The Junk Drawer

Has anyone bought Sun Chips in the new eco-friendly bag? Ay-carumba!

They are touted as the first of their kind to be “100% compostable.” That’s great, but they’re loud as hell!

I Googled the issue and found a few discussion boards where people left the following comments:

I swear it’s capable of waking the dead if you so much as breath in its general direction, much less actually touch it or reach inside to get a chip.

Just curious about other’s comments on this ear-splitting bag. Is a fully compostable bag worth it if everyone within 1/2 mile knows you’re eating Sun Chips?

My wife was asleep upstairs and I opened the bag in the kitchen and it literally woke her up. Man that bag is loud!

Well, at least the neighbors know you are engaging in the proper consumption of said “Sun Chips”. Next time you go out and pick up your mail just say you had an excellent dip experience.

Sounds like a car crash whenever I go to grab a chip.

I’m all about snacking, but I’d like to do it in peace. Does everyone have to know I’m off my diet?

Have a listen…..

I want to work where my sister Marlene works. Her co-workers are exactly the kind of crazies I need to be around 40 hours a week.

I received this list from her today. A list of words, phrases or topics that are either prohibited or encouraged in her lunch room at work.

Yes, they’re keeping a list. Do with it what you will.

Prohibited Words:

· pimple (includes “goose-pimple”)

· blackhead

· moist

Note: “Moist” is acceptable in reference to baked goods, chicken… i.e. things that are supposed to be moist. “Moist” is unacceptable in reference to anything gross. (Feet, fungus, basements, bathroom floors)

· E.V.O.O.

· Rock hard

· rebut

  Note: The word “rebuttal”, as well as “flying buttress” are acceptable.

· genitals

Note: Words such as “bajango” and “hoo ha” are acceptable substitutions for the word “genitals”

· bequeath

· secrete

Topics:

· Food poisoning experiences

· Bug-eating experiences, accidental or intentional

· Gleeking experiences

· The Charmin bears

· The apocalypse

· Rachel Ray

· Any situation involving body fluids, especially when conversation is taking place in the presence of Louise.

Prohibited Smell Addendum: All citrus and banana scents will be kept a minimum of 10 feet from Marlene. Additionally, measures shall be taken to prevent wafting.

Encouraged Words and Topics for the Lunchroom

Words

· Smokin’ cookies

· Oh, snap!

· Delicious!

· Bodacious

· Giddyup

Topics

· What we are eating for lunch

· What we ate for dinner last night

· What we will eat for dinner tonight

· Foods we like / dislike

· Things we’ve seen on television

Note: Things we’ve seen on television that reference any of the prohibited words and topics are also prohibited.

—-

Feel free to add your own words you love or hate, or to question any number of these words or phrases. Marlene, feel free to provide explanations for any of them in the comments section.

Me thinks you’re going to have to explain why “rebut” is on the list. You don’t have to explain why Rachel Ray is. We all know she is the devil.

I loves me a good nap. Naps that leave me waking refreshed are the best. Naps that leave me waking fuzzy-brained are the worst.

I’ve had one such nap.

I must have had a difficult day at work and laid down for just a bit, but when I awoke, I glanced at a clock and it read 6:30.

It was one of those sleeps where I didn’t dream, didn’t move, didn’t wake up once. I thought “Holy crap! I slept through the whole night. I must have been dead tired.”

I didn’t even remember Dave climbing into bed. Hmmm. That’s strange.

I pattered downstairs to make coffee and realized he was nowhere to be found. Uh-oh. He mustn’t have come home last night. This can’t be good.

So I got on the phone with my sister Marlene and immediately started screaming “Dave never came home last night! I don’t know where he could be! I’m worried!”

Marlene’s response? “Huh?”

Me: “He never came home last night!”

Marlene: “What?”

Me. “He never came home!”

Marlene: “When?”

Me: “Last night.”

Marlene: “What night? Tonight you mean?”

Me: “No! Last night!”

Marlene: “What are you talking about? What is wrong with you?”

Me: “Huh?”

Marlene: “Are you all right?”

Me: “What?”

Marlene: “You said Dave didn’t come home last night, but what did you do all day today?”

Me: Silence.

Marlene: “Kathy? You there?”

Me: “I’m confused.”

Marlene: “Ya think?”

Me: “What time is it?”

Marlene: “It’s 6:30.”

Me: “You’re gonna tell me PM, right?”

Marlene: “Yeah, what’s your malfunction?”

Me: “Um. I took a nap and woke up thinking it was 6:30 tomorrow morning. Nevermind.”

Marlene: “Good Lord, woman. Go back to bed.”

Me: Click.

A little while later, Dave got home from work and walked through the front door, oblivious to the fact that I’d almost filed a missing person’s report on his behalf and called all the hospitals in the area.

It would have been so hilarious explaining my mistake to the cops. Hilarious.

OK. I have a bacon addiction. There, I said it.

I knew I had a problem, but I didn’t realize how many others knew about it until I got this in the mail today from my good friend Ferd and his lovely wife, Gail.

It’s a gift box of bacon-related food stuffs from J & D’s, a company whose brilliant tagline is “Everything Should Taste Like Bacon.”

Indeed.

That’s bacon lip balm in the middle of the box there. Come ‘ere, baby! Gimme a kiss!

But wait! I have blogged about bacon only six times. I’m puzzled why people think I have a bacon problem.

Is it because most of my contest prizes involve bacon?

Is it because when I cut my finger, I wear bacon Band-aids?

Is it because I consider this a snack?

Really. It’s not that bad.

Y’all don’t have to send me emails every week with stuff you found on the web that’s bacon-related.

It doesn’t do anything for me.

I am not a bacon freak.

Just because I use bacon toothpicks and have bacon mints in my desk drawer at work doesn’t mean anything.

It doesn’t.

I can quit any time I want.

I change my mind. I don’t have a bacon addiction. So anyone thinking of setting up a bacon intervention, don’t bother.

You’d regret the time that you had taken, because you’re sadly mistaken about the bacon.

Maybe.

My last post about a childhood embarrassment got me thinking about how dreadful grade school and high school can be. Girls had it bad, but I think sometimes boys had it worse.

I rode a school bus to high school with about thirty other kids. At the start of every school year, senior boys took it upon themselves to haze the freshman boys by making them prove their physical capabilities.

The hazing went like this:

When our school bus was on approach to our bus stop, all of the freshman victims were told to get off the bus about four blocks ahead. Their challenge was to run as fast as they could to the bus stop and if they beat the bus there, they were rewarded by not getting the crap kicked out of them by the senior boys.

Nice, huh?

You might ask why the bus driver, a woman, would even let those poor souls off the bus ahead of time, since that wasn’t an assigned drop off point.

When everyone heard murmurings that the hazing was about to take place, we’d yell up to the front of the bus and beg the driver not to let them off.

But she did.

I wonder if today she regrets it. She should. She knew why the senior boys were demanding it.

But one thing she did do was drive the bus as slow as possible to the stop so the freshman had some chance of making it back before she did.

I don’t remember anything about the boys who didn’t make it in time. I’m certain I rushed off the bus and high-tailed it out of there. After all, if the seniors treated boys that way, what might they do to humiliate the girls?

My fleeing the scene was an act of self-preservation.

To this day, I imagine the horror-filled days of the freshman boys. How must they have survived the hours at school, knowing that at any time on the bus ride from hell they’d have to prove their worth to some jackasses who held such power over them?

I only hope that today, something like that would never happen. I hope if it did, the bus driver would be fired. The senior boys would get detention. And the freshman boys would be saved.

Hope.

Last weekend I met with a fellow local blogger to talk about the blogging process, technical and otherwise, what works and what doesn’t. In preparation, I jotted down some tips that have proven useful to me.

One of them is “Don’t waste a good post on Facebook where only your friended people can see it.” I did that recently with a status update about my failure to understand that Fiber One cereal needs to be eased into slowly, as I’d eaten twice the daily recommendation for three days in a row and paid for it dearly. That update saw over 20 comments. Shoulda, coulda been a post.

The tip about not wasting good material on social media sites also extends to comments I leave on others’ blogs. My friend Maureen wrote a piece some time ago about treating her parents to an anniversary dinner at a fancy downtown restaurant, complete with a ride in a stretch limo. She made reference to the Petula Clark song, Downtown. A song that prompted me to leave a comment, one that she said I should have blogged about.

The comment:

The stuff I remember. Here goes. When I was 12, I took part in a musical show at my school. Each grade had to perform some kind of dance or act. We did a little number to the Petula Clark song. We wore pink satin sleeveless dresses and if we were any older, we would have looked like hookers. We also wore long white gloves. Anyway, when I was being measured by the seamstress who was making the dresses, I was standing in a room full of other girls when she exclaimed “My, someone’s getting her breasts early!” I died a little and that’s what I remember every time I hear that Petula Clark song. The day I got noticeable boobs.

So today’s lessons are:

1. If you’re trying to develop a following on your blog, make it a home for all your best stuff. If you have an entertaining little nugget for Facebook, consider fleshing it out for a post instead.

2. If you’re a seamstress taking measurements for pubescent adolescents, watch what you say in front of other people. Childhood embarrassment lasts at least into your 40s.

Attention all shutterbugs!

How bad did I screw up my new(ish) digital camera? I think it happened when I dropped my purse getting into my car yesterday.

Every good blogger carries a camera with them at all times. But every smart blogger puts it in its carrying case so it doesn’t sink to the bottom of their purses and break when it hits concrete.

D’oh!

For the record, I can still take pictures with it. I just can’t see what I’m taking pictures of until I transfer them to a PC.  I also can’t see anything through the small viewfinder. Why?!

Anyone ever done this and, if so, can it be fixed for much less than the cost of a new camera?

Yo. ‘Sup.

Remember me? I used to write here. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been a whole week since my last post. And I have no excuses.

Been holed up in my house freezing like the rest of the country, wishing it were summer. Puttering around the house not doing the things I should be doing and playing Bejeweled on Facebook too much to be healthy.

You guys need to fear when when I run out of ideas because then I give you that sideways look, wring my hands greedily and try to figure out how I can make you do all the work.

So what’s that mean for you today? You get a question to answer.

Are you making a living the way you thought you would be when you grew up? If not, why not?

Last night I joined my sisters and niece for a nice drive around town to look at Christmas lights on houses that were all decked out. A columnist for our local paper takes submissions for decorated houses and then publishes a “best of” list with directions so people can take a tour.

When we hit the house that was deemed a “Disney wonderland” all of us jumped out of the car in excited anticipation. Except for sister Ann. Turns out Ann was nice and cozy in the car and wasn’t sure the sights would be worth freezing her butt off for.

So what did she do? She told her daughter that “if the back of the house is really nice, text me and I’ll get out.”

Text you and you’ll get out?

Why don’t you ask her to take a picture on her cell phone and then bring that back to show you?

My dear sister, Ann, you lazy, lazy bum.

So let’s hear it. Where and for what have you requested a text or texted someone because it’s too hard to walk a few feet? If anyone says “The shower, I needed a towel” your phone privileges are hereby revoked.