The Vice President of Wiener Affairs

There I sat, like an idiot, eating my hot dogs, thinking I was appropriately celebrating National Hot Dog Day last Saturday. Today, much to my chagrin, I learned that I’d been misinformed and my celebration was grossly premature.

My downfall into hot dog disgrace began when I went to work today. A co-worker announced to me, “Tomorrow is National Hot Dog Day!” (I have a bit of a reputation for my knowledge and celebration of obscure holidays, so people often call these off-beat occasions to my attention.)

“Nuh-uh!” I responded. “It was last Saturday.”

We argued in this manner for a while until I decided to consult the fount of all wisdom that is the Internet. I found reputable sources citing both dates as the official day for celebrating the Holiest of all Hot Dog-Related Holidays and could not seem to find resolution for my wiener crisis. 

I had no other choice. I took the matter all the way up to the nation’s capital and telephoned the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council in Washington, DC. I decided to call the Vice President of Wiener Affairs. (I figured surely the Council President -“The Queen of Wien,” as she is titled- would be too busy to take my call, with this being the busy hot dog season and all. It’s also National Hot Dog month, you know.) I dialed his desk phone; I didn’t think the matter was urgent enough to call his cell. He answered surprisingly quickly. I introduced myself and explained to him that I, a concerned constituent, was confused about the official date of National Hot Dog Day and requested clarification. He patiently explained that the date changes each year and is dependent on when they (the esteemed members of the Hot Dog and Sausage Council) hold their Hot Dog Day in the capital, which is usually the 3^rd or 4^th Wednesday in July. This year, it will be on July 23^rd.

So, there you have it. It’s tomorrow. And now, I find myself ill-prepared for the upcoming holiday and feeling ashamed of my untimely prior celebration, although I will be definitely be celebrating again tomorrow on the real, true National Hot Dog Day. 

Know Thyselfie

“Selfie.”  Scarcely a day goes by where I don’t hear the word. When I get on social media sites, I am inundated by selfie culture - selfie pictures, people using the word selfie, selfie hashtags… The world has become selfie obsessed! I hear the word again and again on TV, in songs, even in everyday conversation. It’s become a household term and, I dare say, a nation-wide sensation, this concept of the selfie.

But why?

Now, I have no real problem with people taking pictures of themselves. With the cultural expectation of having pictures of your face on the Internet combined with the digital means to take as many pictures as you want with the capability of instant review and no worry of cost or hassle to get the pictures developed, I get it. But why are we (the collective societal “we”) so enamored with the concept? Is it the cute little name we’ve given it: “selfie”? Or perhaps calling attention to it masks the shame involved for selfie posters, those who might feel the sting of vanity involved with posting photographs they obviously took of themselves, but it’s not enough to keep them from showing those photos to their friends and family, so they sort of hide the shame out in the open by pretending they are just indulging a silly new fad – the selfie craze. Just some theories…

Surely I can’t be the only one who is dumbfounded by the cultural obsession, the mass selfie appeal. Right?

Oh, well. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I call this artistic self-portrait "Bathroom Selfie."

Excuse Me, Do You Work Here?

Everywhere I go, I seem to get asked the question, “Excuse me, do you work here?” This happens to me all the time. I mean, All. The. Time. And I never do. Work there, that is.

Today, I went to the craft store in my bed clothes – sweat pants, an old t-shirt, flip flops, no make-up. This was one of those quick outings for emergency art supplies on which I was hoping not to run into anyone I know. As I was trying to make a speedy exit from the store, I was stopped by an older gentleman. “Excuse me, ma’am, do you work here?” The employees at this particular craft store wear blue vests. I was not wearing a blue vest, or even the color blue at all. I told him that I did not work there. He pointed to the employee working at the cash register, indicating that he could identify store personnel, and said, “Well I guess there’s just one employee here, and she’s busy at the cash register. I’m looking for the craft paper, and I know it’s over that way somewhere.” He gestured to one side of the store. I apologized that I could not help him, wished him luck in his search, and suggested that he head in the direction which he was pointing.

This kind of incident happens to me on a very regular basis, especially in grocery and retail stores. I don’t think it has anything to do with my appearance, because it happens whether I am dressed professionally or casually, in my PJs, holding my purse, pushing a buggy full of groceries, or checking items off of my shopping list. It often happens in places where the employees wear distinctive uniforms, and I am dressed quite differently. It used to baffle me, but now I’m rather used to it. People regularly stop me and ask me if I am an employee, or they just assume that I am and ask me to help them. I often get asked questions such as, “Where could I find the toilet paper?” or “Where do y’all keep the dish soap?” Luckily for these misguided shoppers, I am quite familiar with the layout of my local grocery stores, and I am more than happy to help a lost patron find their way. Most times, I don’t correct them and tell them that I am not an employee, just a private citizen also shopping for toilet paper; I just go with it, show them to the TP, and politely thank them for their business. I do, however, draw the line at carrying their bags to the car.

The only theory I can come up with as to why this happens to me so often is the way I carry myself. I guess you could say that when I am shopping, I walk with a sense of purpose. I usually know where I’m going and head to my destination without hesitation. I suppose that could give me a sort of “I am working, not shopping” vibe. I wonder if this kind of thing happens to other people as much as it happens to me. When you shop, do you frequently get mistaken for a sales associate? Or is it just me?

Take a Peep

It’s Easter time, and that means it’s Peep season! I love Peeps so much!  I definitely prefer the chicks to the bunnies. In my opinion, they are so much more adorable than the bunnies, and they have a better ratio of marshmallow to sugary coating because they are thicker in the middle. I also think they’re funner to eat because of their little tails. I like to eat the tail first, right around the fold, leaving an odd sort of serpentine chicken head. That is, if I’m eating the Peep raw. My absolute favorite way to eat a marshmallow Peep is to toast it. I like to put it on a spit and slow roast it over an open stove eye until its little eyes melt off, it becomes slightly plump, and its sugary coating begins to caramelize. Delicious! But, if I have to eat my Peeps raw, I prefer them slightly stale. I am not the only one who feels this way. There are entire Internet forums dedicated to this topic. And, I apparently have too much time on my hands.

This is what a Peep looks like when toasted to perfection. 

Over the last couple of years, I’ve been noticing new and bizarre flavors of my favorite Easter delicacy. Although my interest has been piqued, I hadn’t dared purchase any of these deviant new flavors just for myself. However, recently, I bought three of the wacky new flavors for the kids at work, and, of course, I sampled the leftovers. The following is my review of the flavors Sour Watermelon, Sweet Lemonade, and Party Cake (both raw and toasted).

Left to right: Party Cake, Sweet Lemonade, Classic Pink, Sour Watermelon - sitting on the stovetop, awaiting their fate. 

Sour Watermelon:

A pink marshmallow with bright green sugary coating. Based on the name, I was expecting something quite sour, but I found this Peep to be pretty mild. To me, it was reminiscent of Watermelon Bubble Yum. It was okay raw, but I don’t recommend toasting this one. It was like hot, melty watermelon gum.

Sweet Lemonade:

A white Peep with yellow flecks on the coating. This peep had a nice, subtle lemon flavor, which, as far as I could tell, was only in the coating. The inside just tasted like a regular marshmallow. Overall, it was pleasant when enjoyed raw, but when toasted, it was transformed into a lovely lemon meringue dessert, which I very much enjoyed. 

Party Cake:
Teal green exterior with multi-colored flecks; cream-colored on the inside. This peep tasted just like birthday cake. There’s not much else to say about it. Toasted, it was nothing special, just tasted like toasted marshmallow and birthday cake. 

I’d have to say that the classic toasted Peep is still my favorite. I’ve seen other varieties, like Blue Raspberry and Bubble Gum, but I doubt I will end up trying them. 

Christmas Traditions

Here I am, chillaxin’ in my comfy PJ’s, sipping on hazelnut coffee, listening to Andy Williams, and feeling super Christmassy. The only thing that I am missing is basking in the soft twinkly glow of the lights on my Christmas tree, but there is a man in my living room wearing nothing but underpants and an Xbox headset playing Grand Theft Auto and talkin’ smack about the mamas of his virtual playmates, and that can be quite a buzzkill when one is trying to engage in quiet and cozy Yuletide reflection. So, I’ve retreated to my Lady Room (think: opposite of a Man Cave) to wax nostalgic and ponder on all my favorite things about Christmas. Sure, there are doorbells, and sleigh bells, and schnitzel with noodles, and those things are fine and all, but not my favorites by any stretch of the imagination. I do enjoy a good cream-colored pony, though… 

(For a list of my favorite non-Christmas-related things, click here.)

The things I like best about the Christmas season are the festive traditions that just make you feel so Christmassy you can hardly stand it, like making and decorating cookies, trimming the tree, and watching classic holiday movies and listening to the songs that you only get to enjoy for a brief season out of the year - oh so familiar, but just as exciting as if hearing them for the first time. I sure get sappy around the Holidays, especially when it comes to my own personal little traditions. One thing my husband and I do every year is drink eggnog and listen to Christmas music as we decorate our tree, and then we gather ‘round the freshly trimmed Tannenbaum to gaze upon it and sing “O Christmas Tree.” (Except the only words we know are “O Christmas Tree”, so we just sing that over and over.) We do this whether we have a full-size, decked out tree, or it’s a battery-operated, dollar store, fiber optic, tabletop number.

We have other little traditions like reading the Nativity story first thing every Christmas morning, then exchanging gifts (one of which is always a specially chosen ornament that I get for my sweetums every year), putting festive clothes on my dogs, and watching “A Christmas Story” back-to-back all day on TBS. But, my favorite family Christmas tradition is Carpenters Christmas Krystalstravaganza. This takes place each Christmas Eve Eve (December 23). When night falls, we get into the car and drive around listening to Carpenters Christmas songs, looking at Christmas lights, and eating Krystals hamburgers. It’s magical.

Oh, I get all sentimental just thinking about it! I love having our own especially special traditions. And, I love hearing about other people’s unique traditions. What are yours? Please share them. Pretty please…with a candy cane on top?

Fun Fact: 

This blog entry contains the word “Christmas” 18 times.

Related videos:

Krystal:

Merry Christmas, Y'all!

A Blog of Epic Porportions

I am a self-proclaimed logophile. (It’s true; just look at my “About Me” paragraph.) But as much as I love words and language and value the vital role that words play in expression, there are certain words and phrases that just get under my skin. A couple years ago, I wrote an article about my frustration with the popular phrase, “I know, right?” (See: Raise your hand if you’re sure.)

Other nerve-grating lexical peeves include such atrocities as “amazeballs” and “awesome-sauce.”

I don’t hate all made-up or misused words. I understand that the English language wouldn't be what it is today without these occasional, and usually forgivable, offenses. Certain locutions, though, just get my blood a-boilin’, and one such example is the recent epidemic of a gross overuse of the word “epic.” Am I the only one who’s noticed this? It seems like, according to so many (often young) people, everything is “epic.”

-“Man, that tuna fish sandwich I had for lunch was epic!”

-“That staring contest was totally epic!”

-“Dude, let’s watch a rerun of Full House! It’s gonna be epic!”
-“I know, right?”

What??

While I appreciate a healthy amount of zeal for life and all its little blessings (including tuna fish), I think there’s a chronic social misunderstanding of the definition of the word “epic.” Perhaps a more appropriate substitute would be “enjoyable” or “satisfactory.” Not everything can be epic. If everything becomes epic, then nothing would be epic, and even the most epic of things becomes mundane. Can we maybe all agree, as a culture, to stop perpetuating this nonsense, and if necessary, consult a thesaurus to arrive at more suitable words to describe everyday situations?

The Butterfly Effect

A few weeks ago, I took a trip with my mom and sister to visit my grandma in Indiana. Looking out of the car window over the course of our 5-hour drive across 3 states, I noticed hundreds of bright yellow butterflies. I was spotting them every few seconds, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups. I’d never seen such a thing, and the fact that the phenomenon spanned such a large region made me curious. Could this be symbolic somehow? I like to think I’m a pretty pragmatic sort of gal, and I normally do not search for nor stumble upon any kind of meaningful symbolism in everyday situations, but it was as if all these butterflies were trying to slap me in the face with their tiny yellow wings, saying, “Pay attention! We’re trying to tell you something!”

I pointed out the butterflies to my traveling companions. I mentioned to them that when I see butterflies, I often think of my papaw who passed away several years ago. At his funeral, someone who eulogized him compared him to a butterfly, and that always resonated with me. It was my papaw’s home that we were on our way to visit. My mom surmised that perhaps the butterflies were a sign that my papaw was watching over us on our trip. But, I wasn’t so sure.

I continued noticing the yellow butterflies throughout our stay. One morning, I was sitting on the porch with my grandma, mom, and sister when a large yellow butterfly flew right up to us. It almost flew into my mom’s face, hovered there for a moment, then flew amongst the rest of us before taking off. This sealed my suspicions. There was some kind of meaning attached to these butterflies, and I wanted to find out what it was. I wanted to look up the possible symbolism on the internet, but I would have to wait until I got back home to do my research.

When I got home, I immediately consulted the wisdom of the internet. In conducting my search about the symbolism of yellow butterflies, I found many ideas, but some of the more common themes included rebirth and guardian angels. Then, I read an account of someone who found themselves suddenly and mysteriously surrounded by yellow butterflies, then told by an anonymous stranger that being surrounded by the butterflies meant that “everything would be okay.” I pondered on all this for a while, and it seemed like the basic gist of the message delivered by the butterflies was, “Everything will be okay.”

While the massage may seem flat on the surface, I think it is hugely profound and comforting. I think that God sent a message to me (Ms. Pragmatic) and my family that because we are reborn in Him, we can rest in Him and have peace and comfort knowing that, overall, “everything will be okay.” I talked with my sister about this, and she said that she came to the same conclusion and also felt like the butterflies were there to get my attention so I could hear this Divine message. I still think it must sound a little crazy, but I was reflecting on all of it the other day in a particular state of emotional turmoil, and I thought about how when life’s circumstances become tumultuous, I can have rest in God. And that’s true whether or not it took a fleet of butterflies to keep that in my mind.

While we were on that trip, my mom told me a lot about how stressful her job was becoming and how she was sure she’d have to find a new place to work. She was very distressed. Shortly after coming home, her whole perspective changed, and she reported a new peace about her job. It had seemed as if her situation was hopeless before, and suddenly, she felt that God had helped her find happiness. I immediately thought of the yellow butterflies, particularly the big one that so prominently approached her that morning in Indiana.

I am very thankful for the special message to me and my family. Yellow butterflies will always be special to me and will forever remind me that “everything will be okay.”

Romans 8:28 – “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

Give Me Five!

I often get into ruts where I don’t blog because I think, “Who cares? Why would anyone want to hear what I have to say about the lost art of gold leafing?” (That’s just an example of course. This entry will not be about gold leafing.) I think to be a blogger is to be at least a little narcissistic. You have to be to expect that people are interested in your writing, especially the kind of writing where you talk about yourself to no end. All that being said, this blog entry highlights the overall subject of this entire blog…ME!

You know what I like? I’ll tell you what I like, and I’ll do it in list form. Why? Because I love lists! I categorize my whole life in “Top 5” lists. This is actually only partly because I adore lists. The other part is that I can’t make up my dang mind about much of anything. Or can I…? No, I’m pretty sure I can’t. When people ask me about my “favorites,” I respond with a list of my favorite Top 5 in the subject.

So, since you’re reading MY blog about ME, I will give you some of my Top 5 lists. These are not ranked, because, well, that would defeat the purpose…

Top 5 Favorite Musical Artists/Groups

1.       Michael Jackson     

2.       Beach Boys

3.       Billy Joel

4.       Elton John

5.       Charlie Daniels

Top 5 Favorite Foods

1.       Food Lion Brand Premium Heavenly Hash Ice Cream

2.       Snickers Ice Cream Bars

3.       Chocolate Chip Cookies

4.       Fried Chicken

5.       Avocados

Top 5 Favorite Movies

1.       The Wizard of Oz

2.       Finding Nemo

3.       Pee Wee’s Big Adventure

4.       The Fugitive

5.       Rate Race

Top 5 Favorite Colors

1.       Pink (Well, look at me being all decisive!)

Top 5 Favorite Animals

1.       Elephants

2.       Koalas

3.       Dogs

4.       Unicorns

5.       Pigs…but only cute ones

Top 5 Favorite TV Shows

1.       Laverne & Shirley

2.       Wheel of Fortune/Jeopardy (Yes, I count them together. If you watch one, you watch the other.)

3.       Seinfeld

4.       Family Feud

5.       I Love Lucy

Top 5 Favorite Books

1.       Olivia by Ian Falconer

2.       Olivia Saves the Circus by Ian Falconer

3.       My Point…and I Do Have One by Ellen DeGeneres

4.       The Hobbit by J.R.R.Tolkien

5.       If You Give a Mouse a Cookie by Laura Joffe Numeroff

(I think so much can be said in the few short pages of a children’s book.)

Top 5 Favorite Songs

1.       Good Vibrations (Beach Boys)

2.       This Just In (or whatever that beepy little song is they play on newscasts)

3.       Devil Went Down to Georgia (Charlie Daniels Band)

4.       The Theme Song to Hawaii Five-O

5.       A Fifth of Beethoven (Walter Murphy and the Big Apple Band)

Top 5 Favorite Gummy Bear Colors

1.       Red

2.       Orange

3.       Yellow

4.       Green

5.       Clear

Well, I hoped you learned something about me, since you are obviously interested if you’re still reading. Or maybe you’re just nosy? Either way, I like to write about myself, and you read it. That’s what blogging’s all about, right?

Ok, one more list!

Top 5 Reasons You Might’ve Read This Blog Entry

1.       You find me interesting and mysterious.

2.       You are dazzled by my hilarious wit. 

3.       You are nosy.

4.       You read this whole thing before you realized I am not Tina Fey.

5.       You are stalking me. 

Fiddle-Dee-Dee!

“What’ve you been up to?” This question always makes me feel like I’ve been put on the spot. When asked, I usually answer by saying something like, “Oh, same old, same old, you know…working.”  The inquiry tends to emerge when I encounter someone I haven’t seen in a while. (And I, too, am a frequent asker of this spot-putting-on question when I happen upon an infrequently-encountered friend.) I feel that I haven’t seen you in quite some time, Reader, and so I predict the question will inevitably soon come up. So, I’ll just go ahead and volunteer the information. Here is an update of my most recent goings-on…

For the most part, I’ve been busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest! I’ve been up to my eyeballs with my work as of late. When I’m not working, I generally keep myself pretty busy doing things like throwing wild, extravagant parties, finally finishing the kitchen remodel I started over a year ago, trying to lose the 20 pounds that have found me over the last year (I keep trying to give them the slip!), or engaging in one of my 42 hobbies (See previous entry - Holly Hobby). I’ve also especially been focusing on my musical career.

A year ago, I wouldn’t have called myself a musician. In fact, I’m not certain that I’m allowed to call myself one now, but I guess it just depends on who you ask. By my definition, if I can understand the basic mechanics of a musical instrument and can play songs on it, then I am a musician. I suppose some people might define it as someone who earns income by playing their instruments, but this isn’t their blog, now is it?

I’ve always wanted to belong to that oh-so-elusive club… “Musicians.” My family was always a rather musical bunch (and I mean that in a non-flatulent way), but for most of my life, I didn’t really have the desire to get on board the soul train, unless you count singing. However, that’s all changed lately. You might say I’ve turned over a new musical leaf. I started playing harmonica about a year and a half ago, and I’ve really made some good progress lately (See previous entry – I Want to Play My Harmonica). But since the beginning of this year, my main focus has been on my fiddling. It’s too bad you can’t play harmonica and fiddle at the same time. You’d need one of those harmonica holders that sits around your neck, but you need your neck to play the fiddle.

I first picked up a fiddle about 3 years ago, but I found it hard to try to teach myself to play, so my passion for the strings simmered on the back burner for much of that time. I guess you could say I just sort of fiddled around with the instrument from time to time. (Get it?? Fiddled?!) This year, though, I’ve become a dedicated fiddler and have taken lessons and everything. Now, I’m sawing that thing and playin’ it hot!

Now, I’m no Charlie Daniels or anything by any means. But, I’m on my way. So, if you ever want to play in Texas, give me a call. You’re going to need a fiddle in the band.

Me n' my Cherokee Fiddle. 

She's Like the Wind (Da Do Run Run)

Today, I went for a run – a real, honest-to-goodness RUN. Normally, when I say I’m going for a “run,” I lace up my athletic sneakers and go for a nice medium-paced stroll (with plenty of stops to admire the foliage along the way). But not this time, no siree, Bob! I ran. (Okay, jogged…same thing, right?)

I despise running. I’ve often joked that the only time you’d probably ever see me running is if someone was chasing me with a big knife. I also run like the Dickens in short bursts whenever I see a bee. (I have a bona fide phobia.)

So, why the change of heart? Well, two reasons:

1.  I am coming to an age where this expertly whittled waistline of mine no longer comes quite so naturally. I fear that my routine afternoon strolls are no longer enough to keep me svelte.
2. I want to run a 5K! They’re so in vogue! I’ve seen photograph after photograph on my social media outlets of people sporting headbands, sunglasses, and colorful blotches of chalk, looking proud and accomplished after a 5K race. I want to join their ranks.

One big thing seems to stand in my way: asthma. When I initially began entertaining the idea of taking up running, I wondered if it might help with my asthma symptoms. You know, toughen up the ol' lungs and whatnot. I’m not what you might call a “mild” asthmatic.  I always keep an inhaler handy in case of an attack, and while they don’t happen super-duper frequently, they can be quite severe. Much of the time, my asthma is exercise-induced. I get winded just walking the 50 feet from my car to the donut shop.

But, asthma be darned! Running a 5K is my (latest) dream! I will be so hip in my own sweatband and sunglasses, racing alongside all the other runners. Me…a runner! It will happen. I started my training today. I’m using the popular training plan, Couch to 5K. It’s not for the faint of heart, I tell ya. They must think some pretty in-shape people are sitting around on their couches, not a bunch of tater-chip-lovin’ asthmatics like me. Nevertheless, I will complete this program if it kills me! (And it very likely will.) I almost got through the first day’s training exercises today! Although it felt like sheer torture, and I ended up having to give up early, I must say that my lungs did feel stronger and clearer when I finished. But, then again, that could be because of the half-cartridge of Albuterol I sucked down 5 minutes into my workout.

The first workout consisted of alternating between jogging and walking. The walking part was ok. I like walking…that is, until I’ve alternated it with jogging for nearly 20 minutes. My shins felt like they were going to explode beneath me! About a mile from my car, I thought I might have to be left for dead on the park trail. I had to take a good long rest before I could muster the strength to make it back.

I realized during my run that I don’t have the proper gear. I have the shoes. I bought them last November when I first decided to pursue this goal. But, I apparently lack the appropriate running pants. It’s no good to have to hold your breeches up while you’re running. Having my fanny pack flapping around wildly as I ran only added to the pants-on-the-ground dilemma. I don’t know how other runners (runners…such as myself…) keep track of their belongings. I’ve never seen another runner with a fanny pack. Where do they keep their keys? Their inhaler? Their emergency Twinkies??

But, I really want to run a 5K, so I guess I gotta keep on keepin' on and complete the redonkulous training program. I am a runner now. Maybe I’ll see ya on the trail!

“A Higher Plane of Existence” (Or “These Tacos be Loco!”)

In keeping with the theme of blogging about life and its meaning, I would like to share some things about a related topic that is very dear to me: Dorito tacos.

I don’t know about you, but when Taco Bell announced its launch of the original Dorito Taco, life suddenly seemed to make so much more sense to me. Two of my favorite things in this world, Doritos and tacos, had finally been combined for the whole world to enjoy! The only thing I questioned was why it took mankind so long to finally accomplish such culinary perfection. My mom used to make taco salad with Doritos, and I loved it, but Taco Bell took this magnificent combination and put it in a convenient fast-food package. Genius. However, a while after the initial excitement over my beloved Dorito tacos, I found that, somewhere deep within my being, there was still a vague and lingering void, some sense that there must be even more to life. Today, I found it: Cool Ranch Dorito tacos. I now feel that my life is complete.

After my enlightening Cool Ranch Dorito taco experience today (a day earlier than the “official” launch date, might I add), I feel that I am now truly “living mas,” and I was inspired to compose a poem…

Ode to Dorito Tacos

Not nachos, chalupas, nor even burritos,

Can compare to a taco that‘s forged in Dorito. 

An explosion on each of my taste receptors!

Girded in cardboard hand protector,

Whether classic nacho or cooler ranch,

Not a speck of Dorito dust will sully my hands.

You deeply move me, my beloved taco,

Like Elaine’s boyfriend, Brett, and the song “Desperado.”

You may be skeptical of words so trite,

But believe you me, it was love at first bite.

Long gone are the days when the burger was king,

All Hail the Dorito taco, who reigneth supreme!

I would like to point out that I am in no way endorsed by Taco Bell. (Although, TB, if you’re looking for a spokesperson, I’d be more than happy to be your Jared Fogle.)

Waning Melancholy

A year ago, I waxed melancholy on my blog for the first time. (See Waxing Melancholy) In that entry, I vaguely pondered the fluidity of importance and cyclical nature of humans. I also posed the question of whether my values might be different in a year from the time I composed the entry and whether I might again value the things I found important a year prior. Well, here we are, one year later. So??

I must say that many of the things that were weighing heavily on my mind a year ago still plague me today. I find it very interesting that I just so happened to go back and read that old blog entry and find that it just so happens to be a exactly a year later, and I just so happen to’ve been writing about very similar issues lately related to regrets, failure, etc. Coincidence? Perhaps.

To be candid, it’s been a heck of a year for me, full of what people often call “trials.” I just call it life. Aside from all the environmental turmoil of life, I’ve spent a lot of the last year in what might look like an identity crisis to an on-looker. Generally, I’ve been in a more philosophical mindset and have been getting back in touch with the creative aspects of my personality that felt squelched over a period of several years. For a while, I got very caught up in my “image,” trying to conform to an ideal that I thought was acceptable to and esteemed by society.  In the first several years of my early adulthood, I felt that I must put what I saw as childish things aside and become a responsible grown-up, forsaking the unconventionality and quirkiness that had characterized my childhood and adolescent years.

I grew up being called “weird.” As a child, I embraced the word. I reveled in being different from my peers. I felt special because I was my unique self. As I entered adolescence, I began to feel self-conscious to stand out from the crowd. I tried to lay low in the mainstream, but that seemed ineffective, so I did my best to blend in with various counterculture groups. After high school, I cursed my wild and free spirit and decided that I would do anything in my power to be just like regular old everybody else. I wanted to be normal and boring. It was so foreign to anything I’d ever known. My highest aspiration was to become just like one of the soccer-mom-looking ladies on the covers of those generic recipe magazines they sell at the grocery store checkout. Long gone were the days of childhood dreams of growing up to become a world-renowned scientist/first female President of the United States/game show host. I wanted a normal career, a perfect and traditional family, and a quiet little life in Suburbia. I bought khaki slacks and loafers and button-down blouses. I traded in my facial piercings, homemade belts, and off-beat purses for an understated silver necklace and wristwatch. I cooked. I cleaned. My hair, make-up, and fingernails were simple and plain. The majority of my creative expression was channeled into Martha Stewart-type home crafts or into teaching Children’s Church. I was miles away from the boisterous little girl I once was, always ready for jokes and adventure. Anymore, in social situations, I just smiled politely and proficiently engaged in all the expected and cliché small talk.  

After a while of living as a Stepford wife, I realized that I was denying my true self and that trying to live as this unrealistically “perfect” and painfully boring stereotype was killing me inside. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but it is as if I woke up one day and realized that there was so much more to life, and I was so busy worrying about being just a certain way that I WAS MISSING IT!! I was wasting an incredible amount of time worrying what other people thought about me, and I had lost focus on the pursuits that I truly enjoyed. There are SO many interesting things in this world, and having perfectly pressed creases in the sleeves of my all my blouses is NOT one of them!

I guess that’s all part of what was on my mind a year ago when I wrote the Waxing Melancholy entry. I feel that over the last couple of years, I’ve begun taking more risks, being truer to myself, and carpéing more diem. Although, not playing it safe can lead to an increased risk for failure and pain, but those are part of life, and by experiencing them, I feel more like I am living. It’s better this way. 

Cinematic Amnesia

You see, I have this problem. I have virtually no memory for movies. I call it “Cinematic Amnesia.” I enjoy the experience of watching a movie; I just can’t remember anything about it unless I’ve seen it numerous times. A side effect of my affliction is a social impairment stemming from the fact that my condition prohibits me from participating in conversations about movies. People will often ask me if I’ve seen or liked certain movies, and I honestly can’t remember.  I’m a horrible conversationalist when the topic is movies.

The bright side of having Cinematic Amnesia is that I can watch the same movies again and again. I often get all the way to the end of a movie, then think to myself, “You know what? I’ve seen this before!” A lot of times, I watch previews of movies and exclaim to my companions, “That looks good! I think I’d like to see that,” before they remind me that I have already watched, sometimes quite recently.

I think part of the problem is that movies are so darned long! I do much better with commercials. I can remember a commercial! As a child, I would run around singing every jingle from every commercial on TV. Actually, I still do that. I am plagued by ADD. I am too distractible. My mind has far too much opportunity to wander during a 2-hour movie.  As a therapist who works with a lot of ADHD kids, I have come to realize how distractible I really am compared to most people and how much of a problem I have staying focused.

HEY!! When did this blog entry become about ADD?? (Yes, I am fully aware that the condition is now called ADHD. I just dropped the ‘H’ because it doesn’t apply in this case. Besides, it’s an informal blog entry, not something to be published in an academic journal.)

Anyway…What was I saying? Oh, yes…something about distractibility. I have heard it said that people with ADD don’t have a problem because they can’t pay attention to anything; rather, the problem is that they pay attention to everything. When I watch a movie, every little thing the characters do or say starts my mind on a new train of thought that inevitably reminds me of something else to think about, and before I know it, I’m not paying a bit of attention to the movie. I do the same thing with books. Especially fiction. I tend not to read a lot of fiction. If I do read fiction, I like to read children’s books, probably because the chapters are short and they are fast-paced for the short attention span of children and other people with short attention spans… I also tend to start a lot of books at one time, usually without finishing many of the books I start.

HEY!! When did this blog entry become about books??

Anyway…What was I saying? Oh, yes…children’s books. I’ve always wanted to write children’s books. It’s something I think I could actually complete, because they’re usually short. I tend not to finish a lot of the projects I start. I’ve been sitting on an idea for a children’s book for quite some time now. I have lots of ideas jotted down on hundreds of post-it notes that I stick in my pockets, my wallet, my purse…I also have about 12 different notebooks going, full of all kinds of ideas. I’m always writing down ideas. I often write myself notes on my hands. The problem with that is that I wash the notes off before I ever take any kind of action. Who knows what kinds of great ideas I’ve had only to be washed down the sink? And I’m always misplacing my pens. The other day, I couldn’t find a pen or paper, so I wrote myself a note on my hand with lipstick. Needless to say, that one got washed down the sink. But, I digress.

Anyway…Seen any good movies lately?

Holly Hobby

Can a person have too many hobbies? If anyone would know, it would be me. I’m what I call a “hobbyist,” meaning that one of my chief hobbies is collecting hobbies. I’ve taken up countless hobbies, most of with which I never get too deeply involved.  I tend to get really gung-ho about something, decide I want to fully pursue it, and then get distracted by something else. This is very frustrating to my husband, who over the years has witnessed me dedicate much time, space, and money to various abandoned pursuits. What can I say? I’m a Renaissance woman with a multitude of interests! I’ve compiled a list of my current hobbies. (List-making is a hobby of mine, you know.) These are the hobbies which I am currently pursuing, just beginning to dabble in, or haven’t completely abandoned yet:

1. Hobbying (collecting hobbies)
2. List-making
3. Writing
4. Drawing
5. Hula-hoop making
6. Hula-hooping
7. Harmonica
8. Fiddle
9. Painting
10. Miscellaneous crafting
11. Cooking
12. Baking
13. Hiking
14. Running
15. Blogging
16. Planking
17. Owling
18. Singing
19. Rock collecting
20. Coin & currency collecting
21. Plant identification
22. Clover hunting & collecting
23. Learning American Sign Language
24. Puzzles
25. Jewelry making
26. Reading
27. Nail art
28. Wine connoisseurship
29. Seashell collecting
30. Amateur linguistic phonology
31. Telekinesis
32. Drugs
33. Sex
34. Rock ‘n’ roll
35. I’m just kidding about those last 3.
36. Or am I?
37. Are you still reading this?
38. DIY home improvement projects
39. Pet photography
40. Radio surfing
41. Observing obscure holidays (Today is National Pickle Day!)
42. Celebrity impressions (I do a mean Aaron Neville, let me tell ya.)

Again, those are just my current hobbies, not the ones I’ve long since given up (e.g. sculpting, phrenology, building a time machine…) I think I have a problem. It can be frustrating to have so many unfinished projects, but then again, I’m still young, and hopefully, I’ll have a long life ahead of me to devote to my pursuits. I'm counting down the days till retirement and becoming a full-time hobbyist!

This is a picture of me planking on planks. [Not recommended for the novice planker.]
I will now try to include photos on all blog posts in case you want to link to my blog on Pinterest! (You know, if you want...no pressure.)

Secret Ingredient Chili

It seems like everybody’s got a “secret ingredient” that makes their chili superior to everyone else’s. Some use chocolate; some use beer…sugar…soda… We’ve all heard the stories of these unusual additions jazzing up the ho-hum, everyday chili recipes that we’re used to.  Well, I was making chili this evening, and I thought to myself, ‘Let’s put some of these secret ingredients to the test…Ah, heck! Let’s just throw ‘em all in there!’ As I was standing over my bubbling cauldron, cackling proudly at my brilliant creation, I decided to call it “Secret Ingredient Chili.”

When I was done making my masterpiece chili, I had the idea to see how much popularity it can gain on the Pinterest, so I am posting it on my blog. I think it’ll really take the Pinterest-world by storm. It’s delicious! So good it’ll make you smack your grandma! Guaranteed to snag you the man of your dreams and win you first prize in the chili cook-off at the county fair!*

(I didn’t really measure the amounts of ingredients as I was cooking, so the recipe below is my best estimate of how you, too, can create “Secret Ingredient Chili” at home.)

“Secret Ingredient Chili”

1 lb ground turkey (or beef…I used turkey)
1 small onion, chopped
1 c diced bell pepper (yellow, red, and orange)
2 cloves minced garlic
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1 packet mild chili seasoning mix
1 tsp red pepper flakes
1 can beer
½ can cola
2 cans light red kidney beans (drained)
2 cans diced tomatoes
2 Tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder
2 Tbsp sugar
1 Tbsp chili powder
1 tsp garlic powder
Salt & pepper

Ok…I’ll do my best to describe how I made this chili. I’ve never done a recipe on my blog before…

Heat the olive oil in a Dutch oven on high heat. Add the onion and bell pepper. Season with salt, and sauté until peppers and onions begin to soften. Add the garlic and red pepper flakes, and continue to sauté until fragrant.

Add the ground turkey to the pan. Season with salt, pepper, and Worcestershire sauce.  When the turkey is browned, stir in chili seasoning mix, garlic powder, chili powder, and cocoa. (I would’ve skipped the seasoning packet and developed my own seasoning blend if I’d known I was going to publish this recipe, but I’d already bought the packet. You could increase the amount of garlic and chili powders and add cumin if you prefer.)

Alright, here comes the good part! Pour in the beer! I used Yuengling Light, because that’s what I had in the fridge. I reckon you could use whatever beer you like. I bet a stout beer would taste very good in this chili.

Next, stir in the beans and tomatoes. At this point, when I was making my chili, I noticed a half-full can of coke on the counter and decided to pour that in as well. I think it was a good decision. I tasted my chili, and it begged for a little sugar, so I gave it a few shakes from the sugar canister, which I also feel  was a good decision.

Reduce the heat, and simmer the chili for about 1.5 hours.

Voila!

I suggest serving with a spoonful of sour cream and a corn muffin.

Disclaimer: No grandmothers were actually smacked due to the consumption of this chili.

*Guarantees not redeemable for value of any kind. 

Cold Enough For Ya?

I have been pretty bummed about the non-operational status of our air conditioner for the last couple of weeks. If you are wondering why I might need air conditioning in the Fall, then you obviously ain’t from around here, and consequently, you know not about Tennessee weather.  There is a precise pivotal moment every Fall in Tennessee in which the weather goes from about 90° to 50° in an instant. Everyone looks around, thinking to themselves, ‘Boy, it sure did get cold all of a sudden!’ This occurs every October, and this year, it happened this past Saturday. So for most of the last 2 weeks, my house has been a sweltering hot box, and I’ve done what I can to keep the temperature down – opened the windows, run fans, etc.  

No air conditioning also means no heat. Since the pivot, it’s been getting pretty cool around here. This morning, the temperature was about 40° (a blistery, wintery cold in these parts).  I felt a chilly bite on my toes after getting out of bed, which means that it is time to bite the bullet and get the heat/air fixed.  I’ve been putting it off as long as possible. When things around the house stop working, I try to look at the bright side. ‘Think of all the money we’re saving on the power bill,’ I tell myself. ‘That will help pay for the upcoming repair. And hopefully, this cold air will help with our bug problem!’ (In case you’re wondering, it’s not the kind of bug problem you get from your house being nasty…It’s a different kind of bug problem. Don’t judge.) One way I try to look at the bright side is to reminisce about all the worse household problems we’ve had in the past.

“This is not nearly as bad as those winters we went without heat,” I said to my husband. “It was much colder then. Remember?” (As if he could forget. He stays bundled up with a space heater under his desk all summer.) “Or the whole summer we went without air conditioning and we slept on the living room floor in front of the open front door with a box fan? Or those years when we only had enough hot water to fill up a sink? Remember trying to take baths by heating up water in pots on the stove and a turkey pan in the oven? And 2-minute showers? At least we have hot water now.”

“True,” he eloquently replied.

Not only do we have plenty of hot water now, we also have a front door that doesn’t fall off when people try to use it. In our old place, we frequently had to yell at our guests to try to stop them from opening the door. If not opened properly, the plastic veneers would fall off the Styrofoam door; the whole thing would come apart, and it would take an hour, 2 people, and 4 screwdrivers to wedge it all back together. Our frequent visitors became accustomed to walking up the door and waiting for us to let them out.

There were also several times in that old place that we had no water at all. Usually, this was not because we didn’t pay our bill (usually), but because of several plumbing issues that arose and caused us to have to shut off the water to the house to avoid further indoor flooding. I used to bring a couple of empty jugs to work with me so I could take water home for cooking, showers, and toilet-flushing. I became quite proficient at the 1/3-gallon-of-water-shower.

Compared to years past, we are living in the lap of luxury. No longer do we let our kitchen sink drain into a bucket that we carry upstairs to dump in the toilet. Sure, we still have household problems. The lights often go out in the kitchen, and the only way to get them to come back on is to tap on the outlet behind the table. But, at least we have light. And, I try to remember that things could be (and have been) much worse. We may not be living high on the hog, but these days, we’re much more comfortable. Or at least we will be once we get this heat fixed. 

Redemption Verse

A blog of such a typically jocose nature tends to go by the wayside in its author’s difficult times. However, I would like resume the whimsical blogging I have enjoyed in the past, so I will transition back to Blog Land with this little verse I wrote recently (and after that, it’s no more Mr. Melancholy-Guy)…

Spared from the strike of uncounted stones cast recklessly from the shadows,[1]

I alone am left standing in the midst. [2]

Not one of us can read the writing on the ground,[3]

And my own eyes are full of dust. [4]

But with all things possible,[5]

I remarkably and gracefully become as the tree,[6]

Cut down – unquestionably, [7]

But to sprout again with capable braches anew. [8]

---

[1] John 8:7

[2] John 8:3,9

[3] John 8:6,8

[4] Matt. 7:3-5

[5] Matt. 19:26; Mark 9:23, 10:27; Phil. 4:13

[6] Job 14:7

[7] Matt. 3:10, 7:19; Luke 3:9

[8] Job 14:7, Matt. 7:17-8; Luke 6:43-4