I had a dream about an Ashton Kutcher movie. In the movie, he had knocked up two chicks within a year. He saw both the girls and their mothers only briefly now and then. The one mom and daughter were bitchy. The second mom and daughter were nice. They both started putting their daughters in beauty pageants. Ashton would go and cheer them both on. They are like six and seven years old. Then the good mom gets sick, so Ashton has to take over as the pageant mother. At first the other mom and daughter just laugh at Ashton and the good daughter. But then they feel sorry for them and help them out, learning to not be so bitchy. I figure Disney could make it. It would remind people of The Parent Trap.
My husband wanted to know what I would call it. I would call it “Sister From Another Mother”. Then you could have a sequel without Ashton called “Sister From Another Mother: Summer Camp”. Then you could have the straight-to-DVD “Sister From Another Mother: School Dance”.
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This picture was part of an email that popped into my inbox from Sanrio. I totally think I need the dog carrier for my dog, what do you think?
Do you think my sweet little furry girl will fit?
My baby Dave.
I think she only weighs about 55 pounds. HAHAHA.
Happy 4th of July everyone!
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I don’t know all the rules and regulations, but I am pretty sure that even slot machines in a casino win sometimes. Or the casinos just set them that way to keep people pumping in their change. Either way, you get my point.
A typical crane “claw” machine
So then, what the fuck is up with toy crane (also known as claw) machines? They NEVER let you win. The crane is always adjusted so that it is super loose. The stuffed animals are always packed into the machine extra tightly. With these conditions, it isn’t a matter of skill or luck to get a toy out of it. It is just a rip-off. A guaranteed failure. If a machine implies that you could get a stuff animal (or candy, etc.) out of it for $1.00 by using a claw implement, shouldn’t you be able to say, once out of 10 times? 20 times? 100? Have any lawmakers ever actually looked into this? Proposed regulations? Probably not, as kids can’t vote. Although in my experience, youth in their 20’s sink a lot of money into these machines as well. And they are old enough to vote. But probably don’t.
In all my life, I found only one machine that would actually give up it’s goods. I have always figured that the man who set it up was probably new to his job. It was at the local movie theater. And for something like $10 or $11, my husband and I walked away with like eight animals that night. I did feel a little guilty. But, ya know, considering they make the plush animals in China for cheap and buy them in uber-bulk, they probably pay less than a $1 an animal for them anyway. And if a company advertises something at a price, someone should be able to collect on that. Not everyone, but someone at the casino should be able to say “I got $5,000 for a nickel.” Not everyone, but someone should be able to play the lottery and say “I got $25 million for my $1 ticket.” I am not sure that the crane machine operators can claim that anyone is getting a stuffed animal for a single dollar.
We should all stand up and be outraged by this heinous misuse of children’s amusement products! Crane machines are stealing our children’s happiness and innocence just as terminators from the future wish to steal our lives. Where will this travesty end? Food and beverage vending machines that take your money but give you no change? Or no product? OR BOTH! Carnival games that are rigged in favor of the house? Arcade video games that take your quarter and give you absolutely nothing to show for it?
Watch out world. Someday I will put this sort of passion into a real issue, like the right to gay marriage or getting President Obama re-elected. Then I will be unstoppable in my mission!
Or, what if I lobbied to get all the stuffed animals in the machines “Made in the USA”? I bet that would drive the price up at least five fold!
Maybe I should train my son to do this
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I was out to eat with some ex-coworkers recently at a nice restaurant someone had spontaneously suggested. I had no chance to research the menu online ahead of time, as I normally would. It turned out it was a seafood place. The typical conversation ensued as I looked at the menu.
CO-WORKER: You should try the seafood blah-blah. It is really good.
ME: I don’t eat seafood.
CO-WORKER: Aren’t you a vegetarian?
ME: No, I don’t eat vegetables either.
CO-WORKER: Then what do you eat?…You’re a picky eater.
I should have ended this exchange with “Pop Tarts”. But I didn’t. I admit, it is a little paraphrased. But I know how the conversation goes. I have had it a ton of times over the course of my life. And “You’re a picky eater” is always said as an accusation. I wonder if it is the same way people react when they find out someone is gay.
Mmmmm…
I EAT:
well done steak
pizza (just cheese or with green pepper or onion or ham)
cherry poptarts (strawberry* and brown sugar are
acceptable, but not preferred)
corn
potatoes
carrots (cooked)
yogurt
mac & cheese
bacon
pork
chicken
turkey
chocolate
ice cream
cole slaw
lettuce (but it hurts my stomach)
hot dogs
well done hamburgers
white rice
white or wheat bread
banana
apple
pre-peeled oranges
strawberries
pre-cut melon
pop
lemon
lime
select kinds of cheese (NOT KRAFT)
honey mustard
honey
eggs (but not a big fan)
pancakes
waffles
oatmeal
raisins
grapes
nutella
celery (cooked)
ketchup
BBQ sauce
I DO NOT EAT:
pineapple
coconut
seafood
mushrooms
cottage cheese
American cheese (unless it is from McDonald’s)
salads
chives
mayonaise (unless in Deviled Eggs)
potato salad
macaroni salad
butter
coffee
all fruit and vegetables not listed in the “I EAT” column
sausage
brown rice
olives
tea
oreos
walnuts
beans (except jelly beans)
mustard
ranch
red onion
foreign food of any kind, except tacos and quesidillas
* delicious strawberry flavored death!
Now, I realize my “I EAT” column looks like it belongs to a toddler. But in truth, my toddler eats a more well-balanced diet than I do. But I have stayed alive all these years on this fine American processed food. And I grew another being while eating this food.
You have to realize, being a picky eater isn’t a choice. I was born this way. It is a curse. It is a burden I must bear. Some of the foods I don’t eat I have tried and hate, like pineapple and coconut. Some smell so bad, I would never want to put them in my mouth, like seafood and coffee. Some I have never even tried and have no desire to, such as tea.
Actual conversation outside Teavana at the Franklin Park Mall:
SALESMAN: Would you like to try a sample of blah-blah tea today?
ME: I don’t drink tea.
SALESMAN: Oh, then you should try blah-blah. It has a very un-tea-like taste.
ME (thinking): Um, if I don’t drink tea, then obviously I don’t know what it tastes like then, do I?
Think of all the social situations that food plays a part in. I always had packed lunch at school because I wouldn’t eat the school lunch. The entire four years I commuted to college, I never ate in the dining hall. (I used to get nachos from the snack bar occasionally, that was it.) At work, I rarely bought anything from the cafeteria. Potlucks are their own minefield. It is amazing how many dishes have hidden sausage or mayo or cream of mushroom soup.
Chicken nuggets, anyone? Yummers!
Recently, at a family event, I had the following exchange with an Aunt who is the most prim and proper person. She would believe she has excellent manners.
AUNT: (looking at my plate) Is that ALL you are going to eat?
ME: Yes.
AUNT: Are you a picky eater?
ME: Yes.
AUNT: You don’t want any this or that?
ME: I’m good. I found some things. Thanks.
Isn’t it bad manners to make a guest feel bad about what is on their plate?
Why no green pepper? I can’t ask. Heart racing, breath quickening. Photo: mlive.com
Cici’s Pizza is a nightmare for a picky eater with anxiety issues. Cici’s is a pizza buffet. They put out like 20 kinds of pizza at a time. But, of course, nothing for a picky eater. You can ask for any kind of pizza and they will make it for you and add it to the buffet. Except you have to be able to get past your anxiety and open your mouth and ask for it and not fear the rejection you expect to come.
As a life-long picky eater, I worry the rest of the world wants to reform me. (I know, I worry too much.) That they want me to broaden my horizons. I feel like the world thinks if I am forced to eat something, I will like it and eat it forever and ever. It is another way I feel that I am different. That I am wired wrong. But I should stop thinking that way. Because everyone else has their issues.
Some people overeat. Some people undereat. Some people smoke. Or drink. Or do street drugs. Or prescription drugs. Or run marathons. I don’t judge those people. (Well, I do judge the ones who run marathons. I judge them to be crazy.) Being a picky eater is my thing. Hey, I know. Let’s start calling it “selective eating”. That sounds more politically correct.
Yes, I am not wired THAT much different than everyone else. I am just a selective eater. And addicted to caffeine. And I mis-match my socks. And I have issues with tissues.
If I was a character on a sitcom, I could write great jokes about myself. *sigh*
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It is really hard to find friends. Maybe that is only my experience and no one else’s. I don’t know. Maybe I expect too much out of a friend. I am a Capricorn. I tend to expect perfection in everyone (including myself) and I am always disappointed. (Hmmm…I wonder why?)
My inspiration for this post is that two people who are really no more than acquaintances are moving away. But I was hoping, someday, my husband and I could consider them friends. It is actually the Pastor. Of my asbestos friend’s church. She often drags me to their events (see River Raisin Festival parade float for her church). We aren’t really members of that church. Although our names somehow ended up in the church directory (I think it has something to do with my asbestos friend being the church secretary). My asbestos friend and her family are very close friends with the Pastor and his family. But then again, they live on the same block. The only two houses on the block, to be more accurate.
OK. I’m babbling. But it seems like this always happens. Especially with a lot of my former co-workers. There are many I thought highly of and would have liked to hang out or go shopping with outside of work. But it never seems to happen. Then they move. Or get laid off. Or the whole company closes. And I will never get the chance to develop a real friendship with them. I will never see them again. Sure, Facebook will give the illusion that we have stayed in touch. But it is just an illusion.
In a few cases, I have actually gotten to hang out with co-workers more meaningfully. But as I had one of the longer commutes to work, distance makes things difficult.
As I said earlier, I expect too much out of my friends. I expect more than just a Christmas card once a year to consider someone a true friend. I expect a friend to be there for major life events. Maybe not all of them, but most of them, with a good excuse for the others. I don’t like to feel like I am the one making the effort all the time. I am a petty person who keeps mental notes in my head. I know life gets in the way. But if I made the effort to see you multiple times with no return, it wears on me. It darkens my friendship aura. And if I haven’t heard from you in five years (and I know you have my phone number and address), don’t expect one message announcing your marriage on Facebook to make me count you as a friend again. I don’t care if you were my maid of honor at my wedding. I hope the best for you out in the world, but we don’t know anything about each other’s lives.
So, Ya. I expect an occasional email or letter or phone call or lunch or visit or major life event participation. Call me a bitch. As I write this, I realize I am not always a very good friend according to my own standards. This goes back to what I said about being disappointed in everyone, including me.
Back to the Pastor. He and his wife always welcomed us to church functions, even though we were just tagging along with my asbestos friend. They welcomed us to their house for food and casual socialization, even though we were just tagging along with my asbestos friend. The Pastor came and visited us at the hospital on day four of our two day stay (of an eventual eleven day stay) at the hospital for my son’s first surgery. I coordinated Halloween costumes with the Pastor’s wife and my asbestos friend (we were girls from the 80’s. Because we are.) The Pastor stayed with us at the hospital for like five hours on the first day of my son’s two day stay (yes, it was only 2 days total) for his second surgery. He was a pleasant distraction. But there is no denying he has seen us at our worst. He saw me break down and cry as they wheeled my son into surgery, and he pretended not to notice. Although he was probably just grateful it wasn’t one of his kids. And I wouldn’t blame him. He is someone I thought if I was really freaking out about life I could go and talk to him. Now I guess I will never know.
So, two more people I will never get a chance to fully be friends with are leaving my life. It is so hard to find truly nice people who are funny and goofy. I need to find a way to hold on to them better.
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