that’s right, strangers. So I was thrown for a loop when someone recently told me that I have trust issues. Surely not I?
The person came to this conclusion based on how I reacted to him directing my driving. I was blocked in a parking lot and needed to get out. A space diagonal to me opened up, and he was trying to help direct my maneuvering. Cars were on every side, so I had to align my car just right to make sure I didn’t hit one.
Simple enough right? Not for me, the world’s worst driver. I was semi-hyperventilating because I thought I was about to hit the car in front of me. I couldn’t really see how close I was, and he made me nervous with his directing.
I have hit many things since getting a license: parked cars, deer, the Easter bunny, trees and walls. You name it; I probably hit it at least twice. So pardon me if I get nervous when someone is trying to direct me.
It’s not that I didn’t trust his directing. I don’t trust my driving. Sometimes I hear things differently. I think I have verbal dyslexia. Telling me to turn my wheels left might change into a sharp right. It takes a few trips for me to fully be comfortable with someone directing me.
My old road partner, Cee, pointed out I probably would have been OK if she was the one directing. She knows just how bad of a driver I am, after riding with me countless times (and surviving). Cee knows just what to say while directing me to put my bad nerves at ease.
This was only the second time my new road partner had experience my driving. He knows that I’m far from the best driver, just not to the extent of how bad. Had he known, he would have never ridden with me in the first place (just kidding, sort of).
So I don’t have trust issues, right? Well just to make sure, I asked Fan Club President. He said I don’t. So there it’s official. I do not have trust issues. At least ones that I care to admit yet. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Although, I guess if I want to be perfectly honest with myself, I do have some trust issues. Then again, don’t we all. Tell a group of people that a door is locked, and I guarantee most of them will have to check it for themselves. Clearly that demonstrates a lack of trust.
I have many malfunctions that one may call my tragic character flaws: I hold grudges, get mad easily and sometimes just can’t be bothered. However, trust is one thing that is not a major problem. I trust you, unless of course you break that trust. But that’s a post for another day.
The person came to this conclusion based on how I reacted to him directing my driving. I was blocked in a parking lot and needed to get out. A space diagonal to me opened up, and he was trying to help direct my maneuvering. Cars were on every side, so I had to align my car just right to make sure I didn’t hit one.
Simple enough right? Not for me, the world’s worst driver. I was semi-hyperventilating because I thought I was about to hit the car in front of me. I couldn’t really see how close I was, and he made me nervous with his directing.
I have hit many things since getting a license: parked cars, deer, the Easter bunny, trees and walls. You name it; I probably hit it at least twice. So pardon me if I get nervous when someone is trying to direct me.
It’s not that I didn’t trust his directing. I don’t trust my driving. Sometimes I hear things differently. I think I have verbal dyslexia. Telling me to turn my wheels left might change into a sharp right. It takes a few trips for me to fully be comfortable with someone directing me.
My old road partner, Cee, pointed out I probably would have been OK if she was the one directing. She knows just how bad of a driver I am, after riding with me countless times (and surviving). Cee knows just what to say while directing me to put my bad nerves at ease.
This was only the second time my new road partner had experience my driving. He knows that I’m far from the best driver, just not to the extent of how bad. Had he known, he would have never ridden with me in the first place (just kidding, sort of).
So I don’t have trust issues, right? Well just to make sure, I asked Fan Club President. He said I don’t. So there it’s official. I do not have trust issues. At least ones that I care to admit yet. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Although, I guess if I want to be perfectly honest with myself, I do have some trust issues. Then again, don’t we all. Tell a group of people that a door is locked, and I guarantee most of them will have to check it for themselves. Clearly that demonstrates a lack of trust.
I have many malfunctions that one may call my tragic character flaws: I hold grudges, get mad easily and sometimes just can’t be bothered. However, trust is one thing that is not a major problem. I trust you, unless of course you break that trust. But that’s a post for another day.
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