Oatmeal vs. Pizza

My husband has recently, in the last few months, been getting back into his faith. He is Catholic and therefore can not eat meat on Fridays. This is the catalyst of what lead to the the minor skirmish known as “Oatmeal vs. Pizza”.

photo credit craveonline

It all started when we realized we both worked Valentine’s day. We decided to delay our Valentine’s date until the Friday we were both off of work. We had always wanted to go to this revamped bowling alley nearby. We heard the rumors of virtual reality video games and food there being top notch.

Then we checked the prices.

Twenty bucks for one game of bowling. We were stuck.

We didn’t know what to do for our date until the next day I went to work and my boss asked me what we had planned to do for Valentine’s day and she jokingly said, “Work?” When she discovered what we had originally wanted to do, she gave us tickets to two free games of bowling. I couldn’t believe it, it was kismet.

Everything was set in motion, we would wake up, go bowling, play some video games, eat some great food and let off some steam while acting like a bunch of oversized children.

On the 16th, we arrived at our destination, tickets in my wallet ready to play. We walk in the door to be greeted by a huge abstract sculpture of a bowler. Immediately on the right was the virtual reality we heard so much about, to the left was the restaurant. We didn’t realize, this wasn’t just traditional bowling alley food. This was a definite upgrade and worthy of a Valentine’s date.

We sat down, and admittedly our eyes were bigger than our bellies. The menu had options for someone like me, who is gluten free but misses the gluttony of being able to consume a whole pizza. They had items for him who needed to be meat free on Fridays.

We both ordered pizza, mine gluten free with my usual black olive, pineapple and chicken. His; a large veggie pizza. His pizza was glorious, it had every vegetable imaginable on it from artichoke, to peppers. Mine was presented on a flat pizza pan. His was presented on a metal stand, much like a trophy worthy of the winner of the Triple Crown, gleaming in the dimly lit restaurant, light reflecting off the greasy cheese.

As I was finishing the last few bites of my pizza, I looked up to realize he had only eaten half of it before he was full. This is abnormal for him. I started to not feel well, throat sore and beginning to ache all over my body. Suddenly I didn’t feel up to playing a round of bowling. I looked up badly wanting to join the baby-boomers listening to oldies and celebrating strikes in the alleys. We somehow managed to make it to the gaming area. There I knew I could sit and rest while he had fun playing some of the more physically intense games. We had fun but my body was tired. I was tired. It was time to go home.

His pizza was in the fridge for a couple of days. I was at home sick. It just sat there, tempting me to eat it, but I knew better. The gluten would send my already dizzy head from the cold into a further downward spiral. Avoiding it, I had to look for other options.

Oatmeal and soup.

Because oatmeal is relatively inexpensive I sometimes use it as a treat or eat it when I’m hungry before bed because it doesn’t weigh so heavy on my stomach. Needless to say I consumed a lot of the oatmeal as it was soothing my throat and warming me up while I was running a fever and having chills.

My husband came home from his job hungry. He heated up some slices of his illustrious bread dripping with marinara and veggie goodness. I was sitting on the bed watching some unimportant show on my tablet. Suddenly I couldn’t take my eyes off the pizza. He sat down and when both of his hands were occupied trying to settle in to eat I snagged a piece of artichoke.

It was delicious.

My eyes were on the screen of the tablet again, with me keeping visuals on the location of his pizza in my peripherals. When both of his hands were occupied once more, one holding the plate, the other feeding himself, I stole a black olive slice. He then uttered the words I will never forget.

“HEY! I don’t go dipping my fingers into your oatmeal when you’re eating!”

Yes, because oatmeal is the equivalent to a piece of Italian-American artistry conceived out of convenience and genius.

Yes, because you can walk into any restaurant and they will have entire menus written on their hipster chalkboards about how their oatmeal has components that were free range and raised in a good home.

Yes, because there are hordes of restaurants dedicated to the many various ways you can prepare oatmeal inventively and consistently make new and traditional dishes from it.

Yes, because oatmeal is America’s sweetheart.

NOT pizza.

What is something you and your significant other have had a disagreement or funny moment over?

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Diary of an angsty girl

As some of you may have noticed, I haven’t written in a while.  This is partially due to adjusting to a new job position, taking in two roommates temporarily at two different times, thyroid issues, and a major bout of depression from weaning off Bupropion while dealing with the thyroid issues.

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It seems like since 2015 I’ve been giving more of myself and concentrating on others rather than being selfish and doing things strictly just for me.  I love doing things for others, don’t get me wrong, but at some point it would be nice to refuel the tank so I can turn around and give more kindness and encouragement out to others.

Since the tank is empty, this has caused me to think outwardly outrageous things.  Here are a few examples.

“Just because I’m overly helpful is no reason for you to passively aggressively allude to having raging diarrhea. Asking where the Imodium is, isn’t enough to get me to leave you alone.”

“Why are you still wearing your high school jacket 22 years later?  Only The Beach Boys get to do that.”

“Coming in with your music blaring from a battered blue tooth speaker hanging from your belt loop isn’t a good idea.  Especially when curse words are involved.  This is a family establishment.  Also telling your significant other, ‘You sound white’…is like saying you’ve suddenly realized something you hadn’t noticed about them. I think he knows. Maybe turn off the music and communicate more.”

“Yes, I AM on my knees.  Why do you act surprised?  That’s the only way I can reach the shelf! #tallpeopleproblems” “I’m on my knees?  Noooooo, I thought I was a pirate without peg-legs!”  “Yes I’m on my knees.  You’re old.  I thought we were just making obvious statements.”

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Those are just things that happened at work.  Here are some things that happened at home.

“Whose underwear are these, and why are they out where the squirrels have access to them? Are the squirrels the cause of the person losing their underwear?”

“Why is there blood dripped on the sidewalk where we exit the steps?  Can’t they bludgeon each other indoors?”

“Why is there a guy shouting ‘Let me in!’ at 1 am?  If he wasn’t such a dog, maybe he wouldn’t have been let out with the other two. Guess that finally answers the question, ‘Who let the dogs out’.”

“Why are all the dogs barking suddenly while I’m trying to pray and meditate? (Dogs suddenly stop barking) My prayers worked!” (Cats starts rustling bags) “Dang it!”

This is only a small sampling, and yes, I get that they may not be all that bad.  However, for me they are.  Thank you for being patient with me while I’m working my way out of a 6 month funk. To family and friends who I’ve seen in this length of time, if I seem a bit stand-offish, it isn’t you, it genuinely is me.

What are some thoughts you have had that you wouldn’t normally say in your everyday life?  Were they due to depression or lack of sleep or both?

 

Unicorns, plungers and hearing loss

My student looked at me after lunch one day and said, “I ate half a unicorn.”  I gave her a funny look and realized she was either being silly or really had eaten half of Scotland’s national animal. 

“You know what? My old lady ears just heard you say you ate half a Unicorn.”

“Yeah Mrs. Quirky,” she said sardonically, “I ate half a Unicorn.”


It didn’t occur to me until recently that with undue stress the last two months of teaching school, working my second job (then in the last two weeks of school as a shift lead) and teaching an art class two hours on a Monday night had made some of my sensory issues go haywire.  Mostly my hearing.

One of the nights I was scheduled to work at my shift lead job, I was helping at the cash registers in the back of pharmacy.  One of my bosses was asking someone, anyone, to show this young couple to plumbing.  I looked right at her with gusto and said, “I can do that!”  Essentially I was all over it, I have worked the front end for almost two years now and know where our household sections reside.

I promptly exited through the pharmacy door, confident, with myself puffed up and greeted the young couple.  As we were walking down the back aisle I said to them, “We have two different sections for plumbing, we have this aisle which is our basic plumbing where the plungers are.”  The woman looked at me with a half smile on her face.  Her boyfriend was kind of looking around and definitely not at me.  What was probably a few seconds seemed like forever.  I couldn’t figure out what I had done or said that was this awkwardly funny or uncomfortable for them.

“This is a joke, right?” she said.

I furrowed my eyebrows, looked at her and gave her an expression fit for a detective trying to solve a mystery. At this point I didn’t know what to say.  What felt like an eternity to arrange my thoughts was a matter of nano seconds before she finally said with a smile, “We’re looking for Plan B.” (Birth Control)

I raised my eyebrows.

“OH!”

Immediately I deflated in confidence, un-puffed myself, hung my head in embarrassment and said, “Right this way!”

We made our way three aisles down. The e-n-t-i-r-e  way I was explaining how my hearing loss had played a roll in this nonsense.  Obviously I wouldn’t be this insensitive with this situation. Luckily they were the kind of couple that could take a joke (even though it was unintended) and they were able to laugh it off.  Myself on the other hand, have never been more embarrassed and will now forever double check what my ears hear.  

What is something embarrassing you thought you have heard? How did you handle the situation?

Christmas Quasi Coke

Between working three jobs at break neck speed sometimes I’m able to come home after one and catch a commercial on television.  (Usually during Supergirl or Agents of Shield.). The other night, as I was watching, a Coca-Cola commercial came on.  

     The commercial had a young boy going around town sneaking Coca-Cola bottles into various scenes, in which someone laboring over obligatory holiday decor, discovers the bottle right where their hand was about to be. It sounds pretty thoughtful right?  For me, it conjures up the same philosophy of the , “I’d like to buy the world a Coke” commercial from the 70’s.  However instead of sticking around to “keep the world company” as the 70’s commercial suggests, the kid took off running in the opposite direction.

Maybe this boy should have had more Coca-cola to help him build interpersonal skills?


     The little boy delivering coke stopped by the gift wrap shop where a young girl about the age of 14 is feverishly wrapping presents.  He dropped off a Coke for her too.  A few seconds later I realized the boy gave everyone else in the commercial a regular Coca-Cola, but somehow this young skinny girl who probably could use the calories (since she burned up a plethora wrapping presents), gets the short end of the caloric intake stick, and gets a DIET Coke. 

    Most people probably wouldn’t take offense to this.  However when it comes to commercials I read too much into things and wonder often what they are really trying to say.  I wish they would have inserted a scene in which the girl whips her braided hair behind her and shouts, “What is this supposed to mean?  HUH?” Then she chucks the icy cold diet bubbly substance at the boy as he runs away in tears after bringing up a normal sized girl’s insecurities.  Maybe he wasn’t referencing her size at all.  Maybe the boy was inferring she wasn’t worthy of a full Coke? Maybe he only quasi liked her?

    Nobody in the commercial as far as I could tell received a cherry flavored Coke, or even the illustrious cherry-vanilla version. Maybe this was an oversite on Coca-Cola’s part.  Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was subliminal?  Who knows.  

     What I do know is this; if a neighborhood kid comes up and brings me a Diet Coke, I’m going to ask if they’re calling me fat.  Mainly just to see their reaction.

     Bah-Humbug.  

     What commercials have you read too much into?

Do you know where…

The other night at work a woman approached me.  She asked, “Do you know wur the dushes?” Bear in mind, this was the customer who earlier this summer came in, swatted a fly with a bag of potato chips and demanded her daughter get a new bag because those were all crushed.

     I was puzzled. I asked her to repeat herself again.  She again said, “Do you kno wur the dushes?”  With a befuddled look on my face I quickly escorted her to the aisle where we might have dishes.  Making a huge gesture with both hands, I said, “If it is going to be anywhere, it will be right here.” She made a “tsk” sound and said, it wasn’t what she was looking for.

     She then tried to educate me some more on what she was talking about.  “You know, it’s a thing you can fill with water and vinegar and you can squeeze it?” Again, I looked at her trying to figure out what she was talking about.  She acted disappointed in me that I couldn’t figure it out.       

     Then I lead her down another aisle.  We walked down the dish soap aisle where I again made a huge gesture with both hands and said, “If we are going to have it, it will be right here.”  I thought she was talking about those dish scrubbers you can fill with various liquids like vinegar and water and squeeze to clean stuff with a scouring pad at one end.  
     

     Exasperated, she just says, “Well, I guess you don’t have dushes.” Suddenly it hit me. 

     “Are you talking about, like, lady stuff?” I said waving my hands back and forth in front of my pelvis.

     “YEAH! DUSHES!”

     “Okay, follow me.”

     We finally head down the aisle where the “douche” is and she smiles.  She looked at me and gently nudged me with her elbow, “You don’t know what dush is…” She chuckled.


     “I don’t know, maybe I’m lazy.”

Have you ever had a hard time understanding a customer?  What did you think they were trying to say to you?

The Naked Eye

In Mark Twain’s time they must have not had women comparable to the Kardashians.


Bear in mind, I am all for women feeling comfortable in their own skin.  I’ve not felt comfortable in mine since I was a teenager.  Most women can wear yoga pants to the gym without feeling self conscious, I on the other hand wear them with shorts over them.  Sure people might giggle, but I’m at the gym to work out, not to catch someone’s eye.

It is this uncomfortableness with my own body that has led me to this post.  That and the issue of regard for self-respect.  

At my second of three jobs, I generally work the photo equipment.  Invariably there is always a vacation pic of someone pretending to pick someone’s rear at a distance, people who are too tall to climb tiny sculptures, babies, babies, babies and naked pictures.

Unfortunately, if something is an Internet order, we can’t always catch the pictures to censor them. They slip by, with the purchaser hoping it goes unnoticed.  Here’s my thing, if you have to submit it over the internet because you can’t put it on the large screen in the store, then maybe you shouldn’t print it at all.  Our printers are out in the open where anyone can see them; two key groups, children and perverts.

Recently last week a woman apparently went to a professional studio to have naked pictures done of herself.  In terms of nudity, the pictures didn’t make sense. She was waist deep in a creek, wearing a blue jean shirt which she purposely pulled behind her so you could see her chest.  A fully made up older woman, with perfect make up and hair, waist deep in a creek. The last time I was in a creek or around any body of water I face planted and had snail shells stuck in my crack; definitely not sensual.

Last night was a doozie.  We had printed off a booklet of boudoir pictures.  No big deal. We usually print these off at Valentine’s for women sending them to their boyfriends who are in the service.  Usually the women are covered sensibly.  Last night, the woman was covered, but then by the time the 4th page printed out, it looked like maybe her butt was starving and ate her underwear.

I couldn’t take it.  I immediately posted my frustrations on Facebook saying, “Please, no more…”

Then as if to taunt me the machine then printed out two 8×10 pics of a woman who looked like a real estate agent in a company van flipping off the viewer.  I was definitely not happy.

In the past someone has been sneaky and printed pictures of him and his girlfriend doing inappropriate things, men have told me I can take off the inappropriate pictures on their order if I want (when they are trying to save all of the pictures on their phone), and women printing off pics and using the big screen then saying, “Oops” and looking at me.  

By all means I am not a prude, I have drawn many naked people.  There is a huge difference between art and pornography.  If you go to my Etsy page you will see tons of naked drawings, but none of them are nefarious. 


 If you are going to take pictures for your significant other, send it to them via text or e-mail, then quickly erase it from your phone so you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing it who shouldn’t. If anything think of the photo booth ladies, spare our eyes.

What is something you have had to do in the name of public service that bothered you?

Stop the toots

Have you ever heard the expression, “Not to toot my own horn…”?  For whatever reason the other night I was thinking about this and how much it doesn’t really seem to make sense.  How did this start? Whose horn?  Why are they tooting?  Why is this positive?


I woke up from a deep slumber pondering this question.  The only thing that came to mind was a bunch of chambermaids in medieval times having a good laugh impersonating a boastful, flatulant queen.  

Why is the horn used to draw reference to oneself for a good deed or job well done?  What makes it more annoying is if the person is a trumpet  player because they can toot their own horn twice. This brings no satisfaction for the person whose ears were just singed with the sounds of a humble brag.  If the person was not a member of the brass section then there would be some relief they couldn’t complete the often used expression.  The  brass instrument sections almost always get too much satisfaction because they can make this true even if there isn’t anything worth telling everyone about.

So I did a little digging.  Where did this start?  According to the US Herald this is how it all began:

United States about 1776 (a “declaration of self-independence”?) in the “Warren-Adams Letters” as “I think modesty is highly overrated as a virtue — my motto is ‘Toot your own horn lest the same never

The truth is, if you have to toot your horn, chances are you can’t even play a reveille.  You’re drawing attention to yourself to make it look like you’re doing something.  Instead of tooting that you’re awesome, just be awesome instead.  Save your breath and your toots.  Get to doing and stop tooting.

Photo credit queenofyourownlife.com

If you’re going to toot, aim it in the other direction. Nobody likes a braggart.  

When someone has tooted their horn around you, what happened?

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