Confession Time

I'm in love.

With another man.

Who's not my husband.

And my husband doesn't care. Because when I asked him if he cared that I was in love with another man, he said, "I'm in love with him too."

But I think it's okay because he's a fictional character.

This one:

Source: bbc.co.uk via Randi on Pinterest

 


For the uninitiated, this is Sherlock Holmes--master of intrigue, grand poo-bah of crime scene investigation, oddball extraordinaire.

I've always loved Sherlock, because I am fascinated with mystery, especially when it's coupled with masterful deductive reasoning. The BBC version is everything you would expect from Sir Arthur's character, but with a modern twist. This Sherlock solves crimes using laptops, cell phones and the London taxi cab system. And get this: WITHOUT GRAPHIC GORE.

Okay, so there's a little blood here and there, but none of the hurl-your-dinner genre made famous by shows like CSI. No, this version focuses on the mentality of the crime suspect as well as the intellect of the crime solver, rather than on the severed body parts of the crime victim.

Last week, we had an evening long Sherlock fest, trying to catch up with past episodes. It was easy, because there aren't that many, only three so far (unless you live in England where they already got to view season 2. We lowly Americans have to wait until May. Torture, I tell ya.) The nice thing about those three episodes is that they are 90 minutes each. So for those of you with Netflix accounts, I've provided something for you to do this weekend.

Disclaimer: If you fall in love with Sherlock I am not responsible. Take that up with Sir Arthur.

Apology to Robert Downey, Jr.: You've been replaced. I'm sorry.

Government-forced hoo-hah: No one paid me to say any of these things, not the BBC, not Netflix, not the estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, not Benedict Cumberbatch. However, if you see a link like the one below that looks suspiciously like an "ad," rest assured it is an ad. The government thinks you are too stupid to know that it is an ad, so I must tell you that it is, indeed, an ad. Therefore, if you click on the ad, and then actually buy something attached to the link, I will get a commission. Blog owners do not put ads on their sites just because they think they enhance the look, although that's what the government thinks that you think, hence the obligatory blah blah blah.

In Which My Daughter Explains a Fashion Mystery

I'll admit it. I am not a fashion maven. My style of dress can best be described as "mom." That's not to say that if I had the right figure, income, and time on my hands I wouldn't be a fashionista. I totally would. However, there are elements of style that befuddle my middle-aged mind, notably this trend:

Source: shop.nordstrom.com via Elizabeth on Pinterest

Source: Uploaded by user via Bethany on Pinterest

Source: agjeans.com via Jordan on Pinterest

Get the picture? It's women standing pigeon-toed for photos!

This trend has perplexed me for a while. It seems I can hardly look at a fashion spread without seeing some evidence of this, and to be honest, I find it annoying, probably because I get annoyed when I fail to find logic in something. Is it supposed to somehow be more attractive? 

I guess I somehow failed to keep up with the times, because when I mentioned this irritation to my daughter, Em, she knew exactly why models stand like this.

"Mom, it's because when you stand pigeon-toed your thighs don't touch."

I tried it. It works!  And did you go back and look at the above photos? No thigh-touching to be seen!

So now when you see pictures of me and you you say, "Randi must have lost weight. Her thighs don't touch anymore," you will know my secret, fresh from the modeling world. Em, I owe you one.

Kids. Entertained so cheaply...Part II

Not knowing that I had just posted a picture about my grandson playing with his birthday box, Foreign Quang reader Jill coincidentally posted this picture of her daughter. "Little G" ( Daddy is Big G) turned nine yesterday and found a box just as intriguing as her gifts.

Jill writes: "All those gifts, and this is what the kids played with all day long."

Do you think children would rebel if we gave them only boxes on their birthdays? And isn't her #9 shirt fabulous? I'm sure her mother made it because she is all kinds of crafty like that. Happy Birthday, Little G!

photo used with permission

Kids. Entertained so cheaply...

 I hope to someday have it explained to me how time seems to accelerate the older I get. If you had told me at age ten that I would have to wait a year for something, it would have been agony. Yet my grandson, Avatar, turned eight last week, and I am positive it was only a couple of years ago that his father called me to tell me that my daughter had given birth a few moments ago.

I want to slow the passage of time because it does not seem real that he is sporting his adult teeth.

It doesn't help that he is only five years younger than my son. I feel like I miss so much, even though he lives only three blocks away.  

At his family birthday party I watched him open his gifts with gratitude. He seemed to genuinely love all his presents. But when all the unwrapping excitement was over, where did we find him?

You got it---playing with the box!

His uncle, my son, is also entertained cheaply. Nearly every place we go, Weston can be found doing a variation of this:

He delicately balances on the ground, his bed railing, stone benches, fire pits, logs--anything that will act as a fulcrum. He has been forbidden to balance on the arm of my couch, so he never balances there. Anymore. When I'm around. 

Last week, Weston came home from an evening gathering with a few friends. He looked like my son anyway.  After he had been home a few minutes, he asked me to come see him in his room. I quickly learned that although my son appeared to come home from the get-together unscathed, that was not the case.

 

As soon as he turned on the black light in his room I realized that he had been decorated. By a girl. The yellow marker didn't show during the course of normal conversation. I later discovered that this magic can only be performed by the neon yellow Sharpie highlighter.  How fun is that! So the next time you're looking for a cheap way to occupy kids, get out your black light and Sharpies.

And when your kids come home from a party looking normal, don't you believe it. Give 'em the old black light test first.

The Future of Glass

I just saw this and it was too amazing to not share it.

If you want to see it full screen (recommended) here is the link:

Thoughts of a Twitterless Thinker.........December 30, 2011 edition

So there I was sitting at my computer, 1:30 A.M., noshing on leftover mashed potatoes and gravy, and scoping out the blogs of my online buddies. I was laughing at their antics, marveling at their creativity, and admiring their mad writing skills. And then...a Eureka moment when I thought to myself--"Hey! I have a blog! I should go write on it some time."

Yeah.

Fellow bloggers: Do you ever have days when you feel like you have nothing to say? When it seems as if everything has already been said? When each day seems like every other day so writing anything down seems so redundant?  If so, how do you conquer that blase feeling? Dang, it was so bad I considered setting up a Twitter account so I could feel justified in having nothing to say.

As I pondered setting up said Twitter account, I remembered that it might be seen as a betrayal by those Quangsters who rely on my being a Twitterless Thinker. To satisfy those three people, and to keep myself from plunging into the deep dark depths of 140-character thoughts, I bring you the latest installment of Thoughts of a Twitterless Thinker.

You know what I've been thinking about most lately?  In a few days I get to find out the gender of my latest grandchild--Em's baby. I'm thinking girl. Em's thinking girl. I'm thinking the ultrasound tech is thinking girl but doesn't want to say anything until the official gender unveiling on Tuesday. I'll keep you posted.

My son, being a thirteen-year-old, now communicates with his friends online more than he does in person. I had one of his friends sitting in my office using my computer, while Weston was in his room using his computer. They were involved in a group chat with a couple of friends from school. At one point the two boys were just typing to each other and I mentioned something to both of them that maybe they should just get off the computer and go talk to each other face to face. You know, since they were only a room apart and all. Each one looked at me with the 2011 equivalent of "Are you high?"  Silly me. There I go thinking again.

Speaking of online chatting, you are all familiar with the chatting acronyms, right? You know, like LOL means Laughing out Loud, and BRB means Be Right Back. Weston was feeling mildly hurt because he thought his friends thought he was "lame."  I assured him that was not the case, but to prove it he confided that when he says something online, his friends will respond with LMAO. When I told him that it meant Laughing My A** Off, he brightened. He thought they were responding "Lame-o!"

I'm thinking that most of this post will be my thoughts on dealing with the creature called "The Thirteen-Year-Old."  For some reason, as soon as Weston turned thirteen, he lost massive amounts of brain cells, to the point where I have to re-teach things he learned when he was three. Things like when you get up from the couch while holding a plate of spaghetti, make sure that you hold the plate in a horizontal position. Holding it in a vertical position will cause the spaghetti to slide from the plate to the carpet. I thought he knew that, but maybe I didn't stress it enough when he was three.

Or things like when it's cold outside, you stay warmer when you wear long-sleeved shirts and long pants. Like a toddler, he prefers to dress himself, so when he runs around the house in a short-sleeved t-shirt, ankle socks, and shorts and then complains, "I'm freezing!" I tend to say stupid things like, "Maybe you should change your clothes."

Or when he's sitting at his computer with his headphones on, and his chores are left undone and his room is a mess, and I say, "No computer until your chores are done and your room is cleaned."  He smiles at me and says, "Okay."  Twenty minutes later he is still plugged in so I repeat. He nods and smiles, " I am."  Ten minutes later I go back to his room, slightly more irritated than the first two trips and tell him again to get off the computer and get his chores done. He unplugs and says, "Mom! I am!"  

There's that awkward moment where I am left wondering if English is his second language or if I have failed to teach him the proper bodily actions to perform when your mother says to get your chores done. They don't involve sitting in a chair staring at a computer screen with headphones attached. Did I not teach him these things when he was but a manling? Oh wait! Maybe he's playing some new Facebook game called Chore-ville, where the player thinks that actions performed online are duplicated in the real world. 

Today I was convinced that all the life-skills training that I have done with this child since age 0 have been for naught. I was certain that my young man was replaced by someone else's obstinate defiant two-year-old.

Me (noticing that Weston was ready to walk out the door to go to an Airsoft game in thirty degree weather): "Why are you wearing that jacket? It's not even dry. Did you pull it out from the washer?"

Weston: "It's okay."

Me: "It's not okay. It's soaking wet. It hasn't even been in the dryer yet."

Weston: "Mom. It's not that cold out. It's fine."

Me: "You can't wear a sopping wet jacket. You are going to freeze."

Weston: "It's not that bad."

Me: "Go put on your winter coat."

Weston" "It's too small."

Me: "When did it suddenly get too small?"

Weston: "My arms show when I stretch my arms out." He puts on the coat and demonstrates. About two inches of his forearms show.

Me: "If you put on a long-sleeved shirt, then your forearms won't get cold."

Weston: "Mom! It's not a coldness thing. I don't want my arms to get hit by airsoft pellets."

Me: "Then wouldn't a long-sleeved shirt still help?"

Weston: "Argh. Mom. You don't get it."

He's right. I didn't get it. I thought my "How to Pick out Appropriate Clothing" training had ended nine years ago. Looks like I'm starting from scratch. After ten minutes of arguing, he finally left the house with a long-sleeved shirt and his warm winter coat. I was exhausted. 

On the bright side, he is still capable of making me laugh. One day Computer Geek, Weston, and I were coming back from Walmart and stopped for gas. Computer Geek started to get back in the car but Weston said, "You left your receipt hanging at the machine."  CG sees that it is so, gets back out of the car, retrieves the receipt, then gets back in. He says to Weston, "Thank you for letting me know about that."  To which Weston replies, 

"I am a noble steed."  Indeed.

I'll close this thoughtful post with an amazing tip I learned over the holidays. Have you ever been to Walmart and tried to get some pop, only to discover that all the pop at the front of the shelves has been removed? And that you are far too short to reach the pop you want, way at the back of the shelf?  Many times I have said, "Oh well. I guess it's just God's way of saying that I shouldn't drink pop," and then I move on. No more! God has provided an awesome pop-retrieving tool.

We were at our local Walmart and noticed that the fake 7*UP was almost gone. The last few bottles were waaaay in the back. Shaq could not have reached those bottles. Two Walmart ladies were working in the aisle, and because our Walmart has awesome customer service (I'm not lying--these people are even happy when I use coupons. They rock. Yay for store # 2794! Give 'em all a raise!) they asked me if they could help. 

I explained that I was far too short to reach the pop I wanted. These two ladies had a brilliant solution. "Let's find Max." 

Max shows up and he is approx. 6'3".  Does he reach up there and get my pop? No. Remember I said that even Shaq could not have reached those bottles?

I learned that the ladies didn't go find Max because he was tall. They found Max because he was smart. Max showed me an uber cool trick that I am now going to show you. Amaze your friends! Stun your relatives!  I now present the Walmart No Stilts Needed Pop Retrieval Tool:

Ta-Dah!

Amazing, right? The tool is inconspicuously hidden in the shelving unit itself.  It slides right into the hole when you have finished pulling the pop toward you with the elongated staple-like pop-grasper. So the next time you feel inferior because you can't reach the pop that is inconveniently stored above your head, just look for the thing that looks like a staple camouflaged against the shelving unit. How many times have I looked right at it and never known?

P.S. Max, who is a serious customer advocate, gave me permission to take the above photo.

Anything Embarrassing Happen to YOU Lately?

A friend dropped by on Saturday with a plate full of fudge. (I swear I was born lucky.) We chatted for a few minutes and then I pushed her out the door so I could gorge on the fudge she had to leave. After we said our goodbyes and she closed the front door, my son looked at me and said, "Boy, I bet you are embarrassed."

I couldn't think of any social sins I committed during the course of our conversation, so I asked Weston, "Why should I be embarrassed?"

"Because the back of your skirt is tucked into your underwear."

AAAAGGHH!

Dressing my Angels

Early last week, I got an email from one of the coupon sites I haunt. They directed me to the Victoria’sSecret Facebook page, where VS was giving away gift cards on a daily basis until Christmas. I scoped it out, by reading the rules as well as comments by previous winners and losers.

Every day until December 15, the company is giving away a total of 100,000 Victoria’s Secret gift cards. However, they begin giving away each day at precisely 9:00 A.M. Eastern and only give away until that day’s allotment is depleted. That means by approximately 9:07, all of that day’s cards are gone.

Since that’s 7:00 A.M. my time, I didn’t even bother entering the first few days. I get ready for school at that time and felt entering a contest was not high priority. Last Thursday though, I was running ahead of schedule. I noticed it was 7:04 and thought I would give it a shot.

I tried for a few minutes but kept getting an error message, presumably because thousands of other people were also trying to enter. I was ready to give up, and thought, “I’ll give it one more shot.”  That one more shot won me a gift card.

I was pretty excited. The amount of the gift card was a secret. They don’t tell you the amount until you have placed your online order and are ready to check out. After reading the comments on the Victoria’s Secret Facebook page, I assumed I probably won a $10 gift card, since that is what all of the people were saying that they won.

Later that night, I was ready to go online and place an order and use my $10 gift card. I wanted to order something for daughter Kay. Thinking that I would just buy something for ten bucks, then pay the additional tax and shipping myself, I started looking for ten dollar items. Any of you who have ever shopped at Victoria’s Secret know that means my options were limited. I finally decided on body wash. I called daughter Em, who knows these kinds of things, and asked her which fragrance Kay might like. She suggested a few and I added the body wash to my “shopping cart.”

I entered all my shipping information and got to the section where I had to enter my gift card number. I also had our personal card information ready since I knew I would be responsible for paying anything over the $10.  With tax and shipping, my body wash came to $16.99.  I looked at the total, expecting to see that I owed $6.99.  I was wrong.

Instead, I read this, “Your gift card covers your entire purchase. No additional payment is necessary. Your new gift card balance is $483.01.”

I read it over a few times, sure that I had made a mistake. When I realized I was not dreaming, nor breathing, I called Em back. I was hoping that she would be kind enough to come over to my house and help me use up my $500. She graciously accepted. She drove right over. In her pajamas. That’s my girl.

Now anyone who knows me knows that I do not have a figure conducive to shopping at VS. My daughters however, do. Merry Christmas, angels.

Over the next three and a half hours, Em and I sat online poring over that website. We got Kay and Gnome on the phone, requesting their help in spending the $500. They were also happy to oblige. Okay, “happy” is too mild. “Delirious” probably covers it better. 

Em, being the consummate online shopper, used her eagle eye to discern that I also got free shipping because my order was over $25, and an additional $25 off because my order was over $150.  Twenty-seven items later, I logged off. If anyone needs help navigating the Victoria’s Secret website, just call me. I know that website top to bottom. My order came to $497.44. Whew. I felt accomplished.

A few days later, I am still in shock.  I keep checking status on my order, to make sure that it’s real. I am so grateful to Victoria’s Secret for their generosity. I looked at their site and found that out of the 100,000 cards they are giving away, only 82 were the $500 cards. And what did my dear husband have to say about all this?

“Now can you go win me something from Cabelas?”

 

This is why I can't use a Palm Pilot

I'd get marker all over the screen

Giving Thanks

I’ve spent the last two days with family and friends, feeling the gratitude that the Thanksgiving holiday was meant to inspire. How about you? Did you get to spend some time with your loved ones? Or maybe take a rest and relaxation break?

A list of things that I am grateful for has been running through my mind the past couple of days. Like most everyone, I am grateful for the biggies. I also am grateful for the silly little things that make life enjoyable. I call them The Biggies and The Littles. If you like, I’ll share that list with you.  Do I hear begging? Oh, all right. Here ya go.

The Biggies

I am grateful for the influence of God in my life. Too many miracles have happened for me to ignore His hand. My life, and my son’s life, have both been saved in miraculous ways. I have frequently prayed for food to feed my kids during desperate times and it showed up on my doorstep. I avoided a car crash when my vehicle and the other involved “floated” through each other instead of colliding. Many times I have lost things and after praying heard a voice in my head clearly telling me where to find the lost item. I hate to think of my life without His presence.

Family.  I have an amazing husband who just about every day tells me in one way or another that he thinks I’m beautiful. I actually feel pretty around him. He helps with dishes and laundry.  He does things with my son, who is not his own. He is easy going and rarely gets mad, except at politicians. 

My oldest daughter is a Godsend to me. She is kind, caring, thoughtful, loving, intelligent and is one of my best friends. 

My second daughter is my sweet baby girl who makes me laugh (always has!) with her goofy antics. She is a hard worker has been able to read my mind on several occasions, then state my thoughts out loud. 

My son is an affectionate boy who is nearly as goofy as his big sister. He tells me every day that he loves me, and tries to be a good teenager.

My step-kids, grandkids, dad, brother, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws of all kinds, and people I’ve adopted are all a joy to me. Yeah, they’re grouped together in a list, but each and every one is loved.

I have the best friends in the world (many of whom are included in the family section.) My friends are always thoughtful and sensitive and considerate and look out for my well-being. I don’t know what I did to be blessed by having such amazing people care about me, but I am grateful.

Soldiers. I might not agree with every war or every cause that sends these men and women into battle, but I’m sure they don’t either. Yet, they sacrifice their time, their family lives, their interests and hobbies, and in a lot of cases their lives, for our nation and ultimately, for me. Some of them are so very young. I could not do what they do.

Being Female. I like being a girl. I don’t know how God decides who gets to be male and who gets to be female, but I’m glad I am what I am.

Kindness. There are so many kind people in the world. Just look up “random acts of kindness” on the internet and you will be amazed.  Here’s a project for you if you want to play along. This week, do one of the following:

*Tape 50 cents to a gumball machine along with a note that says, “Have a ball!”   

*Send a thank-you card to someone.

*Compliment a grocery store cashier. “Thank you for double-bagging that for me,” or something similar.

As I watch the Black Friday insanity, I am grateful that I don’t have to fight my way through a crowd for basic life necessities. Today people fought like lionesses over a gazelle carcass for $2 waffle irons and DVD’s and video games.  People in other countries have fought the same way over bread or water. I am grateful I have the luxury right now, and believe me it is truly a luxury, to stay in my home and let the degenerates fight it out among themselves.

The Littles

Funny things kids say.  And do. They bring humor to an adult’s sometimes tedious life.

Tomatoes. I eat them plain. I drink them in juice. They are in my spaghetti sauce, pizza sauce and chili. My undisputed favorite food.

People who can sing. I can’t. I count on those of you who can to make my life pleasant.Are you listening Josh?

The internet. Learning has always been a great joy in my life and thanks to the internet, any kind of knowledge I would like to pursue is at my fingertips.

Cameras. I love taking pictures. As I get older, and more and more memories crowd my brain, photographs help me remember what happened in my life.

Getting mail other than a bill. I love postcards, letters, free samples, things I’ve ordered, catalogs, and cards.

Jeopardy. I consider it a good night if I can get five answers right. I am convinced that Alex Trebek is the world’s smartest man. He knows everything and can correctly pronounce every word. I think he should play on the show sometime.

Peonies. Best smelling flower ever. And that shade of pink is magical.

Vicks Vapo-rub. It, along with white noise, helps get this allergy-girl to sleep every night.

Pens. Love them. Markers, highlighters, ballpoints, gels, watercolors, it mattereth not. I love them all. In fact, my former boss once bought me a Palm Pilot to replace my Franklin Planner. I stopped using it because I couldn’t color in my schedule entries or doodle all over the page.

Writing. I don’t know what else to do.

Beaches. Sand. Water. Sun.Aah.

Iowa. It’s too humid in the summer. It’s numbingly cold in the winter. But its color-splashed springs and crisp autumns, along with the nice people, twang my heart chords.

Humor. People with a good sense of humor are so attractive. Not the slapstick kind—can’t stand it—but a fine verbal wit. George Carlin. Jack Handey. Robert Brault. And—is anyone looking?—Monty Python.

Words. They way they feel on my tongue. They way they can formulate an image in my mind. The way they stab the exact meaning I am trying to convey. Here are some of my favorites:  Synergy. Poignant. Persephone. Serendipity. Eloquent. Archipelago. Evanescent.  And this phrase from Warren Zevon: Little old lady got mutilated late last night.

Now that I’ve made my list of The Biggies and The Littles, I am confident that I will start thinking of all the ones I forgot. I reserve the right to keep adding.

What are some of your Littles?