Thanks AMAZON...

Screen shot of an email I just received from Amazon this afternoon: 

Is it just me, or are they trying to tell me something?

(Or maybe Grammy Pammy?) ;P

Because it is one thing to be a contender for the Darwin Award. It is something else entirely to take your children down with you.

Ya'll.  I am so angry.

I had to go over to my sister's early this morning.  Her alarm has been malfunctioning and went off several times in the middle of the night.  She's out of town, and I'm number two on the security company's call list.  I asked the alarm company to put her system on "test" until 10 AM, so I could get some sleep and head over there after Banner was awake and fed.

So, around 9 AM, I got into the car while Banner and Trevor were busy watching The Animal Sounds Song on You Tube.  Amy lives only about a mile away, so nothing about my journey took very long.

I exited off the main road onto her street, and slowed down for the narrow, 90 degree turn that her street makes about a tenth of a mile into her residential neighborhood.  There are always cars parked along this curve, and I drive a SUV.  It is impossible to take this turn going faster than 15 miles per hour (at least in my car), and I'm not just saying that because of the following story.  It is just one of those sharp turns.  I know it is there and it is difficult to see any other cars coming in the other direction.  It is simply necessary to slow down when approaching it.

And it is a good thing I did, because walking down the middle of the street on the far side of the curve was a gaggle of mothers and their children.

Again.  They were WALKING.  Down the MIDDLE of the EFFING street.  With their children.

I counted seven mothers.  Each pushing a stroller with at least one kid in it.  Several even had an infants in Bjorns strapped to their chests.

At first I didn't think very much of it.  I pulled up behind one of the parked cars along the wide end of the curve and slowed to a stop to let them all pass.  And that is when one of the mothers, wearing a long, black, strapless maxi dress, walked over to my car, banged on my driver's side window and shouted, "You need to slow down when driving through OUR neighborhood.  There are children here!"

Like I couldn't see them all standing there in the middle of the road.

But I said nothing.  Just stared back at her and blinked.

Never in my life have I wanted to yell at someone so much.  And I probably would have if there hadn't been at least ten children under the age of three with her and her other mom friends.  Because regardless of the fact that I was driving about 5 miles per hour under the max speed of most school zones in the City of Dallas, these moms were intentionally walking their children down the middle of the street right before what is essentially a blind curve.  What if I hadn't been familiar with the turn?  What if I was driving a sportier, turn-loving car?  What if Amy didn't live only a few houses down from this particular bend in the road?  What if I had been speeding?  Or not paying attention?  They all could have been plowed over like bowling pins!

Not to mention the fact that these moms were teaching their kids that it is acceptable to walk down the middle of the street in an area with perfectly good sidewalks on both sides of the block.  And I'm typing this knowing full well that there are parts of my neighborhood where I have no choice but to push the stroller in the street.  But it is always by necessity, not choice.  And owing to the fact that I don't want to get hit by a car, I always hug the curb.  It would never occur to me to march my baby down the middle of the road meant for vehicular traffic like that, nor would I ever feel comfortable doing so in the first place - especially so close to a curve where I can't see oncoming traffic or they me.

Instead of saying any of this to the b*tch in the black maxi dress, though, I just stared at her and waited for them to pass before coasting to Amy's house to deal with the alarm situation.  I'm pretty sure I had visible steam coming out of my ears.

This is one situation where I wish I was better with confrontation, because - the more I think about it - those mothers needed to hear that what they are doing is needlessly reckless and stupid.  They are taking unnecessary risks with their children just so they can walk in a horizontal line down the middle of a road.  I'm sure it is easier to talk and socialize that way, but is it really worth it?

And then for her to have the gall to bang on my car window and call me out?  For what?  Driving?  In the road meant for cars, not playgroups?

Maybe it is just me, but this is one of those situations where I wish I could go back in time and give her a piece of my mind.  If for no other reason than it might resonate with one of the other mothers and convince her to use the bleeping sidewalk.  Because, really?  That is what they are there for.

Being with my family for extended periods can be exhausting...and a little confusing

Amy:  "Do Sham Wows really work?"

William:  "Yes."

Dad:  "What?"

Me:  "She's asking about Sham Wows."

Dad:  "What's that?"

Me:  "You know?  A shammy?  No?  Hey, Amy...do you see a Sham Wow in there?"

Amy:  "Yeah.  Want it?"

Me:  "Maybe.  I think dad needs a visual."

Dad:  "No I don't.  I know what it is.  I shot one once."

Amy:  "What?"

Me:  "You shot a washcloth?"

Dad:  "What are you talking about?"

Me:  "No.  What are you talking about?"

Nanner, nanner, nanner...

A college friend of mine posted this link on Facebook for the Hutzler 571 Banana Slicer.  I had no idea that Amazon could be used for sarcasm and mockery, but I absolutely love it.

Anyway, it was too good not to share:

CLICK HERE FOR BRILLIANCE

For no particular reason, today was the day...

Actually, that is a lie.  There IS a reason.  My college roomie had a baby girl yesterday.  She named her Dorothy.  This made me think of The Wizard of Oz.  And, well, this will all make sense by the end of this post.

Maybe.

(Seriously.  There are no guarantees.)

It has been 7 years, 5 months and 27 days since I started this blog. And for 7 years, 5 months and 27 days I have been irritated that my little corner of the internet is called BLINKY MOMENTS.

Yes, I know: #firstworldproblems. It is amazing I can sleep at night.

The original name for this blog is now (FINALLY) the name of this blog. BLINKY MOMENTS was only supposed to be temporary. Except I am notoriously lazy and have never been motivated enough to simply sit down and figure out how to change the header. Which, as it turns out, is ridiculously easy and took less than two minutes.

Awesome.

For those of you who are curious, LOSING THE UP-TO-UP-TO-SIDE-TO-SIDE ROPES is a reference to an inside joke from college. And by “inside joke” I really mean “I said something incredibly stupid and everyone is still laughing at my expense twelve years later”.

Stuff like this actually happens to me all the time.

For instance, for years and years and years I thought cows were traded on Wall Street. When I heard that so-and-so bought whatever stock, I envisioned a cow wearing a blanket with a company logo on the side. I always felt bad for the cows that were bought and sold constantly and never had a nice, consistently loving home. I even once vowed as a child that I would be a good stock owner one day, and provide my cows with some emotional stability.

Because cows need stability.  Especially those living in New York City on Wall Street.  Because NYC is all concrete and skyscrapers.  Not green pastures and acres of farm land like those "happy cows" have out in California.  New York cows need to know they are loved.  Because life is hard for the city cow.  They need a reason to carry on.

(THIS MAKES SENSE TO ME!)

Of course, it helps if I mention the fact that my dad, grandfather and great grandfather were all cattle ranchers. At least there was a context for my confusion. Granted, you would have thought I would have figured it out before, say, high school (let’s not talk about that). And yet, to this day, I always picture a bunch of cows when discussing or reviewing my portfolio.

Case in point: Yesterday I debated whether or not to sell a stock because my grandfather gave it to me DECADES ago. Rationally, I know that there is no such thing as a sentimental share of a publicly traded company.  It is just business. But that didn’t keep me from imagining an elderly herd of cows that once knew my grandfather.  They were counting on me.  If I sold them, they would be back out THERE.  In the chaos of the trading room floor.  That's a young cow's game.  Sending old cows back out there is just...well, cruel.

(You can’t make this kind of crazy up, people.)

(And, yes. I still own this stock.  All of it.)

(Moo.)

Similarly, I was well into my double digits before I finally figured out that pharmacists weren't drug dealers. After all, they worked in a DRUG STORE with DRUGS.  I just couldn't figure out why the cops weren't on to them.  If they simply raided all the pharmacies, they would find all the drugs and they could confiscate them.  National drug epidemic SOLVED.

It didn’t help that I once saw a movie where a drug deal went down in an alley behind a drug store.

And then there is the Dolphin Show I coordinated in my mind to the theme song from Top Gun.  But that is an entirely different post all together.  But suffice it to say, I thought Sea World was going to be knocking down my door to hire me to train all their dolphins and whales once they got a hold of it.  Mainly because it was a multi species event, and who doesn't love it when nature collaborates on something fabulous set to music?

'Nuf said.

(Stop laughing, Trevor.)

But back to the Wizard of Oz. There is a scene in the movie, after the house gets picked up by the tornado, when Dorothy turns to Toto and says:

“We must be up inside the cyclone.”

Except I always heard:

“We lost the up-to-up-to-side-to-side ropes.”

Because for over TWO DECADES I thought houses were literally tied to their foundations.  Especially in Kansas, the midwest and other tornado-prone areas.

And, even though I now know that houses aren’t tied to the ground (thanks to the hysterical laughter of all my college besties), my mind always flashes to imaginary ropes underneath our home during particularly bad thunderstorms. Which, since I live in tornado alley, is pretty often.  I know these foundation ropes don't exist, and yet I always find myself crossing my fingers and saying a little prayer that they hold strong anyway.  Because, you know, I'd hate for my house to be blown away like Dorothy's,

If any of this is making you blink at your computer screen, then you know how I coined BLINKY MOMENTS.

So, there you go.  A new name for an old blog.  Except it is the original name.  So it is really an old name for an old blog.

Welcome to the world, baby Dorothy.  You are loved.

Geography has never been my strong suit, but I guess I should be grateful our power wasn't knocked out by Sandy...

Photo of my TV screen.

Taken while watching the 10 PM news on NBC 5.

In DALLAS.

50+ years of history...

Just canceled my home phone service. It is silly that something so trivial has caused me so much stress and anxiety. I have - literally - been agonizing over this decision for months now. Which is stupid since it will be saving me a good chunk of change every month on something I hardly ever use anymore.

Except, the number has been in the family for decades. My grandparents got the second line number back when phone numbers were only four digits long. The reason? So their four teenaged kiddos could call their friends and have some privacy without monopolizing the family phone line for hours on end.

The number was tied to my grandparents' house until my grandmother passed away in 2005. My sister took the line one number (6276) and I took line two (2313). We both kept the numbers until this year. Amy lost hers when she bought her house and moved over the summer. I've moved mine twice without issue, but having the landline was costing close to $40 a month. Which is ridiculous considering I hardly ever used it, solicitors and politicians were the only people who ever called me on it and I dreaded having to empty out the voicemail every so often.

And, yet, I've held on it for nearly seven years. Leave it to me to make something stupid like a phone number into something sentimental. And, yet, there you go. It is just part of my charm.

But this afternoon something just snapped. I was trying to watch the news and the d@mn landline kept ringing and ringing with incoming calls from MOD, UNAVAILABLE and POLITICAL CAMPAIGN. Seriously. Five spam phone calls in less than twenty minutes. And I just couldn't take it anymore.

You just don't get between a pregnant lady and her compulsive need to watch the weather.

Afterwards, I might have had some residual regret and called my mother in a panic. And, well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry a little. Yes, over a phone number. I mourn stupid things.

It should come as no surprise that this IKEA commercial had me in tears when it used to run on TV years ago:

Consider the 2313 landline number the red lamp in the rain,
and my iPhone the replacement.

The funny thing about the whole situation was that the AT&T sales rep randomly asked me if I would like a year of channels like Showtime, The Movie Channel, FLIX, STARZ and Encore added to my cable bill. I initially said no until the sales guy informed me that if I accepted my cable bill would be $14 a month cheaper than it was if I didn't add these channels. Which I don't pretend to understand. It might be a scam even though the guy kept insisting that it was some sort of promotion and all I had to do was call next December and cancel the extra channels if I didn't want them anymore.

Still? Get more? Pay less? That can't be right, can it?

I guess I will know for sure when I get my next bill. Which, thanks to the lack of landline and promotional cable package, should be $50+ less than what I have been paying every month. That definitely helps take the sting out of losing a sentimental phone number.

And being able to watch shows like Dexter and Californication doesn't hurt either.

On Game Two of the NBA finals...

Apparently, for the Mavs to win, I need to give up and go to bed about halfway through the fourth quarter.

The same thing happened when they played OKC. They won that game, too.

I am sensing a trend.

Of course, the most amazing part of this whole thing is that I am watching the game at all. Maybe Trevor has rubbed off on me? [Shakes head]

Making note...

...of the last day of my 20s.

(OMG!!!)

Freaking out just a little.

As if turning 30 wasn't painful enough!

My coworker just came into my office, pointed at my head and started laughing hysterically. The reason: one of my "crazy hairs" was sticking straight up and completely 100% void of color. Yes, that makes it WHITE. Not gray. Apparently, I am bypassing gray for stark naked whiteness. And that's not even the worse of it. It has FRIENDS. BEHIND MY LEFT EAR!

My mother found my first white hair back in late April. It was in approximately the same place. Too bad we didn't pull it out before it had a chance to reproduce!

I’m going home now to cry myself to sleep…

The Ross Sisters...

This is really amazing. The song is catchy, but nothing special. The crazy stuff comes afterwards, and the stunt in the hay loft with the apple is going to give me nightmares. Because, really? Who sits at home and night and thinks doing something like THAT is a good idea? Where were their parents?!

(And, no, it is not porn. The image You Tube froze the video on suggests it might be something...lurid. But it isn't. Honest.)

The most bizarre Easter Party EVER...

Today's Easter Extravaganza was full of food, festivities and fun.

Fifty some odd kiddos were in attendance, and the egg hunt (as always) was a big hit. As was the prize table filled with free giveaways for everyone in attendance under the age of 18.

Oh, and did I mention the entire event was moved indoors because of weather? Because it was. And the only place available at the last minute for free was here:


Awesome.

And because 80% of the kids were under the age of six, I found this sign on the front door particularly amusing:


Plus, how many egg hunts end with an eight year old handcuffed to a stack of chairs next to the front door of a bingo hall?

Yep. Just plain awesome.

Confessions of a mad woman...

The following story is being posted by popular request (not my own). This really means I am posting this so that you, Internet Metapeople, can join in the fun and laugh at my expense.

You know all the recent stories about Tiger Woods in the news? Well, unless you’ve been living in a hole, you know that he has been accused of being more or less a man-whore. His marriage is most likely over, and for awhile there, it seemed like a new sexual liaison (or two or eight) was emerging other day for weeks.

And – for the record – I KNOW who Tiger Woods is. He is the golfer that has won every coveted golfing whatever for the past decade. Or two. I’m not a golfing fanatic. But I know who Tiger Woods is.

See? Tiger.

But for whatever reason when all the stories were breaking after Thanksgiving, I kept getting Tiger confused with Jared-the-Subway-Guy.

Hi! I'm Jared.

Why? I dunno. Again: I KNOW who both Tiger Woods AND Jared-the-Subway-Guy are.

And, yet, whenever a new story about Tiger emerged, the mental image of Jared was conjured up in my brain. And I felt bad! Because poor Jared lost all that weight eating Subway sandwiches and found love only to become a man-whore and blow it all.

Except Jared didn’t cheat on his wife. Tiger did. And I know that.

And, yet? I still find myself periodically confused.

My dad...

I had to drive to central Texas early on Friday morning.

My dad also drove to central Texas on Friday. But in the early afternoon.

Outside of the small town of Hamilton, my father thought he saw my car broken down on the side of the road.

He didn’t stop, but called to let me know that he was thinking about me and hoped I was okay.

Luckily, it wasn’t my car.

Christmas Lights On Crack...

I've blogged about this before, but the lady who owns the house has apparently added close to 100,000 MORE lights:








This is what happens if Trevor keeps moving the car when you are trying to photograph the house (it's kinda' pretty, though):

Happy ALMOST Christmas!!!

High to Low...

Dude. It is cold outside.

I know, I know. “Cold” is a relative term down here in Texas. But consider the following:

• Yesterday's high was 71 degrees. The low was 52.



• Last night, we had a spring-like pattern of thunderstorms roll across the metroplex.



• This morning’s temperature was 69 degrees. I wore a t-shirt and mesh shorts to the gym.



• It is currently 6 PM and 32 degrees outside (feels like 25 with the wind chill).



• Tonight, a wintery mix of sleet and snow flurries is expected as temperatures continue to plummet into the 20s.

I cannot even begin to describe how long it took me to get dressed this morning. Because, seriously, how do you dress for a day that begins in the mid sixties and ends below freezing?

I finally decided to bundle up in a wool turtleneck sweater and thick, winter-weight chinos. I felt like an overdressed idiot as I climbed into the car this morning, and it didn’t help that I had to turn on the AC on my way to work (lest I overheat).

Of course, on my way home, I felt underdressed and cursed my decision not to take my coat with me to work. The cold 22 mph wind is quite a shock to the system.

Haskell is dealing with the temperature change by refusing to go outside. No amount of coaxing on my part seems to make any difference. He’ll have to go out eventually, of course. But until then, Haskell is determined to hold it. Not that I blame him. It’s times like these that remind me how grateful I am for indoor plumbing.

I had my eyes dilated yesterday. Nothing big. Just a routine check up.

The entire appointment took about 45 minutes or so. And, yes, I am still myopic. The doctor confirmed this by asking me to read the smallest line on the chart while he held my glasses hostage. I think my response was something like, “Wait? There are letters up there? Because I see a frog. Don’t suppose ‘frog’ is a letter, huh?”

Fortunately, though, my eyesight hasn’t changed much since my last appointment, and I’ve been given another pass until 2010. And, no. I do not have to wear my glasses all the time, Melissa (and the rest of you nonbelievers)! Just in the car and while watching foreign films with subtitles. And, no, Trevor. TV shows, like HEROES, do not count as "foreign film" (love you!).

Once the appointment was over, I drove down to Luke’s Locker to pick up our t-shirts and numbers for Thursday’s Turkey Trot. Apparently, the fact that my eyes were dilated was alarming for some of the volunteers. I actually overheard two of them discussing the size of my pupils, to which I responded, “Yeah, I had my eyes dilated today. But I’m fine. Really. Just a tad sensitive to all the light.” They must have thought I was on drugs or something, because they seemed VERY relieved after I announced this. And helpful, too (they jumped right on the whole finding-my-bib thing).

As I turned to leave, however, one of the volunteers turned and asked, “You’re not driving, are you?” When I gave her an odd look, she quickly followed up with, “I mean, with your eyes like that? It’s not safe!”

I lied and told her that I had someone waiting for me in a car downstairs. When she looked at me suspiciously, I quickly added something about how there were no parking spaces in the lot (very true. Parking at Luke’s Locker on Oak Lawn is HARD. I just happened to arrive as someone else was leaving, otherwise I would have been circling for ages), so I volunteered to run inside and pick things up while my “driver” drove in circles. Luckily, the overly concerned Turkey Trot volunteer seemed to buy this story, and let me leave without any further questions.

Granted, it was uncomfortable to drive with all the late afternoon sunlight in my eyes, but I don’t think I was impaired. And the eye doctor didn’t say I couldn’t drive. He only seemed concerned with whether or not I had sunglasses in my car. Which I did. So what if I had to wear two pairs of sunglasses to drive yesterday afternoon (yes, TWO pairs. I was quite the sight!)? And I wouldn’t have needed them both if I had not been driving in the direction of the setting sun.

Anyway, suddenly concerned about whether or not I should be driving, I left Luke’s Locker and proceeded to drive back towards my house. Along the way, I passed the grocery store and decided to run inside to grab food for dinner. While inside, I ran into my next door neighbor and stopped briefly to chat.

Mrs. Toolson: “What is wrong with your eyes?”

Me: “Oh, nothing. I just had them dilated this afternoon during a routine eye exam.”

Mrs. Toolson: “Well, did Trevor drive you?”

Me: “No, I drove myself...”

Mrs. Toolson: “[Interrupting and looking horrified] You did WHAT?!”

Me: “I drove. It’s no big deal. The doctor never told me I needed a driver or anything. Everything is just a little brighter than usual, but I have sunglasses in the car…”

Mrs. Toolson: “[Interrupting again] I always thought you were more responsible than that. You shouldn’t be driving!”

Me: “Um, okay. I’m sorry. If it makes you feel better, I’m heading home after I check out.”

Mrs. Toolson: “Well, I should hope so!”

Seriously? Was I really not supposed to drive home afterwards? And, if so, why did no one tell me that I needed a driver? The doctor never said anything! Plus, it wasn’t like this was my first time having my eyes dilated. And – with the exception of the time I had my eyes dilated in middle school – I’m pretty sure I’ve always driven myself to and from such appointments.

Anyway, I tried to discuss this with Trevor last night, but he seemed much MORE interested in the fact that my pupils were different sizes than listening to what I was actually saying (that said: it was rather weird to look in the mirror and see one pupil considerably larger than the other. I guess the effects of the drops were wearing off more quickly in one eye, but still – strange).

So, what’s the verdict? Was I being irresponsible by driving? Or is everyone else just crazy?

Green with envy...

Obviously, I am in the wrong field.

And, no, she is not on maternity leave.

From: Laurie
Sent: Wednesday, November 19, 2008 4:21 PM
To: Deals
Subject: Out of Office AutoReply: Events

I will be out of the office until Monday, January 5, 2009. Emails will be checked on a regular basis. For immediate assistance, please contact the [Blank, Blank] Office, 214-XXX-XXXX.

Have a safe and happy holiday season!

Laurie

(Grumble, Grumble)

Wake me when it is over...

“Is it weird in here, or is it just me?”

- Stephen Wright

Seriously. What a strange week. Yesterday alone I was propositioned twice by two homeless men on my way to a meeting. Then, on my way back to the museum, I had a third homeless guy tell me he’d be dreaming about me all night. Greaaaaaaat. Nothing makes you feel sexier than having random homeless men staring at your boobs while licking their lips, let me tell you.

On Monday I wore ruffles. Granted, they weren’t loud, over-the-top kind of ruffles. But ruffles they still were. In case you are wondering, I’m not really a ruffles kind of girl, so I was self conscious for most of the day.

Tuesday, my boss forwarded the main line to my phone without telling me. I couldn’t figure out why my phone was ringing so much until someone called later that afternoon to speak to my coworker, Nora, who normally answers that extension (note: Nora took Veteran’s Day off). As a result, I decided to work late in an effort to catch up on all the things I didn’t get done because of the incessant phone calls that day. However, when my boss discovered me still in my office after five, she told me that I needed to prioritize and spend less time talking on the phone and more time catching up on paperwork at my desk. I’m sorry…what?! If you wanted me to spend less time on the phone, why did you forward other extensions to me in the first place?! Or am I missing something here?

On Wednesday I got an email from Grammy Pammy asking Trevor and I to set up a lunch or dinner date with Trevor’s mom. A kind of meeting of the mothers to discuss wedding plans, if you will. Anyway, I forwarded the message to Trevor and asked him to call his mom to find out if/when she was available over the weekend. He wrote back and said he would. I, in turn, forwarded Trevor’s note back to my mother so she would know we were working on securing a date.

Not long after hitting SEND, I received a panicked email from my mother stating that she didn’t want us to invite Trevor’s mom. My mom wanted to do that personally once Trevor and I figured out what day Trevor’s mother was available. So, I had to call Trevor back (who luckily hadn’t made contact with his mother yet), and tell him to ask his mom when she was available but not to tell her why he was asking. Needless to say, the meeting of the mothers has still yet to be scheduled.

And finally: This morning I woke up to the sound of a leaf blower in my driveway. This noise was promptly followed by the sound of Haskell sprinting from his room into mine and leaping onto my bed. Apparently, he developed an irrational fear of leaf blowers overnight. Although, why he chose to jump into my bed is absolutely beyond me. He knows he’s not allowed! It took awhile to get him out, too, as he dove underneath the bed clothes, pinned himself as close to me as possible and dug in. Weird dog.

Is it the weekend, yet?!

An Earthquake? Really?

Well, that explains why I kept jolting awake last night. I kept thinking I felt someone walking around in my living room late last night (Note: I live in an older home, so the floors creak).