Guilty Pleasures

I am dedicating this blog to guilty pleasures. I am in a guilty pleasure frame of mind. As soon as I am done with this blog I am driving right to Culvers to get a Turtle Sundae with extra pecans. It’s been a helluva week. It started off with three solid days of corporate schmooze. The wine and dine. The smiling and nodding. The rich use of corporate buzzwords like “adjacencies, table stakes, strategies, go-forward basis and holistically.”

For example:

“Offering XYZ feature is tablestakes. We need to look at the adjacencies that our product can branch into from a holistic perspective on a go-forward basis and then define our strategy.”

I wish I was kidding. I am not.

Onto Guilty Pleasures. These are my Top 10 in no particular order. I have way more then 10 guilty pleasures. I have about 100 but in order to preserve space and some shards of my integrity I have limited it to 10…

Soft pretzels and the fake cheese (I love the fake cheese)

The movie Center Stage (horrible acting but I have to watch it EVERY time it’s on….it’s being TiVo’d as I write this so I can watch it later with my turtle sundae)

Fried cheese curds, mini donuts, cotton candy at from The Middleton Good Neighborfest (which is THIS WEEKEND!) Yippee

Black boots. I have like 12 pairs. Or is that considered an obsession?

KFC – extra tasty krispy with coleslaw and mashed potatoes. Yum.

Reading the Personal in the Isthmus Paper (Example: I saw you in the produce aisle. You, cute, jeans, red sweater. Me, leather jacket, blue scarf. We smiled. Want to pick out melons together?)

Antique Trunks. I am a bit of a trunk ‘ho. I can’t help it. Is it wrong to have one in every room? My new favorite site is www.eagletrunks.com

Venti Ice Caramel Macchiato. I love the big globs of caramel that sink to the bottom and get sucked up through the straw.

Flannel pajamas. I have a few pairs that are upwards of a dozen years but I can’t part with them.

PB&J on white squish bread.

And you?

Off to Culvers. I didn’t add that one to the list. I figured it was obvious You know. Tablestakes.

The Grass is Greener

I have three cats. I know. I know. Three?!? What am I thinking? Honestly, I often wonder that myself. Wonderment aside, I still have three cats. Buster is my cantankerous senior citizen. A 17 year old garden variety black and white domestic shorthair who was free to a good home Bonzai and Boomer are my 18 month teen-age Birmans. They were not free to a good home as evidenced by the balance in my checkbook. You pay a lot for bright blue eyes and sure thing personalities.

First a digression. For reasons which are still unclear we decided to name all our cats “B” names. It’s hard to find good “B” names and even harder to not call them by the wrong names. At any one time I’m still calling out “Bonkers” who sadly crossed the Rainbow Bridge last year. If you’re not a pet person the term “Rainbow Bridge” will be lost in translation. It’s a poem about pets that have passed on. Non-pet people will think its sentimental tripe. I am a die hard pet person and it makes me cry every time I read it.

Because my life isn’t complicated enough (insert sarcasm here) my cats have different diets. This has led to “meal feeding” instead of “keeping food out all the times to make my life easier feeding”. So three times a day we have this little routine where the kitty dishes are pulled out of the cupboard, cans opened, dry kibble mixed with wet food to make a delightful taste sensation all while being serenaded by an endless chorus of meows. Not soft gentile pleasant meows. More like "hurry the hell up and feed me" meows. We’re very vocal in our house. We know what we want and when we want it.

The dishes go down. Each kitty is spaced apart so they have some private dining time and the eating begins. It’s all very serious business. Head down, don’t talk to me …I’m eating.

And then IT invariably happens.

The realization that what “he” has must be better then what “I” have! This is bona fide grass is greener syndrome albeit kitty style.

Under normal circumstance the overseer of the feeding chaos, which 99% of the time is me, wouldn’t bat an eyelash over Boomer eating Busters food or Buster eating Bonzai’s food. But if you’ve ever had the pure joy of a vet bill that has a “comma” in the final total – you quickly embrace the importance of diet to manage a health problem.

Redirecting a determined cat is an exercise in futility. There is no redirection. They are the animal version of a toddler. Redirection works for about 4 seconds.

Kitty dynamics’ is quite humorous. Food antics aside there is an abundance of muscling, posturing and the occasional smack with a paw upside the head to secure the best spot. The best sunny spot in the house. The best back of the couch spot to catch the breeze from the ceiling fan. The best kitty condo spot for bird watching. And after all is said is done – after the best spot is procured…the victor is content for approximately 12 minutes. And it begins again. Eyeing up the next best spot that they don’t currently occupy.

At this point you’re probably thinking I’m going to draw some cheese-ball analogy between the similarities of feline coveting behavior and human coveting behavior. But it would be really cheese-ball in a gag me with kitty paw kind of way. I’m not interested in the “moral of the story is blogging” – at least not today. Honestly – I just think it’s so darn funny how they posture and position themselves for a slightly different version of kibble or 5 additional inches of sun space.

And well it is Friday and I promised lighter blogging fare and you don’t get much lighter and fluffier then cat antics. So Meow. It’s feeding time. Let the posturing begin.

You pay peanuts....you get monkeys

This is one of my mothers time treasured clichés. Of the 39+ years I’ve been walking the planet, I hear this one the most. There are many others. We’ve all heard them or variations of the “mom cliché-fest bits of random advice.” These little mantras are burned in my brain.

Do you want your face to freeze like that?

Actually, yes I do.

Ok, I really don’t because then it would prove that she was right about the whole face freezing thing and that would be just too much to take.

However, to be fair to mom, I have to say as a start-up entrepreneurial wanna be – the old adage “You pay peanuts, you get monkeys” rings true.

Let’s be clear hear. I am all about the sale. The good deal. The bargain. The excellent find. Nothing makes me happier then scoring some awesome purse, shoes, pants, dress, sweater, t-shirt and getting THE DEAL! I love that. That said. I never, ever, ever, buy something JUST BECAUSE (and I know I’m shouting here) it’s on sale. Well – I’ll never say never because I’m sure when I was younger and much more stupider (yeah, yeah I know bad English) at least in terms of clothes I would have snatched up the $15.99 pair of lime green pumps and “found something to wear with it later.” And then they sat in my closet. Untouched. Unloved. Unworn…until I finally cut my losses and donated them to Goodwill.

I live and die by that book “What not to wear.” Do you have this book? If not – run out to the bookstore (or surf to Amazon.com) and buy it today. Now. Right this minute. It’s the British version so it’s full of haughty humor and really really good fashion stuff. Like how to dress your flaws…and trust me. After children, a handful of abdominal surgeries and an obsession for Oreos there are flaws in need of dressing. It’s the book version of the TV show. I love this book. But I digress.

Back to peanuts and monkeys….

Ok – warning – some shameless self-promotion going on now.

I do this little tye-dye thing, right? And I list myself on etsy which is basically an ebay for homemade arts and crafts. I am constantly amazed that the number, the mass volume of artists, crafters, hobbyists (whatever you want to call us) that put everything on sale. Handmade stuff. Stuff created by sheer inspiration, time, talent, the sweat of their brow and then they discount it 50%? Why? A beautiful handmade bracelet, blanket, hat is not some mass produced trinket at Target (I do love Target by the way). It’s handmade. One of a kind. It’s special. Cue warm and fuzzy Hallmark music.

Another warning….Hopping on soapbox.

Are we afraid our own talents are not worth a fair price? I think my wares are worth a fair price. And by fair I mean enough to cover my costs and a little of my time. Not all of my time because geez-oh-petes time is so valuable how do you assign a dollar amount to that? But fair. Maybe I’ll fail at my tye-dye adventure because I won’t do the “Blowout 50% off sale” but I shouldn’t have to. I am guardedly optimistic in a glass-half-full-rose-colored-glasses kinda way that my work will speak for itself. That I’m nice to deal with. That I am good to my customer and I make quality items. I hope I’m right.

So what does this have to do with peanuts and monkeys? Well nothing, now that I think about it. The whole peanuts monkeys bit has to do with quality. Guess I mixed up my mom cliché slice of life metaphors. But if you pay nothing you get junk. So I guess this adage doesn’t apply unless you’re planning on buying the $4 pre-fab tye-dye at Wal-Mart and then it will bleed and fade and of course mine are better. Cripes. I’m really spiraling outta control on this one.

If you’ve read this far....thanks for hanging in there with me. Hopping off soapbox.

Stick a Fork in Me, I'm done.

Forgive me father for I have sinned....it's been 4 days since my last blog. Actually it will be 5 because I really won't be writing much more then a few measely sentences tonight. Unfortunatley, by Friday...I've got nothing left. Done. Dead. Tired. Spent. The rest of world (or the younger part) is just getting ready to go out and drink themselves pukey. I am going to bed in hopes of inpiring pithy dialogue to impart upon the world tomorrow.

This and That

Really icky quiz last night in Science class that consisted of diagramming all the parts of a Continental Glacier. And how will I utilize this information in my life? Oh, I won’t…unless another ice age comes around, but everyone keeps howling about Global Warming so it is highly improbable I will ever use this information. That’s $1200 well spent.

It rained last night. Rained and rained and rained and rained. We are in desperate need of rain. My lawn is extra tasty crispy brown dried up crunchy grass. Rain is good except now it is super humid and the air smells like worms. Am I never happy? Apparently not.

I made my first sale on Etsy (insert happy dance here). If you’re just tuning in I make tye dyes for kids. And I’m not a hippy. Not that hippies are bad (they are not) – I am not just not one. On most days I am a reasonably normal (I said reasonably not totally) human working a day job and attempting to flex my creative muscle by knocking out a few shirts in between going to school, raising a son, feeding 3 cats, exchanging grunts with my spouse in lieu of real conversation and stepping over a lot of clutter. I’ve sold bunches of tye dyes to family, friend and other random acquaintances but this is my first website random stranger sale. I feel validated. Somewhere in the world a person (in Switzerland no less) was willing to plunk down hard earned dollars for one of my shirts. Who knew?

At some point I need to figure out the post a picture thing on this site but haven’t sat down yet to muscle through it. Soon I hope.

Lastly – thanks to TKW and all the bloggers from her site that have been so gracious to welcome me to blogdom. I am appreciative, really I am.

Mondays

I hesitate to even write about Mondays. What a cliché. Frankly Mondays usually aren’t too bad. Usually. Mondays are a new start. And with every Monday there is fresh hope. Tuesdays are the days that really blow. By Tuesday I have come to the stark realization that fresh hope is a big lie and a scam. It’s really the same old crap. Plus it’s only Tuesday and there is scads of the work week left until Friday. I’m convinced Tuesdays are the reason half the planet is on Zoloft.

I had no hope of hope on this Monday. Well, not true. I started with hope but by 7:30am it was like being quick skipped to Tuesday. We are down a car. My husbands 1997 Saturn SL1 no frills, 4 wheels and seat car died at a major intersection on Friday afternoon. At rush hour. In the 90 degree heat. Poor guy. Cue tow truck. A dead car is not a catastrophe but it is REALLY inconvenient since we work in opposite directions with opposite Monday night commitments and we need to shuttle our kid (we’ll call him Sparky) to summer camp. Oh – and then Sparky woke up with pink eye which ended up solving the summer camp transportation problem. Kids with red oozy eyes are not welcome at summer camp for 24 hours no matter how cute they are.

And I have homework. Earth Science. Sorry it’s boring. I didn’t get my homework done over the weekend because I spent the bulk of the weekend piping the filling into deviled eggs and making punch for a baby shower and in general watching my mom carry on like Martha Stewart during pre-shower prep mode. She actually alternated the napkins for the buffet….light pink polka dots, dark pink polka dots, light pink polka dots….lather, rinse, repeat. This was after she lifted up the house to vacuum underneath it. Meanwhile I still have two bags of groceries unpacked from 4 days ago (see previous blog for that explanation).

So it’s mad scramble to squeeze in some Earth Science fun during lunch today and pretend I care about deep ocean currents (unfortunately I don’t). I have class tonight. Yet another reason to hate Mondays or at least this Monday. I really want to go home, crack open a bottle of Pinot Noir and watch some mindless dribble on TV. I don’t have any interest in taking a quiz on Glaciers or hearing a lecture on deep ocean currents.

Wait! Cue news music…breaking car news. Wait for it…..brrrrrrrrrr – drum roll…… Busted axel. Ding ding ding!!! That will be $300 please. Thanks for playing.

Time to end this very whiney and company blog. I’ll do better next time. Unlike Mondays – with every blog there is fresh hope.

Drinking on a school night

Drinking on a school night is a notoriously bad idea. It seems like a good idea at 9:30 pm on Thursday night after I’d spent the bulk of the evening running around town trying to get things together for my sisters baby shower (more on that later). I had to grocery shop. I hate to grocery shop. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Happiness would be a personal shopper to do all my grocery shopping and unloading and putting away of said groceries. After braving the big bad grocery store only to stand in front of the freezer section and discover they were out of my favorite flavor of Lean Cuisine, a double martini seemed appropriate. Needless to say I had a headache this morning. I should have bought the double stuff Oreos instead. Tight pants vs. a blistering headache and scotch tape tongue? Hmmmm it’s a toss up.

Throwing baby showers also seems like a good idea – except for the actual preparation and work of said baby shower. The errands. The fancy piped devils eggs. The little desserts. The party favors. Why do hostesses need to give the guests a present? Isn’t the free food and booze enough? I digress.

I’m co-hosting the shower with my mother. Thankfully it’s at her house. Cleaning is my mother’s hobby. Seriously. The woman is a freak of housekeeping nature. Her house is always always always clean. Not just tidy but like surgical operating room clean. It always has the faintest odor of Pine Sol and Windex. My house smells like the garbage should go out because we had corn on the cob two days ago and the remnants are ripening in the garbage can.

When my mom needs to stop by my house I have massive “Oh my god my mom is coming to my house freak out.”; I’m sure she wonders where she went wrong with me. Note my profile. I have dust and clutter. In fact when I left for work this morning there were still two unpacked bags of groceries on the counter along with a wine glass, martini shaker, stacks of mail, a couple of pony tail holders all covered by a light dusting of cat hair.

Boomer (cat #1) is a counter jumper despite repeated attempts at kitty behavior modification. I know he just sits and waits for us to leave work so he can break out into some Cheshire cat grin and lounge around on the counter. That is if he can find a place to lie down amidst the cornucopia of clutter.

I’ve tried clutter management and have failed miserably at it. I’m aiming much lower and going for organized clutter. Neat stacks of magazines and mail. Neat piles of ponytail holders. Neat piles of cat hair. Frankly if I could really get into an aggressive purge session – starting with my husbands bank statements from college. He’s 45. He’s sufficiently past the risk of IRS audit for that time period. Geesh. He’s a saver. I’m a purger. Unfortunately we bred a saver. Savers 2. Purgers 1. So I’m outnumbered. Frankly it’s all too much to think about. Perhaps I’ll make a martini....

Musings on my upcoming mid-life crisis

In a few short months I’ll be turning 40. It’s not the age – it’s the mileage. Despite a regular exercise routine I stand in front of mirror and wonder “When did that start to happen?” I’m experiencing a flesh and blood version of plate tectonics. Gradual shifting of the soft continents. Most of it south. Cripes. I probably should divorce my relationship with ice cream and red wine. I can’t do it. I am weak.

Physical changes aside I’m having a whole lot of “what do I want to be when I grow up-itis.” The corporate world leaves me scratching my head wondering what I’m actually contributing to the bottom line, the greater good…blah blah blah. . Let’s face it. There are only so many ways to make financing sound attractive. It’s really hard to be excited about making an already rich CEO, CFO or UFO richer. Nothing says motivation like a 2.8% raise when the top dogs in the company have cashed in 10M in stock options within 8 weeks. I digress.

And so much to the dismay of my spouse I’ve turned my basement into a tye-dye shop. Perhaps this isn’t a logical thought process. $11 tye-dyes aren’t going to bring me closer to retirement. But it’s mine. I own it. I control it. I’m all about control (insert maniacal laughter here). And it allows me to flex my creative muscle and for the moment is cheaper then buying a convertible. Not that tye dye does much to contribute to the greater good although it is much more fun then trying to make 3.9% sizzle.

Off to rinse 18 pink dye dress. Damn they are cute.

Boy Girl Party

My 11 year old son received his first invitation to a "boy-girl" party tonight. My husband and I stood in the kitchen exchanging smirks over his reaction to the invite. Intrigued at the prospect of an end of summer s'more party that goes until 1opm but more concerned over whether his friend Alex would be there. Clearly he is not nearly as interested in the "girl" angle of this party as the girls are to have boys there. At least not yet.

This is my first blog. I am a blog novice. A newbie. A virgin if you will. I'm popping the blog cherry. I like to write. I have been told I am good at it but faced with the seemingly monumental task of impressing the entire blog universe with pithy dialogue and witty reparte, I fear failure. I've been having alot of that lately. Fear of failure. And a whole lot of crash and burn syndrome. More on that at some other time. I am intrigued if not wholeheartedly excited about the the prospect of blogging and putting my thoughts into cosmic space. But for now I am tired and out of pithy dialogue. My day starts insanely early and therefore by this hour I am surprised if I can string together a complete sentence.

So off to bed a little relieved that my son hasn't discovered girls....yet.

S.