RANT!!!!!

In response to Chameka Scott's status, "gets so frustrated grocery shopping, like every item is this super important life decision.. tarter control, cavity protection, whitening, enamel this.. gingivitis that.. what kind of monster makes you choose.. DAMN YOU CREST! Can they not make one super toothpaste?"


I was just having this sort of conversation with my mom in Target yesterday. I just wanted some mascara.. why does Loreal have 30 different kinds of "Voluminous Mascara???" I'll tell you exactly why... Loreal wants you to see new packaging and think, "Oh this is new.. I should try it b/c it says it has 'FIVE TIMES MORE VOLUME' whereas my regular (the one that I'm really happy with) only says 'THREE TIMES MORE VOLUME', therefore, the new one must be even better. I buy it, take it home and try it the next morning only to be disappointed that it does not in fact provide more volume than my regular mascara. Then I have to go back to the store and buy my regular.. BAM! Loreal just made 'TWO TIMES THE MONEY' off of me, and I just wasted 'TWO TIMES THE AMOUNT OF TIME' I needed to waste in order to have lushes lashes. My regular mascara needs to be more specific. For example, it could say 'THREE TIMES MORE VOLUME THAN EVEN THE NEWEST MASCARA ON THE MARKET, WHICH WE ALSO MAKE BUT ONLY HAS FIVE TIMES MORE VOLUME THAN THE VERY FIRST MASCARA PRODUCT WE EVER MADE.'


Lesson learned, Loreal.

Sometimes it's better to take the stairs...

I started a new job about a week ago and have had little to no time getting to know my way around our building.  So far I've learned that parking can be found only on the basement floor of the garage (possibly because other companies have "get to work on time" type rules or possibly because they live there).  I've also learned that the "cafe" consists of under priced items such as the Chicken Fried Rice Plate, which comes with a pound of chicken fried rice, 2 sides and an egg roll for just $3.50. "Cash only, please."  What I hadn't learned about until today, is the volatility of our building's elevator doors.

I returned from lunch (not from the "cafe") with a smile on my face and an eagerness to prove myself worthy of my new salary to my new boss.  Approaching the elevators in the lobby, I noticed a girl, a little older than myself, talking on her cell phone and walking in my direction.  The elevator doors opened and I jumped on, waiting a few seconds for the girl to join me.  Just as she crossed the elevator's threshold, and clearly a moment too soon, I pressed the button for my floor and the doors slammed shut on her.  Literally, on her.  Hard.  Confused as to how any elevator could behave in such a manner, I gave it a bewildered look as if to say, simply, "why?"  Not seeming to care, "why?" the girl pushed back on the doors like a bully on a nerd in gym class with a "WTF" attitude.

Before I could muster an apology, the girl spit out a true, "what the f*#K was that, b*tch??!!!!  For a second I thought she might be referring to the previous caller on her cell phone, because she flipped it open with an angry look on her face, and I wondered, nerd-like, "who talks like that in a professional building?" When I didn't retort, she locked eyes on me and sprayed, "Answer me b*tch!  That was f*@#in sh*tty of you!"

Normally I would have no problem holding my own, but this chick appeared to be the kind that might knee me in the groin, put me in a choke-hold, spit a loogie in my face and leave me moaning in agony for the next elevator rider to clean up.  Instead, I did what any normal human being would do in this situation; I feigned being deaf, and pointing to my ears, replied (in the deepest tone I could muster), "Ah sahey. Ah tahnt heaw ooo." (Translation: I'm sorry.  I can't hear you.)

It seemed to work in my favor, because the girl loosened her clenched fist, rolled her eyes and muttered, "Wow, this b*tch is deaf,"

As I reached my floor and the doors opened, I shot her a smile and a quick goodbye wave and ran down the hall to my office, thankful to be untouched and with excellent hearing.

Street Smarts

I think that if you are an aspiring musician trying to raise money to help you in pursuit of your life's passion, you should probably not play your guitar and sing on the side of a the West Park Toll Road with a sign that reads, "trying to make it."  For one, the cars will fly past you because they're going at or above the speed limit.  For another, no one will hear you, because they will be in their cars flying past you going at or above the speed limit.  Rather than monetary gain, you're more likely to experience passersby who honk violently as if to say, "PICK A NEW VENUE!!!!!!! or, "YOU'RE A DUMBA**!!!"  Only when you're able to decipher the difference between the two morse-codes-of-a-honk, will you finally discover a most valuable lesson from the streets - strategic planning is everything.

Parrot Talk

It was a hot summer’s day in Southern California.  One of those 100-degree days that come only twice a year in San Diego and one that begs you stay indoors if at all possible.   Because my house didn’t have air conditioning and was built in the 1950s with inadequate insulation, I had positioned myself in the darkest room of the house, the bedroom, with the ceiling fan on high and two mobile fans pointed directly towards my face.  Despite my nakedness and my attempts to exert as little energy as possible, I was dripping sweat and my makeup slid off my face just as quickly as I applied it.  Resolving to take my makeup to work and reapply later, I dressed and was ready to escape the sauna.  I let my audacious Jack Russell Terrier out to use the restroom before I left, not bothering to join her in the heat.  Unfortunately for me, when I went to check on her 2 minutes later, she was gone.  I called her name to which she always responds obediently, but this time she didn’t come running. Five minutes later I begrudgingly set out to find her.  30 minutes later I was still looking.  I called my boyfriend in a panic, but he quickly calmed my nerves by suggesting I check the neighbors’ backyard where I was relieved to find her, hanging with her new over-sized friend, Rocky, a 130 plus pound Bullmastiff.  How she made her way over that fence I never figured out, but that was the least of my worries.   The neighbors weren’t home, so I made the decision to let myself in the back gate to retrieve my curious canine.  Big mistake.  Huge mistake.  Rocky bulldozed his way through me and the gate, and set out on what proved to be an extended game of chase.  I tackled him just a few houses down, thanking God he wasn’t ferocious, and dragged him back to his house for the first time.  He bulldozed me again and this time took me on a guided tour through the neighborhood.  A few streets away now, he made a beeline for a random backyard and its open gate.  I quickly followed thinking I’d finally found a way to corner him and make victory mine, but as I approached, the voice of an old woman startled me. 

“Who’s?!  Get the hell outta here!”  She was rude.

I instinctively ducked down fearing I might be shot, all the while forgetting I was in California where people don’t carry guns.  Still a little nervous, I began to speak, “I’m so sorry, my neighbor’s dog ran back here and I’m just trying to catch him.” 

“Didn’t you hear me?  Get the hell outta here!”

“I will just as soon as I get the dog.  I promise.”  I was really sorry for invading this woman’s home.

“You’ll never get away with this!”

“Mam, I’m only trying to get the dog, I not trying to break in or take anything.  I just need to get the…” As I finished my sentence I looked up and noticed Rocky was trying breach a huge cage with a… parrot… inside. 

“Get the hell outya here!  Get the hell outta here!” 

It wasn’t an old woman at all… it was a live security device. Embarrassed, I grabbed Rocky and dragged him all the way home.  My obediently little puppy followed behind with no leash.  By the time I got home I looked like I had just been conquered by the Aztecs.  My distressed state and appearance required a call in late to work and a cold shower.  I didn’t even bother to apply makeup.  Rocky had gotten the best of me that day, as did the California heat and the grumpy old woman-like parrot.  

The Unfortunate Cookie

Recently I dined at somewhat of a gourmet Chinese eatery, one that many know by the name of Pei Wei, but one that I can’t help but think of as, “the P.F. Chang outlet.” I don’t want to believe that Pei Wei gets the slightly deformed, off-colored, not-quite chicken products passed down from their big brother, P.F., but if they don’t, then why does P.W. serve the same food at half the price? I could buy a pair of socks from Nordstrom Rack and be satisfied with the amount I pay, but at the end of the day I’ll have to live with the fact that perhaps I’m getting 2 right-footed socks instead of the normal, 1 left and 1 right. But I digress. In the end, my queries fail to outweigh my desire for affordable rations and fashions, and so I continue to eat and shop wherever my grad school budget allows.

Now, anyone familiar with Pei Wei is probably keen on the fact that one’s fortune cookie intake is not monitored. Rather, a never-ending stack lays perfectly accessible, smack dab in the middle of the fountain drinks and silverware, in much the same way that anti-socialites leave huge bowls of candy unattended on their doorsteps during Halloween. Thanks for the candy, but you’re hurting my feelings by not answering the door, not to mention that you’re missing out on the very essence of Halloween, which completely and utterly revolves around the costume. You need to know that there are kids and grown-folks alike standing right outside your door, with strong desires to show off whatever hideous attire we’ve chosen for the evening in order to live out a once a year fantasy. Get off the couch and marvel at our creativeness, Mr. Antisocial. But again I digress. And to be clear, I am not complaining about the plethora of fortune cookies at this establishment. In fact, I am a huge fan of the whole idea and personally take full advantage of the situation on any given visit. So naturally this one was no different.

I ordered orange peel chicken, hopeful that I would receive a high quality, antibacterial and steroid free, naturally fed, cagelessly raised bird in exchange for close to $7.50. I grabbed my silverware, filled my cup with chai tea and grabbed a handful of fortune cookies. I hesitated towards a table, fighting the urge to fill my purse with enough cookies to last a couple of weeks. I took a seat and decided to have 2 cookies as an appetizer while waiting for my main course. As anyone would be, I was thrilled to open both cookies to find fortunes related to money: “You will receive an unexpected sum of money within the year,” … “ Money will soon flow to you in abundance, be ready.” I was ready already. Content with my fortunes I enjoyed my meal and after a bit asked the waiter to bag my leftovers. He did so and I left feeling full and confident about my financial future. Throughout the day I had a fortune cookie here, another there, and was delighted at the fact that 4 of the 6 I ate that day all hinted at the prospect of mo’ money.

The next day I enjoyed my leftovers for lunch and to my surprise found that the waiter had thrown in another fortune cookie as a kind gesture. He had also followed me to work when I left the restaurant, and in what my boss deemed a creepy and stalker-like fashion, asked me out. No matter. I was now appreciative of his attentiveness and eagerness to please me. Dessert! I opened it with slight arrogance, as if I knew it would be about money. Sure enough it read, “You will soon inherit a large sum of money.” At first glance, I was pleased, but then I began to ponder the implications of such a fortune…at least for me. I logically concluded that in order to inherit something, someone must first die. This fortune would be quite suitable for someone who has a rich auntie (whom they’ve never met) living on the other side of the world. To me though it was more of a threat, because I can only think of one person in my life who would include me in her will and have something substantial to show for it-my mom. I too have a rich auntie, but I’m pretty sure I’d be the last on her list to receive an inheritance for several reasons, namely because I’m sure she’s figured out by now that I’ve dated outside my race and that I'm not a hard core republican. I omitted such details in our conversations on the off chance that I might at least be mentioned in her will, but I’m a horrible liar. Needless to say, the likelihood of my coming into money on account of my great ol’ aunt is all but gone. All of my grandparents are deceased, so my mom is pretty much all I’ve got.

Naturally I decided against eating the fortune cookie. Instead, I called my mom to make sure she was feeling ok and wasn’t hiding any known health issues from me. I told her to be careful, hung up the phone and immediately composed a letter addressed to the chairman and CEO of PFChang/Pei Wei, Rick Federico, telling him about my experience and letting him know that I expect to be fully compensated for my distress and grief. I haven’t yet heard back from him, but any day now I’m expecting a year’s supply of fortune cookies, hand picked with exceptional fortunes, along with a pass for unlimited free dinners at that big brother restaurant where I will be promptly greeted by name while being ushered directly to a table and served the highest grade of chicken known to man. Maybe it won’t turn out to be such an unfortunate cookie after all

Know Thyself..

25 Random Things About Me

Rules: Once you have been tagged, you are supposed to write a note wth 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged, you have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, that means I want to know more about you.

To do this, go to the "notes" tab on your homepage. Paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, and then tag 25 people(in the right hand corner of this app). Then click "publish".

1. I absolutely love a good thunderstorm.

2. I suddenly develop narcolepsy when I hear the sound of vacuums, hairdryers, airplane engines, leaf blowers, etc., …takes me right back to the womb.

3. I am extremely indecisive, which my mother says is endearing. I can’t decide if I believe her or not.

4. My mom is my favorite person in the whole world. She is the most selfless human being I know. When I’m quiet, she thinks I’m mad at her, and for some reason has no idea that I could never be mad at her. She only knows the names of my closest friends, which means she was never one of those gossipy moms. She is strong, independent, funny and without being cliché, beautiful inside & out.

5. I really hate gossip and go to great lengths to avoid it.

6. I would sell everything I own to travel the world and am seriously considering doing so.

7. I’ve never had a cavity.

8. I lost my 2 front teeth, twice. The first time it happened my mom slipped while getting me out of the bathtub. My mouth met the tub, and the tub knocked my teeth back up into my head. Two years later after they’d grown in again, I ran into a metal trashcan and knocked them out for good. For about 4 years, all I wanted for Christmas was my 2 front teeth.

9. I have strong opinions, but I generally keep them to myself. One day I will write a book and all those opinions will spill out.

10. I prefer to communicate my feelings through the written word.

11. I’m an extremely private person, but I like to know everything about everyone else. I tend to ask too many uncensored questions that I’m not willing to answer about myself- mainly because I trust myself with secrets, but I don’t trust others with my own.

12. I wish I could sing really well. Specifically gospel or soul.

13. I know absolutely nothing about my heritage. Where did I come from???!!!

14. I can shake my eyes and touch my tongue to my nose. It’s long.

15. I dreamed that my dog got raped by a squirrel the other night. What’s that about?!

16. My favorite thing to do is laugh and make people laugh.

17. My handwriting changes depending on my mood. It kinda scares me.

18. At one point in my life, I was the youngest of 6 kids (including step siblings) and I loved being the baby.

19. I am fresh out of grandparents & sad about it. I love old folks, especially if they have a great sense of humor (crude or otherwise), and lots of wisdom to share.

20. I am never on time. I think I need to see a professional to find out why this is so.

21. I am an ENTP.

22. I want to be a, “Professional Student.” If only that were a career choice, accompanied by a salary…

23. I drove myself to drivers ed class everyday when I was 15 and parked my car a few blocks away.  My instructor was pretty impressed with my lack of anxiety on the freeway.

24. I am fascinated with foreign languages and cultures. I want Rosetta Stone for every language known to man.

25. I get insomnia. A lot. Doesn’t someone need to vacuum???

No Santa of Mine

Based on a true story. Actually, based on an exact conversation I had with my boyfriend one winter evening.

Characters:
A man, we'll call him Dirk
Dirk's girlfriend, we’ll call her Mandy


Setting:
A residential living room in Anytown, America. Late evening.
Scene:
Dirk and Mandy lounge in the living room, a fire ablaze in the fireplace adjacent to a beautifully lit tree. Mandy is tuned into a popular reality TV show. Dirk gazes around the room, imagining the couple’s future.

Dirk:
Just imagine what it will be like on Christmas Eve when we have kids; You and I will be up after the kids go to sleep and they’ll try to sneak into the living room to see if Santa’s come yet and to peek at their presents. I’ll have to yell at them and be like, “You better go lay down and go to sleep or Santa will put pepper in your eyes!!”

Alarmed at his statement, Mandy cuts Dirk a worried and disapproving glare.

Mandy (stuttering):
Who…what..what kind of person would ever tell a child that Santa is going to put pepper in their eyes?? What’s wrong with you?? That is not okay!

Dirk finds humor in the situation and begins to laugh. Mandy remains unamused.

Dirk:
What do you mean? That’s what my mom used to tell me when I tried to
peek at my presents before Christmas morning. She always told me that.

Mandy:
Wow. I feel really sorry for you. You must have had an awful childhood… And,
you must have been terrified of Santa! No Santa of mine would ever put pepper
in anyone’s eyes! You poor child…

Dirk (slightly offended):
No, I wasn’t terrified of Santa, I just knew better than to leave my room to try to
peek at my presents.

Mandy:
Well I knew just as well not to peek and all my parents had to tell me was that if I didn’t stay in bed, Santa wouldn’t come. Jeez, what kind of parent tells their kid Santa is going to put pepper in their eyes??!! I’m calling your mom…this is really disturbing, and I really can’t believe she would tell you such a thing.

Cut to: Mandy hangs up the phone after talking with Dirk’s mom for only 2 minutes. She feels no relief after the conversation.

Mandy:
She didn’t even deny it. She actually said that her parents told her the same thing
when she was a little girl. I can’t believe it.

Dirk:
See, it’s just a family thing… a tradition of sorts.

Mandy:
Well the tradition is coming to a halt with this generation. I will not allow you to
tell our children that Santa might put pepper in their eyes. Would Jesus ever
put pepper in your eyes? I don’t think so.

Dirk:
Santa is not Jesus, he’s completely different.

Mandy:
It doesn’t matter; the same principles apply. And what about the Toothfairy? Does she sprinkle salt in your eyes if you stay up all night waiting for her to come? What about the Easter Bunny…what does he do to you?

Dirk:
The same principles don’t apply. And I didn’t believe in the Easter Bunny; I just never could buy into the fact that there was a giant Rabbit hopping around hiding Easter Eggs.

Mandy:
Oh, but you had no problem believing that Santa- Jolly ol’ Saint Nicholas- the
sweetest, kindest, gentlest man in the whole world who never fails to bring the grandest of all presents and coolest of all stocking stuffers, even to kids who are undoubtedly on the naughty list and deserve nothing but a sack of ashes or a lump coal, would actually put pepper in your eyes???!! That’s absurd!

Dirk:
I don’t care what you say, my kids are going to believe that Santa WILL put
pepper in their eyes if they try to look at their presents.

Mandy:
I want to break up.

Foreign Affairs?

You know how sometimes you meet a couple and can peg them right away as a, "mail-order-bride" situation? Well, that's exactly what happened to me today. While the well-aged "buyer" held clear dominion over the outlander, he was surprisingly docile and accommodating towards his callow counterpart. I found it endearing and a bit ambitious of the young lady to pursue a life with a man three times her age. When he asked her questions she shook her head yes in agreement, which again, I found somewhat commendable of restraint on her part. Yet, when I asked her an open-ended question and she again shook her head yes, we all arrived at an unspoken understanding. Suddenly, the phrase, “foreign affairs” took on a completely new meaning for me.

Dogs on a Leash

I moved to San Diego hanging on the very word of Tony Toni Tone, who, among others, sang, "It never rains in Southern California." However, I feel like since I've been here, that's all it's been doing. Perhaps I feel this way because it's rare that I get to become one with nature anyway, considering the number of hours I spend in the studio. Nevertheless, according to the natives, the amount of rainfall in the past few months has been considerably uncommon. Notwithstanding, today was a beautiful day.

Today was also rather unordinary as I found time after my midterm to visit Target (as usual, going in for 1 item and exiting with 13,) twice (only because I temporarily misplaced my wallet and had run home to retrieve it.) I also enjoyed an extended afternoon run around the neighborhood and prepared a fabulous 3 course meal. And even now, I bask in the free moments I have to write this blog, which is mainly about my run by the way.

Now, my street has a few hills, three of which can be described as, "gently rolling," while one constantly scoffs at me in its monstrosity, at least when I ascend it. When I run around the neighborhood, I generally make the decision early on about whether I will run up the monstrous hill or simply walk it. If I plan to run a long distance before coming to it, I customarily decide it's not worth the struggle. However, on this day, I decided to push through my comfort zone. So, although I had run further than I ever had in the area, even getting lost at one point, on my way back home I chose to challenge myself by sprinting up the cruel hill.

After an embarrassing "uphill battle," I finally reached the top, feeling somewhat accomplished. But just as I began to slow my speed, out of nowhere (well actually it was out of the small opening from a nearby garage door) came a vicious, miniature doberman pincher, running after me at full speed. I flinched to start running away, but very quickly realized how fatigued I was after the hill. Instead I continued to walk away slowly, allowing the evil dog to nip and gnaw at my ankles while it screamed at me for nearly three blocks until finally I turned around and yelled back, "Stop! Leave me alone!!" If anyone had been watching me they might have found humor in the fact that I was arguing with a dog the size of my foot, but I didn't care.

There's not really a point to this blog except to say that the people on my street should keep their dogs on leashes, not their cats, as clearly stated in a previous note. Otherwise, I'm going to end up really cranky on a perfectly beautiful day in Southern California.

Car Trouble in Paradise

Living in Texas, I held a pretty clean driving record minus a few close calls. I was pulled over for speeding once, and rightfully so, but despite an unexplained gun in the glove compartment, the officer let me go with a warning. This I attribute to the irrepressible, heavy, southern accent that I brusquely developed out of nowhere. Oh, and then there was an incident involving some unfortunate scrapage to the passenger side door of my 2000 Toyota Celica, which was caused by a ginormous yellow pole that supported a poorly designed parking garage built for Micro Machines. Other than that, I was a golden adolescent driver. However, since moving to California, I’ve had less than spectacular luck as far as my car goes. As it is, I’ve lived in San Diego for a year and a half and can count a total of 6 incidents where my car has been injured.

Incident 1:

I moved to San Diego in September of 2007. By December my car was in shambles. I hadn't even escaped my work parking lot when I was rear ended by a giant German man, who more than likely learned to drive on the Autobahn, and thus thought it acceptable to take corners at 40 mph in a parking lot. And although he was helpful in scotch-taping my bumper back to the body of my new sedan, he stood firm in his belief that I was at fault and somehow I ended up paying half my required deductible to get it repaired. I do not like the giant German man, but I still like German Chocolate Cake.

Incident 2:

This one occurred when an angry male left a fist print in the hood of my car. I don’t recall when, where or why this happened, but I’m pretty sure it ensued my status as a single woman.

Incident 3:

It was a hot summers day and I was helping a friend move. My trunk was filled with mirrors, picture frames and other fragile items that hang on walls and look pretty. As I exited the freeway, I slammed on my breaks to avoid hitting the car in front of me, but the man behind me had no such luck. Instead he rammed me at 45 mph. My Nigerian assailant seemed less than apologetic, but nevertheless handed over all of his information including his phone number, address and insurance card, which I later discovered to be 6 months expired. I’m still stalking and threatening him but no longer regret refusing him a ride to a payphone to have his lifeless car towed!

(Side note):
$500 and a few weeks later my car was fixed and I was visiting the chiropractor 3 times a week. After an hour-long photo shoot featuring my backbones, the doctor posted my x-rays and proclaimed that in all his 10 years of practice and his colleague’s 25, neither had ever seen a spine like mine. I was flattered for close to 3 seconds, until he told me that wasn’t a good thing. To my dismay, my spine was not superior to that of the rest of the world. Rather it was lacking in any curve whatsoever - this would explain why people have always complemented my good posture, but apparently does not bode well for my future as a human. Being the skeptic that I am, I told him I wanted a second opinion and never went back. I’m still trying to get my back to feel normal.

Incident 4:

It was 2:30am when I heard a car alarm blaring outside. I didn’t recognize it at first since I’ve never heard the thing, but it turned out to be mine. I silenced it and peered out my kitchen window like the spy that I wasn't until I convinced myself the culprit was a curious cat. However, the next morning as I approached my car I noticed several things strewn about in the middle of the street… lotion, makeup, feminine products … all leading towards a puddle of tinted glass that came from my passenger side window. I made a police report, paid $250 to get my window fixed and went about my business. I got a call later that day letting me know that although the police lost the thief in a car chase, they did find the stolen truck, abandoned and full of untouched merchandise. I got back everything except my vulnerabilty and bag of clothes. My only guess is that he’s been dressing in drag ever since. I didn’t care about either of the bags. I would have gladly handed them over had he simply knocked on my front door and asked. It would have saved me the $250. This was the point when I decided to place post-it notes on my windows when leaving my car unattended that read, “I’m open! Come on in ☺ No need to break the windows,” and, “Wait here, my owner will be back to give you what you want out of me shortly.” So far, so good.

Incident 5:

I was backing out of a narrow driveway. My passenger side mirror hit a pole and fell off.

Incident 6:

On a voyage home from the gym and looking forward to a wig-party later that night, I attempted to merge into a turn lane and was blasted by the truck beside me. I climbed out the passenger side door after realizing the driver's side was lodged shut and met an angry driver who asked me what I was doing. When I said merging, she answered, “We don’t do that here!” Confused I responded, “You don’t merge here? Well, I’m from Texas and when we Texans need to switch lanes we just turn on our blinkers and the next good Texan lets us over. I guess I’m just accustomed to a little Southern hospitality, whereas you may never have heard the term. Maybe I can explain it to you a little slower…” I called the police so they could assess the situation and decide fault, since this chick was clearly not taking any. I dialed 911 and it rang 15 times before I finally hung up. I flagged down a CHiP (California Highway Patrol) who had pulled someone over in an adjacent parking lot, but he told me there was nothing he could do. We exchanged information; I climbed back in my passenger side door and drove home. In the end the girl lied about what happened at the scene, which left me responsible for 80% of my deductible. My car was in the shop for nearly a month and I was forced to drive something very similar to what you might see in Toon Town. I am currently on the hunt for this girl as well. She has some “splainin” to do.

My name is Susan and I’m a recovering accident victim. It’s been 3 and a half months since I was in my last accident. For now things are calm, but I fear it is the calm before the storm. Either California drivers are really gnarly, or my car is cursed. To prove my theory that its not my car and that California drivers really are abominable, I’ve decided to sell my beautiful sedan. Any takers?

Dear Gatorade...

Dear Gatorade,

Why do you make it so difficult for me to open your tasty beverages? Is it your ploy to make me strain and sweat for a long period of time because you think I'll appreciate your refreshing liquid all the more after great anticipation and exertion? Or would you have me keep an outfit of oversized, burly men to do my dirty work in the event that I desire a Gatorade Glacier Freeze Thirst Quencher Frost? If so, this relationship isn't going to work out. I don't know that many burly men, and rather than anticipation, I've been experiencing injury and frustration. Worst of all, I often envision myself with a Sour Melon Powerade in hand rather than the above mentioned - your Gatorade. I want to avoid a hostile uprising and a complete boycott of your product, and I am almost certain you do too. What would you have me do? Switch products or remain with you?

I'm so sincere.
Susan Dowdy

Cats on a Leash

Cats:

I feel strongly that they should not be walked on a leash as if they were dogs incapable of responsibility or self-reliance.  However, several of my neighbors disagree and choose to engage in this curious act on a daily basis.  I have good reason to believe that walking a cat on a leash is extremely unnecessary.  Growing up, my mom had Siamese cats that could open the front door in addition to making good use of the toilet, flushing it and all, like us humans do. 

My personal view on a cat's capability was formed in my callow years around the age of 10 (4th grade).  That year I began walking to and from school unescorted by my older brother who had moved on to bigger and better things, i.e., Junior High.  At some point early in the year it seems as though my cat, Billy, caught on to the fact that I was walking a mile to and from school all alone.  Now, Billy had always protected me... from spiders, snakes and birds in the back yard that were clearly out to harm me, but making sure I got to school safely was never a priority to him.  Or, if it was, I just never new about it until that year when everything changed.  

It started out slow.  Billy awoke early and waited outside in the wee small hours of the morning to see me off.  Within a week he was following me a few hundred yards from the house until I yelled at him to go home.  A month later he was trailing behind me by exactly 15 feet at all times and continuing the entire way to my school, stopping only when I turned around and acting invisible as if I had no idea he was following me in the first place.  (If he were a human he would have placed his hands in his pockets and started whistling while gazing in a far off direction and rocking back on his heels.)  In the beginning I was terrified that he would get lost and never find his way home, and so I made failing attempts to keep him in the house.  Yet to my surprise, ever day after school Billy met me a few blocks on my homeward trek, and we walked back together.  

I don't know the sort of risks Billy encountered during the course of a day while he waited for the school bell to ring.  But I do know that cats have at least nine lives and that they are quite adept to surviving on their own.  If a cat can walk a person to school and back, let's not deprive the cat of that which defines his very nature; that is, his independence, his mischievousness, his curiosity, etc.  Cats will go on a walk whenever and wherever, as soon as they're good and ready.  No leash required.  

Jock Itch

So here is an actual email I received from my little brother today. Keep in mind the fact that he is 8 years old.

Subject: Rainy Monday

Dear Sue,

I am at Dad's and I am bored. It has been raining off and on all day. I also have "jock itch" and I am about to sit on sandpaper. That or Dad will have to throw away one of the forks! Anyway, I'll be glad to see you soon.

Love,
Itching to do something