A Sip of the Past...

When my family moved to Blaine I was 11 months old, so needless to say Washington is the only home I've ever known.  We moved in next door to an elderly lady named Freda Lindall.  Freda was a widow who never had any children, and we adopted her as a grandmother.

We spent many afternoons at Freda's house and she was always giving us treats and feeding us stuff that made my mother cringe.  Freda didn't place a lot of importance on refrigeration, and so we ate a lot of stuff that had just been sitting on her stove overnight, and we survived!

There were two things that I loved having at Freda's house and they were both drinks.  Freda made this amazing rhubarb juice, and I know that rhubarb juice must sound kind of disgusting, but it was so yummy! The other drink that I loved so much was called "Sukkola."  Sukkola is an Icelandic hot cocoa that Freda always made us. 

Freda passed away when I was 9 years old, and we were given the first chance to go through most of her stuff and choose what we would like.  I chose a blanket of hers that I still have, and some books.  My mom looked for her recipes.  We all wanted the recipes for sukkola, rhubarb juice, and Mom wanted the recipe for Dandelion Wine.  I think she found the wine recipe, but the other two were nowhere to be found. 

About 10 years ago, my friend Heidi and I were faced with a large quantity of rhubarb in her garden and not sure what to do with it all.  We went down to her Grandma Audrey's house to go through her recipes.  As we sat and talked with Audrey about rhubarb recipes I mentioned Freda's rhubarb juice and how much I wished I had that recipe.   Audrey said, "I've got a recipe for rhubarb juice here somewhere, I've had it for years."  Heidi and I figured that her recipe had to be a good one, so we started looking for it.  As we searched, Audrey continued her story and said, "I got that recipe from the lady down the lane."  Heidi and I were puzzled and wondering, "What lady? What lane?"  As Audrey continued, she told us about taking Heidi's older sister Darcy on walks when she was little and how she met up with the lady down the street from Darcy and Heidi's house, and they talked about gardening and recipes and she got the rhubarb juice recipe from her.  The lady down the lane was my Freda, and 15+ years after her death, I finally had that rhubarb juice recipe I'd wanted for so long.

A year ago I started thinking, as I so often had, about sukkola and wishing I could find the recipe.  I searched the internet and found several recipes but none were right.  They all involved cooking the sukkola before serving it, and I distinctly remembered the jar that Freda kept her sukkola mix in.  So I sadly abandoned my search and decided that I would probably never find it.

Last Thursday, the 22nd, had been a really hard day.  It was a day that I wish I could erase.  But then I got a phone message that not only changed my night, but it also made a 26 year old dream come true.  I got a frantic message from my friend Lisa telling me that I needed to call her right away because she had found Freda's Sukkola recipe.  It's kind of hard to describe my reaction as I listened to this message, but I do remember clapping my hand over my mouth because I started to cry, and I was sort of doing this combination of running in place and jumping up and down.

On Tuesday evening my plan was to sit on the couch and knit because I was trying to finish a birthday present for my mother-in-law.  Well you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men...  I texted my husband asking what he wanted for dinner because I was out of ideas, and got no response.  So I used the Find my Friends ap on our phones to stalk him and see where he was.  I figured he was out on a call, so I didn't try calling him.  A few minutes later I checked again, and he was still there.  I turned on the scanner ap on my phone (aren't all these aps great?) and after a moment I heard him call out to dispatch something about "trying to call in there."  A minute later I heard dispatch calling out Emergency Traffic only, and I thought that he was the one needing the air, and got a little stressed about what was going on.  I succumbed to one of my few and far between Nervous Nellie Cop-wife moments.  I started wondering what was going on, and I hesitated a few times before grabbing my phone (again) and Facebook messaging a friend at Dispatch asking what was going on and if Matt was ok.  This is the first time I have EVER done that! (I came close once before when I asked another friend at dispatch to message him and ask him to call me when he was back in the area, but she wasn't working that night, so I don't count that moment of weakness.)  Anyway, this does tie into the whole Freda recipe story, I promise. 

When I have these Nervous Nellie Cop-wife moments, I have to do something.  Usually I bake, or clean.  That night I decided that it was time to make my sukkola, so I grabbed the keys and my wallet and headed off to the grocery store.  I picked up my necessary supplies and headed for the register.  When I reached the register, I became the customer who  needs to tell the checker exactly what they are doing. I couldn't believe that I had done it because I get so tired of being the checker who has to listen and pretend to care.  After I finished bothering the poor lady, I took my bag and drove home where I set to work mixing up my sukkola.

I put my kettle on to boil, and made myself a cup of sukkola and sat down to knit, watch tv, and listen to the scanner.  I took my first sip, and tears came to my eyes... my lifelong journey to find sukkola had finally come to an end.

How to Make Steph Cranky: A Step by Step Guide...

Let me begin by saying that I really do love my job.  I love working with my family, and for the most part I really like our customers.  That being said, let me vent my spleen a little...

On Thanksgiving, I spent the early part of the day baking pies and just hanging out at home relaxing.  About an hour before I needed to leave for my parents' house I showered, and didn't immediately dry my hair, so it started drying curly.  I decided to play with it a little and see where it would go.  The end result was surprising to me, it was quite curly, but I thought it was kind of fun.

On Friday I got up and decided to revive the curls and wear my hair curly to work.  I'd been at work for a few hours, and had been having a pretty good day.  I was greeted by my 9 year old nephew (who was wearing sunglasses, which is an important part of this story) with, "Bad hair day?"  I was upset and said that I thought it looked ok.  My sister said "It's just a joke, take it down a notch."  But I had been unable to see his eyes, or gauge an expression, and so I didn't know he was joking.  It made me feel a little self-conscious, but I got over it and we all joked about my bad hair day.  In fact it was a running joke all weekend.  When I was on my way to Seattle on Saturday and we passed the "Winery/Deli" down around Arlington, I texted my sister (I wasn't driving) and asked why she never takes me anywhere nice like that, and she replied, "Maybe if you'd comb your hair once in awhile."

Now we fast forward to today.  I forgot to set my alarm last night, so I started off running late today.  Since it actually takes longer right now to dry my hair straight than curly (given the humidity) I decided on curly again.  I got to work and started trying to get caught up on some paperwork I needed to do before our weekly True Value order arrived.  I was sipping some coffee and doing my receiving paperwork when a customer came to the counter and I started ringing him up.  He asked me, "Have you had your coffee yet?"  I replied that, yes I was working on my second cup.  He said, "Good.  Then you won't be cranky."  (Spoiler Alert - If you want to make a girl cranky, just ask her if she's cranky, or make a comment like, "Wow, you must be cranky today.") I looked up at him and laughed and said, "It's just coffee.  It's not a magic elixir."

At this point I have to explain that my natural expression is not a smile.  So if I am not smiling at someone or something, apparently I look cranky all the time.  And nothing brightens my day like being told how tired I look, or how cranky I look.  And it is usually the slightly older, and most often drunk, men who tell me these things.  This frightens me a little because I thought beer goggles are supposed to make women look better.  How bad must I look to a perfectly sober person???

I went about my morning and shrugged off the cranky remark.  About an hour later, I was ringing up another customer, and I brushed my bangs out of my eyes, miraculously without jabbing a thumb into my eyeball this time, and the guy says, "Are you having a bad hair day?"  I replied, as civilly as I could manage, "No, but apparently I shouldn't wear my hair curly anymore, because everytime I do people tell me how bad it looks."  He says, "I don't think it looks bad."  Yeah, sure... good save.  You want some ketchup to dip that foot in, Buddy?

So there you have it, if you want to make me cranky in just a few easy steps, come in and make a comment about how tired I look, or how I must be having a bad hair day, or (my personal favorite) "Wow! You're cranky today aren't you?"  That one MUST be used as a greeting however, it can't be used in mid-conversation.

I think all I need now to complete the set is for someone to say, "Put on a few pounds, huh?"

A Real Class Act...

Last night we went and saw the Trans Siberian Orchestra for the 4th time.  It was, as usual, an amazing show.  The only real difference between last night's show and the three previous times I'd seen them was one of the singers that we usually see was not with the group, he must have been touring with the East Coast group this year.

The first time we saw them, I was familiar with their Christmas cd, but I had no idea that it was an actual continuous story.  The narrator began telling his story, and I was transfixed.  When they got to songs "Ornament" and "Old City Bar" I actually understood the songs for the first time.  I began to cry, and didn't  really know why.  But since that night, the song "Old City Bar" makes me cry.

When we saw them two years ago, it was just a day or two after my mother and I had stood on a sidewalk clutching our flags while the motorcade carrying the body of a fallen local soldier went by.  In the middle of the concert, the band stops and does introductions, and then they ask for a standing ovation for our service men and women overseas, and they do this every show and will continue to do it until they all come home.  At that moment, I was completely overwhelmed.

Last night the show began, and the moment the narrator spoke his first words, tears came to my eyes.  I couldn't believe that the emotion of the story was hitting me so hard, so fast.  As the show went on I was so amazed by how talented these musicians are.  And I was having a a hard time figuring out what I should be watching, the musicians or all the amazing stage effects.  There were lasers, and lights, and flames, and snow, and vidoes.  There was an amazing set up of light bars that move in time to the music while different videos and pictures are displayed on them.  Then there was the moment when the light bar lowered to the stage and it was a catwalk that several performers walked on to and it was raised back up and they played instruments and danced above the crowd. 

Just when I thought I could not be any more impressed with this band, something new happened.  During one of my favorite songs, I saw a woman run across the floor along the front of the stage, and then I realized a crowd was kneeling down on the floor near the front of the floor seats.  Clearly there was some sort of emergency, which I figured to be medical in nature.  I was distracted from the show because I was concerned with what was going on down on the floor.  But then I saw the band leader, Al Petrelli, watching the entire situation too.  He was wordlessly communicating to the band and the singers to keep going.  He kept playing his guitar while watching security, and all the other various personnel who gathered on the floor.  He went to the edge of the stage and conferred with the head security guy, and motioned to the band to keep going.  He went back to playing for a moment, and then he put his guitar down, slipped off the stage, and walked into the crowd to talk to the police officer on scene.  He gathered all the information he needed, and then made his way back onto the stage, without taking attention away from the performers. 

They finished the first part of the show, and then when they would usually take a brief break, and then come back and introduce all the performers, and the salute to the military, instead Al took the microphone and asked the crowd to just stay where they were since we had a bit of a situation going.  Once the paramedic had the man who was ill in a wheelchair, Al asked the crowd to give a round of applause to the man, and the police and aid workers who were helping him.  The crowd cheered as the poor man was wheeled out, and then Al asked for the salute to the military.

He made the comment that they'd never had a night quite like this one, which honestly surprised me.  I figured with all the effects used in their show, that surely they would have had some sort of medical reaction in the crowd before this.  But he handled the entire situation with grace, and ease. 

The momentum of the show was definitely thrown off, but after a few moments, they recovered and went on to finish out a most amazing show!  I am already hoping to be able to go see them again next year.

My name is Stephanie and I'll be your Designated Jerk today...

Today is shaping up to be one of those days where I wish I could just retreat to a cave and not come out until the rest of the people here feel nicer.

I cleaned up the title of this blog because the actual term I would use is "Designated A-hole." That is from the movie "The Cutting Edge." There is a scene where the guy asks, "When did I become the designated a**hole around here?" And today that is how I am feeling.

I just took a phone call from a man looking for a very specific oven/microwave wall unit made by Frigidaire. He looked on their website and found that we are a Frigidaire dealer. This was news to me. I started looking through our catalog and trying to find anything that says Frigidaire on it anywhere. The man on the phone then starts giving me a model number, using a most bizarre mix of military style phonetic alphabet. I told him that I was unable to find that model number in our catalog. He started getting angry at me, and first clarified that he had called the right business. I told him that yes we were Pacific Building Center, but I had no idea why we were listed as a dealer.

He was getting crankier and crankier, and so I kept searching trying to find anything that might help. I struck out and was trying to apologize to him and he said, "Are you a Frigidaire dealer or not?" I said, "I don't think we are, and I don't know why we would be listed on their website." He snapped, "Well that doesn't really matter if you aren't a dealer!" And then he hung up on me.

As I was mentally shaking my head and trying to figure out where I went wrong on that call, a man walks in and (standing 10 feet away from me) yells, "HELLO??? IS ANYONE HERE?" So now in addition to being the designated jerk, I am apparently also invisible. I asked him what I could help him with and then took him to the aisle where he could find what he was looking for, and pointed to the two specific packages that would be what he wanted. I went back to the front counter, and waited on a customer. I rang up his plumbing fittings and asked if he would like a bag. He promptly responded, "No thanks, I married one."

Now that's just a joke that gets funnier and funnier each time I hear it. Seriously??? Why do men think that joke is funny? And why do they think that the woman ringing them out will think it is funny?

I'm starting to wish that we still had the little potato guns that we had last year at Christmas time. There have been a number of people today who would be very deserving of a potato pellet right to the forehead! Starting with the guy who kept pumping the empty coffee air pot, while staring at me and grinning. I told him that the pot behind it was full, but he just kept grinning at me and trying to get coffee from the empty pot.

Then my father was helping another customer in plumbing and asked if I had ordered in a certain fill valve. I checked and saw that I had not ordered any more.

I looked up at the customer I was helping and said, "Stephanie Munden, disappointing customers since 1996!"

Ok, seriously???

Thursday was my day off and I decided to have a low-key (aka lazy-butt) day. I was happily camped out on my couch all morning while the hubby slept, and at one point as I was reaching for something, maybe pushing my hair out of my eyes, I jabbed my right thumb directly into my open right eye.

I started blinking rapidly and my eye began watering and I started muttering things. I couldn't believe I had just done that, and I still honestly have no clue how it actually happened, but of course it did, because I am just that clumsy.

As the day went on my eye continued to water, and hurt. Occasionally it would start twitching, and then it would ache again. I felt like a complete moron.

Friday morning I got up and got ready for work, and thought nothing of my eye. It was still a little sore, but I figured it would get better. It didn't. In fact it started aching again, and watering again. Finally I decided I'd better call the doctor and make sure that I didn't actually do any damage.

I called the dr's office and was able to get an appointment a couple hours later, and thankfully Chris was able to contain her laughter at my stupidity until she hung up the phone. I arrived at the dr's office and was ushered into the dreaded Clown Room. Nothing good ever comes of having to be in the Clown Room. I was pleasantly surprised that my blood pressure was still nice and low, I figured it was going to spike because of my presence in that room. My doctor came in and I took out my right contact and she tested my eye to make sure it wasn't scratched. There was no scratch or abrasion apparent to her, but she said the eyeball heals very quickly and I may have in fact scratched it on Thursday. Now we cut to the bad news that ALWAYS comes when I'm in the Clown Room. She told me I couldn't wear my contacts until my eye was better.

She didn't even want me to put my right contact back in my eye for the rest of the day. I said, "Not bloody likely." I explained that with my vision being as poor as it is, it would be like watching a 3D movie without the glasses to only have one contact in, and my glasses were 25 miles away. I promised to take my contacts out immediately upon my arrival at home, and to wear my glasses from that point on until my eye was healed. She said that if it feels better on Sunday I can wear contacts again, and Lord Almighty am I praying that it is better!!!

After about 2 hours this morning, I was ready to drive back home and get my contacts and put them in, and who cared if my eye got worse or not. I HATE wearing my glasses. I have worn contacts for the last 23 years, and happily so. I am rather fond of my peripheral vision, and my glasses that I have are a little too big for my face, plus the added wear and tear (ok, damage) done by years of falling asleep wearing them, they don't stay where they are supposed to, and they drive me bonkers!!

I have a new respect for anyone who wears glasses all the time. I honestly don't know how they do it. So far today I have had to clean my glasses twice, once because my eyelashes hit the lens while the mascara was still wet, and once for fingerprints. They have fogged up, got raindrops all over them, and don't even get me started on how hard it is to put on makeup when you can't freakin' see your face because you don't have your glasses on!!!!! Seriously??? How do people do this?

Dear Lord, please please PLEASE heal my eye so that I may be delivered from these darned glasses!!! Amen!!!

Mythology rewritten...

Yesterday was a long day for me. It was order day at the store, and also one of my days to close. I started on my way home about 7:30, and I called my friend Rachel to chat for a few minutes. As per my usual luck, I got stuck behind a slow moving vehicle in a no passing zone. I vented this frustration to Rachel, who was probably cursing the fact that she had ever answered the phone.

I am not usually a road-ragey person, but sometimes those slow moving vehicles bring out a psychotic rage in me. I am reminded of the old Goofy cartoon where he is the mild mannered guy who turns into the psycho scary red-eyed mean driver. That was basically me. I was driving along, raging at the person in front of me, and then I realized I was totally the Jeckyll and Hyde Goofy cartoon. I passed them, and then got back in my lane, drove the actual speed limit (what a concept!!!) and was much happier.

I was also feeling kind of crummy last night, I was so tired, and my tummy was not super happy with me. I knew I had a house full of family out to watch the football game (stupid Broncos!!) and my wonderful sister-in-law came with supplies to make dinner for us. (Hallelujah!!) As I pulled into my driveway I still wasn't sure if I was going to be able to manage much of anything except for maybe some eggs and toast.

As I walked into my house, Arlene was just finishing dinner. She made Jerk Chicken Nachos… ironic, no? Since I was being such a jerk on the way home? hahahaha… Anyway I decided to give the nachos a try, and not only did they not make my stomach worse, they (paired with a glass of wine) also soothed the savage beast inside of me. I watched the freakin' Raiders beat my pathetic Broncos (except for Champ Bailey, he's always amazing, and NEVER pathetic!!) After everyone left, I tucked myself into bed with a season of Friends on DVD and Lucie and I had a little marathon of Friends until we fell asleep.

I did not sleep well last night. I didn't wake up a lot, but I was very restless and when I woke up this morning, I didn't feel rested at all. I started out running late this morning, I wasn't really paying attention to my alarm clock, which apparently I had been snoozing, because Matt wasn't home yet, and since he's off at 7:00 am, that meant it wasn't time to get up yet. Well, I was wrong. I didn't know he had a meeting this morning after work and so he didn't get home until 8:15. OOPS!! I leaped out of bed and grabbed a few things and headed for the bathroom.

The sight that met me in the mirror was beyond horrifying. I quickly averted my eyes because I was reasonably certain that it was Medusa staring back at me from the mirror and I was afraid of being turned to stone. I have no idea how my hair managed to do the things it did this morning, but I wouldn't have been surprised to see that it had actually turned to snakes. It was wild and crazy, curling in all different directions and sticking straight up in the air.

I did what I could to tame my hair and make myself somewhat presentable so I could go to work. I made myself coffee, which I promptly spilled all over my shirt, went back upstairs and changed, and then was finally on my way to work.

As I drove across the county this morning it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe Medusa got a bum rap. I went back and re-read the myth (Ok, I skimmed the Wikipedia page briefly because I wanted to see how accurately I remembered which hero had killed her. I was wrong, which actually stole a pretty great punchline from my intended blog. Dangit!!)

First of all, it is pretty obvious that these myths were written by men, because really?? Medusa was assaulted and abused by Poseidon in Athena's temple, and Athena punished Medusa instead of Poseidon??? What gives with that??? Anyway, that's when she was turned into a Gorgon and her hair was turned into serpents. So Medusa started turning people to stone when they looked into her eyes. I think that's perfectly justified. Sometimes I wish I could turn people to stone… but I digress. So Medusa goes along her merry turning men to stone way, until Perseus comes along with his mirrored shield and cuts her head off, and then uses her head as a weapon. What a jerk!

Speaking of jerks… I got to thinking, did anyone ever consider taking another approach with Medusa? Maybe if Perseus had brought Medusa a glass of wine and put that mirrored shield to better use as a platter full of jerk chicken nachos, she would have been happier, and just let him pass by without turning him to stone. I'll bet that if he'd thrown in some Cheetos and Swedish Fish, she'd have given up her stone-turning ways and been a lot nicer.

Ok, alternate ending… In my hazy mythology memory I thought that Medusa was the one guarding the Golden Fleece and that Jason had killed her so I was going to work in something about not only did he not even try the wine/nachos route, but in addition to cutting off her head he also stole her fur coat. What's up with that?!?

If you want to watch the Goofy video, you can use this link to watch it on YouTube. You'll have to copy and paste, because I don't know how to make it a clickable link. http://youtu.be/mZAZ_xu0DCg

How do it know?

When I was little, my father taught me a joke about the greatest invention in the world. The gist of the joke is a guy trying to discover the greatest invention, and he asks all sorts of people and gets all different answers, and then one day on the street he runs into an old man and asks him, and the old man says, "The greatest invention is the Thermos." The guy is a little baffled by this answer, and says, "A Thermos? Like in my lunchbox?" And the old man replies, "Yes, a thermos. It keep hot things hot, it keep cold things cold. How do it know?"

For most of my life I have used that punchline, "How do it know?" in various situations. The other day I was re-stocking something that had been put away wrong. (GASP!!! Shocker I know) When I was hanging it up I saw something on the back of the package and I stopped for a closer look, and it had the warning about this product being known to the State of California to cause cancer. So, my mind working the way it does, I decided to run with it.

Who manufactures these smart chemicals that only cause cancer in California? How do it know? Does this chemical somehow know that it is California bound, so it morphs into a terrible cancer causing chemical? Why doesn't it cause cancer in any other state? Is it something to do with the air quality in California?

I'd pay good money to find a product that is "Known to cause hiccups in the State of Massachusetts." Or how about "Known to cause excessive knuckle cracking in Kansas?" Why is California so special?

Just wondering... How do it know?

By the pricking of my thumb, something CRANKY this way comes

A few weeks ago, there was a morning that should have been like any other Monday morning. I had just returned from an amazing weekend down in Oregon where I got to see my extended family that I had not seen in many many years. It was a long weekend, with lots of hours spent in the car, but it was well worth it.

I did not know it at the time but there was some sort of shift in the space/time continuum that night that made it so that the side of the bed I've been getting up on for the last 34 years to be the wrong side of the bed. I was understandably tired after my long weekend, but that could in no way have prepared me for the day ahead.

You may have felt that tingling feeling that lifts the hairs on the back of your neck, the one you get when you know something is going to happen. You probably had no idea why you felt that way, but I can tell you now, that it was all me. Geologists and seismologists were nervously checking their instruments and sensors all day, because they too noticed the charge in the air. Dogs were scratching at doors, and horses cantered around their paddocks, all trying to escape the impending eruption that they somehow sensed was coming.

I got to work, and the very first interaction I had made me so inexplicably cranky that I had to bite my tongue and walk away. As I proceeded through my day, I tried my hardest to avoid people, which is no easy feat when you work in retail. I worked on placing our order, and kept taking deep breaths to try and stay pleasant, or at least civil.

Then I got called to rental to deal with a customer who was complaining about the price of a rental. At this moment in my mind there were all sorts of warning bells and lights going off, warning this poor unsuspecting guy to run. It was sort of like the scenes you see in any submarine movie when an impact is imminent. There were red lights strobing around and that "Wooop Woooop Wooop!!!" alarm going off. The guy rented a machine for the full day (24 hour rental) and brought it back after 6 hours, and wanted to only pay the 4 hour rental. I tried to explain that the minimum rental period is for anywhere up to 4 hours on same day return. A 6 hour rental did not fall into that category and therefore was not eligible for the minimum rate. He proceeded to argue with me. (Foolish mortal.) At this point I was (in my mind of course) envisioning being able to annihilate him with laser beams from my eyes, like the Second Oracle in The Neverending Story. The customer told me what he was willing to pay, and expected me to refund him almost the entire difference between what he had paid and the minimum. I did some figuring and finally came up with an amount that I would credit him, which was more than he wanted to pay, but still something I could live with.

He left, feeling like he'd won some huge victory, and I stood there seething and knowing that next time I needed to swing a heavy object, like the digging bar, or another garden tool, he would be taking the place of Binocular Lady.

There were a few other incidents that day that had me scrambling to hold on to the frayed edges of my temper. As I drove home that night I fully expected to hear news bulletins on the radio about how scientists were watching all the dormant volcanoes in our state due to the intense amount of seismic activity along the fault line that day, but no such bulletin was issued.

Several days later, I was able to look back at that day and acknowledge the miniscule possibility that there could have perhaps been some sort of shall we say hormonal factors at play that day. We'll never know for sure, but what we can be sure of is that the residents of Washington State skirted a huge disaster that day, the day that Mt. St. Stephanie almost erupted!

I just don't get it...

Tonight I found out that an old friend of mine lost her battle with cancer. Even though I knew that there was nothing more the doctors could do for her, I didn't expect it to be so quick. I thought somehow that she was going to be miraculously healed, that she would beat it simply with the strength of her spirit.

I had not seen Jolee in many years. I had reconnected with her on Facebook a few years ago. I spent many many hours, days, and nights at her house when I was growing up. Jolee was exactly 6 years older than me, but she didn't treat me like I was that much younger. She didn't exclude me when I was the youngest one in the group.

I will remember many things about her. I remember her laughter and her smile. She was filled with so much joy that it just burst out of her. I remember doing stall duty with her at the Fair, and how she had to wear a dust mask because of her asthma, and she was embarrassed about the mask, so she wore a bandana over it like a bandit.

I remember how in her home you were not allowed to say the word "Fart." It was a bad word, instead you said "Farkel." And every time I see the game "Farkel" I think of that and I smile. I remember spending the night there, and hoping that her mom Margi would make popcorn because she made the best popcorn. I have always wished that I could make it like Margi. She made it on the stovetop, and it always turned out perfect.

I am so sad to know that Jolee is gone from this world, and I'm so angry at cancer. I wish that I was a runner, because tonight I would go and run and run until I didn't feel so angry. But I am not a runner, and I know that by the end of my block the pain in my heart would become much worse, and for an entirely different reason.

Right now I keep thinking of the scene in Steel Magnolias where they are gathered for Shelby's funeral and Malynn says how mad she is, and how she wants to hit something until it hurts like she does. I felt that tonight too. I just wanted to hit something.

I can't help but think of everyone that cancer has stolen from my life, and those who it has tried to steal.

When I was 11 my father had cancer, and I was talking with my Mom tonight about how thankful I am that my memories of that time are blurred together and indistinct. My Mom begins her radiation treatment tomorrow because she was diagnosed with breast cancer a few months ago. I am so grateful to God that hers was caught so early and that with two surgeries, they have removed it all from her body. It is my most fervent hope that in a few years this whole time will also be a blur of indistinct memories.

I think that Cancer is like a tornado. It doesn't discriminate. It doesn't care who it hits. It doesn't care about the damage it wreaks or the lives it destroys. I hate Cancer. I just hate it, and I wish Cancer would die and leave the rest of us alone!

Joy in the Journey

For the last several days I have had a song called "Joy in the Journey" stuck in my head. Sadly very few people that I know will have ever heard this song. It was written, performed, and recorded by an acapella group at Trinity Western called Soul Devotion.

I've been dealing with some stressful things in my life lately and as hard as it has been, I take such comfort in knowing that I am not dealing with it alone. As I go along through my day, this song is playing on repeat in my head, and unlike most times when a song gets stuck in your head and you go insane trying to get it out of your head, I have welcomed this song being in my head.

The words of this song seem to have been written precisely for me and how I feel right now. And even as I type that I think of how selfish that must seem because there are so many people who are dealing with far worse things than me. I think that sometimes I get so wrapped up in my own life and I think that what is happening to me is the worst thing ever, and then I get a reminder that so many people are struggling, so many are hurting, and so many are dealing with loss and hardship. And then I stop and think about what others are going through and I feel so much pain for them, and my brain starts to overload.

So anyway, the other day I was getting a little overwhelmed with all these thoughts, and then this song, that I haven't heard in years, came into my head, and there it has stayed.

I thought I would share this song with you, (any of you who read this, that is.)

Joy in the Journey (Words and Music by Ché Cowan and Tim McCarthy)

Show me the joy in the journey

'Cause I need strength to carry on

Sometimes the load seems so much more than I can bear

Show me the joy in the journey, show me the joy

Show me the vision in the voyage

Because these waves have battered for so long

Sometimes my bearings seem to get lost in the storm

Show me the vision in the voyage, show me the joy

Show me the joy in the journey

'Cause I want to carry on

Help me forget all the things I've left behind

I want to press towards the mark

Of the calling set before us

Show me the joy in the journey, show me the joy

Show me the purpose in the process

Because I can't see where you're taking me

And yet You've promised it will all be for my good

Show me the purpose in the process, show me the joy

You walked this earth in shoes like mine

You feel the pain that I now feel

It is finished, yes the work's already done

Why should I carry what You've lifted off of me?

I've found the joy in the journey

I've received strength to carry on

I've learned that casting all my burdens at the cross

Gives me joy in the journey, I've found joy

I've found joy in the journey, I've found joy.

I don't claim that every single day I find the joy in the journey, because there are lots of days that I struggle, but the reminder that He feels the pain that I feel, that He's walked in my shoes, and that I don't have to carry my burdens alone really helps on the days when the joy isn't overly apparent.

May we have the envelope please?

I was looking for something in my fridge the other night, and I realized that I really needed to clean out my fridge. In a bad bad bad way. As I began digging things out of the fridge, I started mentally composing a letter that I imagined was on its way to me any day now:

Dear Mrs. Munden,

Congratulations!! You have been selected to be featured as July's winner in "The Horrible Housekeeper Gazette." We are pleased to present you with the "Worst Housewife in Whatcom County" award. You have been chosen for this honor because of your achievements in every category of consideration.

We choose our winners based on a number of categories, and we have stringent rules applied to each category, and you completed every single category, above and beyond our expectations.

At this time we wish to highlight some of your skills that brought you to our attention and earned you this award:

Your "Shove it to the back of the fridge, that'll make it go away" theory is simply brilliant. The resultant, "I didn't know that a cucumber could completely liquify" revelation was illuminating. The "Oh Wow, here's that leftover frosting that was made in FEBRUARY!" was nothing short of greatness.

Your "don't worry, just flip it over and hide the dirty side" attitude was an inspiration to aspiring Horrible Housewives everywhere. The only strike against you was your feeble attempt to deflect by mentioning the fact that you work full time. For that we had to deduct a couple of points, but you did earn the "Suck it up Buttercup!" award from the Crybaby Chronicle which is our sister publication.

So, in closing, we offer our heartiest congratulations and wanted to let you know that we are in talks with TLC to start filming on our "Horrible Housekeepers" television show, and hope that you will consider appearing in our first season.

Also, please accept our congratulations on your meteoric rise through the ranks. We have just been informed that you have skyrocketed from PFC Horrible Housewife straight up to 3 Star General Horrible Housewife, a feat that has never been accomplished before.

Sincerely,

Susie Slacker

Editor in Chief

Horrible Housekeeper Gazette

Isn't that special?

My mother once taught me a joke about a woman who got together with her friend after 20 years and the friend kept bragging about her life, her husband, their wealth, and all her material possessions. After each thing she says, the woman says, "Isn't that special?" When it is the woman's turn to tell about her life she says that her husband sent her to finishing school. The friend asks why he would do that, and the woman says so that she could learn to say "Isn't that special?" when she really wants to say, "Who gives a @#*&?"

Now, with that understanding in mind, I can tell my story from today. I was at work, and it was super duper busy, and I got paged to the paint department. I was greeted by an extremely cranky elderly woman who told me that her husband got the wrong product and the wrong color, but that he'd already opened it. I looked at the can and realized that not only had he opened it, but it was custom tinted and he'd used a third of the can. I tried to explain to her that we can't take back custom tinted paint, especially when it was a third gone. She snapped at me that it wasn't a third, he'd only used "this much," indicating a spot about a third of the way down the can. She said, "Don't you just sell your returns at a discount?" I told her, again, that we don't take back tinted paint, and we don't have returns. She indicated a group of cans and snapped, "What about those returns?" I told her that those were cans that were waiting to be picked up. (Isn't that special?) At this point I took the can and went and talked to my father. I was more inclined to smack her in the head with the can then to give her credit. But we agreed to make her a can of what she wanted and give her $10 off. I went and offered her the deal and she rather snottily conceded it was better than nothing. So I pulled up the formula for the color she wanted and tried to make it, while answering the phone, the radio, and tell someone that I'd be right over to my (now fully functional) licensing terminal to sell a park pass. I called my mother in and she made the paint for the customer and I sold the park pass.

A few hours later, the couple came back and they had a piece of wood and their new can of stain with them. She told me that it was the wrong color and that it was way too blue to match her house, not the sample she chose, but her house. (Isn't that special?) I opened the can and dried a sample so that I could compare the two. While I was drying the sample, she kept trying to ask me questions. I told her that I could not hear her over the dryer. I took the samples outside and looked at them. I went back in and told her that it was definitely a lighter gray than her color, but it wasn't blue. There was no blue in it. She argued with me, so I just kept smiling and working to fix it. At this point I compared the stain we made to the color card that SHE had chosen. It was an exact match. So now we had made 2 different cans of stain for them, both of them being the exactly right color that they had ordered and neither time was she happy. Somehow it was MY fault that her husband picked a color that didn't go along with her color scheme, OR that SHE picked a color SHE thought would match her house, and we made it perfectly and it didn't match her house. I managed to correct the new stain so that it matched her board PERFECTLY! While I was drying the latest sample, her husband walked up and asked me a question. She informed him that I couldn't hear over the dryer, and they left me alone while I finished. I went outside and compared the samples in natural light, and they matched seamlessly.

I went back in and showed them the samples and told them it was fixed. She said, "We'll owe you BIG time IF this matches." (Isn't that special?) I informed them that to my eye it matched perfectly. She said, "Well, we SHOULD be happy with this, shouldn't we?" And her tone made my fingers positively ITCH to grab the rubber mallet and start playing Whack-a-Mole with her.

A few minutes later, as I running back and forth getting change for tills, and ringing up customers, we had a brief pause and Tyler says to me, "Wow, you're way busier than me and you're so cheerful and happy." I told him, "Only on the outside Sweetheart, only on the outside. Inside is a dark and scary place!!"

Wanted: A vacant padded cell, happy pills optional

So my life has felt pretty crazy lately. For starters, I managed to give myself whiplash, a strained shoulder, and a hyper-extended finger by trying to be She-Ra, Princess of Power and move a 12' fiberglass step-ladder by myself. When I went to open the ladder, it started to shift on me, and then I realized I couldn't catch it, I just let it go. It was on uneven ground, and when the top of the ladder hit the ground, the bottom popped up and smacked my left index finger and it bent back past where it should have bent.

Then, last week on my day off, I went to my friend Rachel's house and we worked out together, and then when I got home, Matt and I decided to take Lucie for a walk. We walked her up to the elementary school and when we got there, Matt let her off leash. When we had completed our loop of the field, he decided to work on an obedience refresher with her. They were both getting frustrated with each other. Finally they ended on a good note, and he said, "OK!!" That is her signal that she is now off command, and she took off running great big circles around the field. I clapped my hands to call her to me to play with her a little, and she came running to me at full speed. I didn't really have time to change my position, or brace for impact before she ran straight into my knee, at full speed. All 85 pounds of her, leading with her solid rock lab head. I doubled over and gasped for air. For a split second I thought she'd broken my leg. It took me well over a minute to be able to stand upright again, and attempt to put weight on my leg. It hurt like blazes, but I was able to wobble along. We made our way home, me limping about halfway there, and then tried to decide what to do with the rest of our afternoon.

We were talking about some chairs he'd seen on sale, and I went to my computer to try to look them up and my internet wouldn't launch. I tried twice and nothing happened, so I decided to restart my computer and see if it would help. It didn't. In fact my computer wouldn't restart. It just made strange whirring noises. Matt determined that my hard drive had died. So we decided to go to Bellingham and look at the chairs. We got in my car, and I plugged my iPod into the tape-deck adapter and off we went. I noticed that my music sounded weird. It sounded like the harmony was the main sound, and there was no melody audible. I had no idea what was going on, and Matt figured out that my adapter had died. He asked me, "What?? Did you magnetize your fingers this morning or something?"

I got to work on Friday morning and had to deal with a broken fishing license computer. I have been dealing with problems with my barcode scanner since before Memorial Day. I have called and talked with technicians and they sent me a new scanner. I packed up the old one, and plugged in the new one. It worked for about a day and a half, and then it let out a series of three birdlike chirps, and then died. I unplugged it, plugged it back in, and it repeated the cycle; worked for a day, chirped three times, and died. I called the technicians again, and they determined it must be a software issue and they wanted me to plug in the usb key attached to the back and reload the software. I searched the terminal, there was no key. They shipped me one, and we got the software reloaded. My scanner worked for a day and chirped three times and died. They sent me ANOTHER new scanner. I packed up the old one, plugged in the new one, and the light flashed spasmodically for about 36 seconds, and then it chirped three times and died. I called the technicians and they determined that they needed to send me a new computer, and another new scanner. It arrived on Thursday (the same day that my computer and iPod adapter died.) Now we flash forward to that Friday morning. I spent all morning on the phone with technicians trying to make the new terminal work. It wouldn't connect. Finally we ended up with the old computer plugged in with the latest scanner plugged into it. Everything started working like it should. At this point I mentally did the Chester Cheetah "Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay!!!" head-shake. But I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and just accept that it is working.

So now I'm trying to figure out whether I truly have turned into Maggie Magnetron, the electronics killer; or if selected electronic devices in my life have banded together in some sort of suicide pact? Either way, I've been somewhat reluctant to take out our laptop and try to write down my woes.

These Random Thoughts Are Brought to You by the Letter G...

So this post will really be a bullet train of thought...

For starters, am I the only person who hears noise when a blowdryer is on? Do they operate on some frequency that only I can hear? Is this my version of a dog whistle? Now you may wonder why I would ask this, but every time I'm mixing paint and I dry a sample using the blowdryer, people insist on talking to me, and they talk in at a normal volume, and I can't hear a blasted thing they are saying. So I turn the dryer off, answer their question, and turn it on again... I repeat this cycle numerous times... and after 13+ years of it, I'm finally having to question this actual sound involved here. Am I really the only one who hears it?

Secondly, I don't think it is asking too much for a customer to know whether the paint they want me to make for them is oil based or latex? And after going through a bizarre "Who's on first-esque" routine with a man the other day, only to determine that he needed latex stain, I mixed it up for him, and as I was drying it, he asks (over the noise of the blowdryer of course) "Now that's oil-based, right?" And when I, completed befuddled, answered, "No it's latex," he swore at me and told me he wanted oil for his fence.

I had one of those fantastic feminist victory moments at work the other day, and even though I'm not a feminist at all, I still need these little victories from time to time. We have a ratcheting pipe cutter for tubing and PVC. (The pipe, not the heart contractions that I have) On a number of occasions over the years, I've had men try to cut their own tubing only to bring the cutter up to the front, blow right past me and tell the guys that the cutter is broken. At that point, I walk over, grab the cutter, and pull it open, and then show them how to use it. It happened again the other day, and as minor as it may seem, I really needed that little moment.

I've had a mental list of random thoughts that I wanted to explore, and I've been adding to this mental list for several days, however I seem to have put the list down somewhere and I can't find it, so I'm searching my memory banks for traces of the other thoughts I wanted to delve into.

OH YEAH!!! Here's one... Why do people feel the need to share their personal lives with the people waiting on them in stores? I really didn't need to know that this girl's brand new husband broke their "No Hickey" rule because it was their honeymoon night, so he thought rules shouldn't apply. Then I got to hear about how her ex-husband's new wife took their 3 year old daughter and got her ears pierced, and she felt it was inappropriate since he wouldn't let her get them pierced when she was an infant. At this point, I'm thinking to myself, "Sweetie, I don't even think I know your first name, I really don't need to know this much about your life... I'm just trying to mix your paint!"

And finally, as I was driving to church on Sunday, I passed a rather large homemade sign that appeared to be painted on a sheet and attached to a railing advertising a "Huge G Sale." It should come as no shock to anyone that before I could stop myself, my mind had sprinted off in a few different directions and I was giggling the rest of the way to church. First thought, "Shoot! I already bought G, and I paid full price for it. If they had J, Q, or W however, I might be interested." Second thought was, "What if they aren't selling letters, but rather the wanna-be gangsters who refer to themselves and all their buddies as "G?" If that was the case, I'm glad I drove right by that sale, because Everson and Nooksack have already reached their quota of wanna-be gangsters, and I'd probably be in lots of trouble if I bought any, no matter how cheap they were selling them for.

I crack myself up sometimes... well ok, most of the time... Anyway, that's all for now...

I'm not crazy... I'm "detail oriented."

Ok, so as you might recall I just finished my store wide sticker correction project. As I walked around doing my order today, I found several stickers that had been put up wrong, some of them since Operation Sticker had been completed, and some that I had missed in the course of my Search and Re-adjust mission. I started getting a little cranky about it, and thinking that I've got to learn to let it go. I've discovered that there are many things that I should probably just let go of, but it's not that easy.

So one of my many little issues is how the lid goes on a paper coffee cup. I'm sure to most people, this is not an issue. As long as the lid is firmly fastened on the cup, it's all good, right? WRONG!! For some unknown reason, I have to have the drink hole in lid of the cup directly opposite the seam in the cup. The seam should always be in the back, and so to me the "front" of the lid should be opposite that. I have been known to get my coffee, put it in the cup holder, and then remove the lid, put it on "right" and re-affix it, and then drive away. Thankfully at my favorite coffee shop, the girl who manages it knows me, and how, um, "detail oriented" I am, and I've seen her take my coffee from the other girl, fix the lid, and then hand it to me. She's my favorite.

I run into problems with Starbucks cups, and it actually keeps me from going there very often. Because even though the drink hole should be exactly opposite the seam, it should also be lined up with the logo on the cup. And those jerks at Starbucks had the gall to put their logo 1/4 of the way around the cup from the seam. So then I'm in a total quandary, do I line the lid up with the logo, or opposite the seam? And the cardboard cup sleeve doesn't fully cover the logo, so I can't even trick myself by covering the logo. (Yes, I have tried.)

The other morning, I got a coffee on my way in, and the girl put the lid on "wrong" and I really tried to leave it. I even managed to take 2 sips of it before I had to fix it at the next stop sign...

At this point I am reminded of the movie "What About Bob?" Those 2 little sips with the lid on wrong were my first baby steps towards paper cup-related mental health. Maybe I'll just get myself one of those reusable cups that looks like a paper cup with a built in cup-sleeve because then there is no logo or seam to worry about... I can't even imagine what it would be like to just be able to sip my coffee without having to check the lid placement first. I imagine it would be heavenly!

Who the heck do we think we are?

I was watching an episode of JAG the other night, I'll pause here so you can all mock me for my viewing choices... Ok, got it out of your system? Let's move on...

This episode focused on a fictitious story of a female lieutenant in the Navy who was stationed in Saudi Arabia, and she refused to comply with the Navy regulations for how women were to behave and dress when they were off base. While the story was fictitious, the regulations were factual.

Women had to wear an abaya and a veil, and they were not allowed to drive, they had to ride in the backseat, and they must be accompanied by a man. This woman stubbornly refused to comply, and as I watched this show I got angrier and angrier, until I wanted to somehow reach into the tv and punch her in the face!

Do I agree with the customs pertaining to women in Saudi Arabia? No, I don't. Do I live there? No I don't. If I was stationed there, would I follow those regulations? Absolutely!

To my way of thinking, those customs may be archaic and unfair, but it is their lifestyle, not my own. What right would I have to go to their country and flout their laws? I also believe that if someone enlists in the military, they are accepting that they will comply with orders issued to them by their commanding officers. They know that their personal comforts will be put on hold for the greater good.

I started to feel not only anger, but shame as I watched this. It really made me understand why so many people in the world hate Americans. If their only experience with an American was someone like this Lieutenant who refused to put a leash on her pride and bulldozed her way through a foreign land without caring who she made uncomfortable, no wonder they hate us!

I know that this was not real, but it very well could have been, and sadly probably has happened. I can understand the feelings of frustration that a woman in our military would feel when faced with these restrictions. It would be incredibly aggravating to know that the men who you outrank wouldn't have to salute if you were veiled, to know that you'd have to have one of them accompany you everywhere. But I also see that true leadership isn't about rank, it isn't about showing everyone that you are in control. I think that a true leader would put his or her own pride aside and graciously accept the customs of the country that was hosting them. Wouldn't it be the sign of a true leader to show that you don't think yourself above the law?

I also started thinking about the "oppressed" women of this nation. I'm not being sarcastic or snotty, I put it in quotes because I wanted to show that while in my view these women are oppressed, maybe in their view they aren't. I can't pretend to understand or know how these women feel. And I think it's complete hubris to project our views onto an entire culture.

We take our freedoms for granted, and we assume that everyone else in the world wants exactly what we want. Maybe they don't. Maybe we don't know what's best for everyone else in the world.

I don't want this to sound like I am anti-military. That could not be further from the truth. I am so thankful for the freedoms I enjoy, and I am thankful to the countless men and women who have given their lives so that I could have them. I can't comprehend the sacrifices they have made for me, and that they willingly do it. I was just really affected by this episode of JAG and the selfish pride of that woman.

I know that I probably set back the feminist movement a few decades with my thinking, but I think that if we want to be respected by other nations, maybe we should show them the same respect.

Vanitas Vanitatum...

When I was in high school we sang a song in choir called Vanitas Vanitatum... The whole song is comprised of one phrase that is repeated over and over, "Vanitas vanitatum, et omnia vanitas." It means, "Vanity, vanity, all around is vanity."

Today I paid the high price of vanity in the form of utter frustration and insecurity. Today was my friends' Luke and Kristin's wedding. I decided that in honor of their special day I would put a little extra effort into getting ready.

So, to that end I hauled out the trusty old hot rollers and while they were setting I decided to give this whole makeup thing a try again. When my friend Heidi's wedding was approaching I got tips on makeup from Megan at work. So, bearing in mind everything she taught me, I started working on this fiasco that I call Me applying makeup.

I've gotten somewhat better at it since last summer's Short Bus to Makeup School post, but still I'm nowhere near proficient. I'm barely passable.

I muddled my way through powder and foundation, and eyeliner and eyeshadow and ended with mascara. I thought that I had done an ok job. I took the hot rollers out and tried to tame my hair, but it wasn't having any of that. I decided to go on the offensive and pin my hair up. I decided that it was as good as it was going to get, and out the door I went.

As I came to my first stop sign, my face started to feel a little warm because I was a little stressed about leaving later than I'd planned. So I decided to check my reflection in the mirror and to my absolute horror I saw that my makeup, which had been so perfectly matched to my skin up until this point was suddenly a completely different color than the rest of me. My neck looked shockingly white against my face. I was flabbergasted. I did the only possible thing I could do while in transit... I took my hair down trying to soften the contrast, but my hair had other ideas. Instead of just behaving like my normal and usually well manner hair, it went absolutely wild. At the next stop light I tried desperately to tame it.

At this point I was torn between panic and rage. The more I worried about it, the warmer my face got, increasing the contrast between face and throat. And to make it all worse, there was this stupid Taurus wagon in front of me that insisted on going way under the speed limit. Suddenly I couldn't decide which I wanted more, a magic wand to fix the mess that was my hair and makeup, or a rocket launcher to clear my path.

Thankfully upon arrival, I discovered that the lighting inside was somewhat dimmed. I was less worried about people noticing my resemblance to a rodeo clown.

I got back home and had only a few minutes before we had to leave for a birthday party. I didn't even have time to kick off my heels and let my feet have a break. We went to the party, and I ended up spending a fair bit of time on my feet, and then later when discussing lawn mowers and vacuums, the point was made that vacuuming would be more fun in a tiara. I said that vacuuming would be more fun if we had a riding vacuum. I again thought how if women ruled the world, there would be riding vacuums and we wouldn't have to go through all these vanity rituals before going to an event.

We got home and I gleefully changed into sweats and fuzzy socks, and contemplated the best method of removing the metric ton of makeup from my face. I narrowed it down to the 3 best methods. 1. Go down to the carwash and use their high pressure hoses. 2. Use the fresh sheet of 220 grit sandpaper that I had just put on the palm sander. 3. Hope and pray that the pre-moistened makeup removing towelettes were up for the task.

I ruled out sanding because we just got the all the sawdust out of the garage earlier today, and I didn't want to clog up the air with more dust. I ruled out carwash because I didn't have that many quarters on hand. So I pulled my hair back and tackled the makeup with the towelettes. It took a couple, but I finally prevailed. I brushed my hair out and was vastly relieved to see that had finally settled down. It's quite distressing to know that you're the model for the new Hooker Hair Barbie that's due to hit the stores this Christmas season... (5" heels and oversized purse sold separately.)

I know why I'm not in advertising...

I watch a lot of TV. I think we've already established that. I'm so thankful for our DVR because I hate commercials. I think that most of them are a waste of time. And some of them are downright awkward and sometimes offensive.

I do like a few commercials out there. Some of the Geico commercials are highly entertaining to me. Not the caveman ones, if I never see another one of those I'll be a happy camper. I don't think those are even the slightest bit amusing. But the woodchuck one, the Abraham Lincoln one, and the dogs chasing cats one are freakin' hilarious.

I saw a Kraft Macaroni & Cheese commercial that I actually found offensive. It seems very strange that a commercial for mac & cheese would offend me, but it was one for their new Homestyle Mac & Cheese, and it's a boy probably around 10 or so, and he's talking about how his dad forgot to tell his mom that the boss was coming to their house for dinner, but thankfully Mom had some of that new mac & cheese. But the kid says, "Dad really screwed this one up." I don't see any need for a kid that young to say that. I remember getting in trouble when I was 12 or 13 for saying "screwed," and now we're just supposed to accept it being said by a young child for the purpose of advertising macaroni???

Ok, now for the commercials that really bug me. I've never even watched the whole thing because I always start fast-forwarding when they come on, or if it's live TV I change the channel. The commercials are I think for Pampers' Pull-ups and they are those obnoxious "Potty Dance" commercials. I HATE that song!!!!! And really, what parent in their right mind who has a child of potty-training age encourages said child to jump around and dance when the kid says they have to go? I remember when both of my nephews were potty-training, when they said "I've gotta go" you drop everything and get them to the bathroom. You don't keep them from the bathroom and instead make them wiggle around. I'm a little unclear as to how that would help accomplish anything except Pampers selling more Pull-ups because a lot of kids will be peeing their pants from doing the Potty Dance instead of just going to the freakin' bathroom.

What advertising genius came up with this? I realize that they have probably accomplished their goal because clearly the ad sticks with people, but in my case, and for several other people I know, it sticks with us for all the wrong reasons. It doesn't make me want to buy their product (not that I have a need for it) it makes me want to blow up their offices so I never have to hear it again!

I'm sorry Alex Trebek, you're wrong... oh... what???

A few months ago my friend Missy sent me an email with a list of "You know you're a Law Enforcement (LE) Wife when..." jokes. I read the list and laughed my head off and agreed to and related with a great number of them.

There are so many things that LE wives do and say without even thinking about them, it just becomes an unconscious part of your life.

Tonight I was watching Jeopardy, as I usually do, and the category was 3 Letter Abbreviations. The clue was "Everyone has one of these, POV." I immediately answered (silently, so as not to wake my poor sleeping hubby) "Personally Owned Vehicle." Then one of the contestants rang in and answered, "Point of view." I (again mentally) snorted, "No stupid... it's Personally Owned Vehicle." But then Alex Trebek had the gall to agree with them. I started forming my mental picture of how that scene would have played out had I been the contestant that rang in and answered that clue. I would have stood my ground and fought the Clue Crew to the death that I was right. I suppose that I could see their point of view, pun not actually intended here, and agree that POV could also stand for point of view, but I would not give in, I would make them give me the full value of that clue.

I suppose that maybe I'm a little stubborn, but I'm sure that I'm right on this one.

There are some other abbreviations that I struggle with from time to time because I know what they are really supposed to mean, and then someone else throws out another meaning for them. I think that they're just trying to confuse me.

For example, LED's are all the rage right now for people trying to save money on their electric bills. Now to most people LED stands for Light Emitting Diode (actually I guess that most people don't even know that.) To me, however, I'm torn between Light Emitting Diode and Law Enforcement Dispatch.

I'm in the hardware business, so I know both of these abbreviations and can use them both properly. A little over three years ago I was having some heart troubles and having exhausted several other options, my doctor sent me to the cardiologist (who did not call the nurse or the Lady with the Alligator purse, just to clarify) and the cardiologist had me wear a 30 Day Event Monitor. This was a little device that I wore 24/7 for a month and when I was having an "event" I would press the record button and it would track what my heart was doing. Then I would transmit these recordings to a call center where they reviewed them and passed the results along to my cardiologist. (Bear with me, I am going somewhere with this, and it will tie back in to 3 letter abbreviations.) After I had returned the monitor at the end of the month, I waited for the results. One day I got a call from the nurse at my regular doctor's office and she said that the doctor wanted to see me and discuss the results, but that they showed numerous and frequent PVC's.

Now, as I stated earlier, I'm in the hardware business, so I hear PVC and I immediately think "Poly Vinyl Chloride." I mean really, who wouldn't right? I was then told that it meant "Premature Ventricular Contractions." I like mine better, just sayin'.

ABS is Anti-Lock Brakes right? Well to me it's Acrylonitrile Butadiene Styrene. I would like nothing better than to tell you all that I actually knew those words. (I did remember styrene) I had to look them up, but I know that it is the black plastic pipe that I sell all day long. Most people call it Black PVC, again, they're wrong, but I suppose Alex Trebek would probably agree with them.

I think that I probably spend more time than I should thinking about this, but I actually think about what it would be like if I were ever a contestant on Jeopardy. It would probably be best for all involved if that never happens because Alex would probably need treatment for PTSD if he had to take me on. (As you might have noticed, PTSD is a 4 letter abbreviation, so it's safe from this particular examination.)

I also spend a lot of time thinking about what inane story I would tell that Alex would have to pretend to be interested in after the first commercial break... But that's a topic for another time.

When I Find Not Me, I'm Gonna Kick His Butt!!

I grew up hearing that very phrase, "When I find 'Not Me' I'm gonna kick his butt!" It was always in response to my father asking my sister and I who had done something, i.e. leave his tools out in the rain, or something along those lines.

Lately I've been thinking the same thing, a lot, as I've made my way through the store trying to fix all the price stickers that were put out wrong. I know that I am incredibly OCD about some things, but this is one thing that truly drives me bonkers!! I think that it looks very nice to have one price tag in front of each product, one sticker put on straight. It also looks professional, and most of all, neat.

It does not look nice, professional, or neat to have multiple stickers piled onto a clear plastic shield; to have a number of stickers arranged haphazardly at odd angles, or to have different sized stickers stuck on top of one another.

After my mother and I re-set the plumbing aisle, it became clear to me that I needed to fix the stickers that were put up wrong. So I started out on this seemingly simple quest. I put on my little two-pocket True Value apron with a pack of new clear plastic price-tag shields, my knife, and a pen and started on my way. I have slowly and painstakingly made my way through the store, and now after a little over 2 weeks at the task I'm about halfway done. I've replaced well over a thousand tags that were put up incorrectly. I've broken and torn 4 fingernails, I've cut 3 fingers, and my True Value apron now has spots of both blood and mud on it.

The thing that keeps ringing through my mind is "Who does this wrong???" Whenever it is mentioned, every single person who works in our store says, "I do it right, every time." So, the question is, "If everyone does it right every time, who (or what little gremlin) sneaks into my store and puts stickers up wrong?"

Tomorrow my goal is to finish fixing the plumbing section, and move onto Electrical.

When I am finished with the whole store, I'm going to order my "At Home DNA Testing Kit" and I'm going to watch the store like a hawk, and as soon as someone puts one up wrong again, I'm going to find my culprit, and then I'm gathering the villagers with their pitchforks and torches because clearly, everyone should care about this as much as I do, and the sticker-maniac must be stopped! So be warned, when I find "Not Me," butt-kickings will commence!!!