I'd like to share my Walgreens Photo Center photos with you. Once you have checked out my photos you can order prints and upload your own photos to share.
6.17.2010
Hola!
I'm right in the middle of hedonism. Gluttony. All-you-can-eat and drink. All-the-guacamole-and-chips-you-can-eat. The all-inclusive resort.
Apparently, this includes insults too.
I went to the spa, and the guy doing my facial explained to me how the facial I was signed up for was for much younger skin. Wouldn't I prefer this other facial that was more appropriate for mature skin? Skin over thirty?
Thanks. I guess he didn't want a tip. If I had wanted to make myself feel bad, I wouldn't have gone inside the spa. I would have stayed outside, with all the bikini bodies.
The good news? When I leave here, I may never want guacamole and tortilla chips again. I'm finally full.
Gracias.
Apparently, this includes insults too.
I went to the spa, and the guy doing my facial explained to me how the facial I was signed up for was for much younger skin. Wouldn't I prefer this other facial that was more appropriate for mature skin? Skin over thirty?
Thanks. I guess he didn't want a tip. If I had wanted to make myself feel bad, I wouldn't have gone inside the spa. I would have stayed outside, with all the bikini bodies.
The good news? When I leave here, I may never want guacamole and tortilla chips again. I'm finally full.
Gracias.
6.09.2010
baggage claim
I have traveled a lot with the Pastor. I have packed a lot of bags. I'm really, really good at it. Every time I pack, I think of an old "8 is Enough" episode where one of the girls is in a beauty pageant and her talent is packing a suitcase.
That could be my talent.
If anyone deserves a nice suitcase, it is me.
Most of the time, I use my backpack, which is a perfectly nice piece of luggage. There's just one flaw - you shove everything in and you can't see it. You want one thing, and you have to pull out everything.
So I mentioned to the Pastor it would be nice to have a suitcase. Then I could open it and see all my clothes and pull out the one thing I want!
Nowhere in this mentioning did I say anything about Goodwill.
Then I got a phone call:
Him: I got you a present.
Me, wise after five years: Do you really want to get my hopes up like that?
It's the thought that counts, right?
I pull into the driveway and there it is. At least it's red. I like red. N8 was with me. I said to N8 "do you think if I hit it with my car I can roll it down the driveway, or will it crumple under my car?"
It's the thought that counts, right?
It didn't do either. It kind of rolled off to the side. Lame.
Then we went into the house where the Pastor began to excitedly show me the special features of this $3 suitcase. To start with, "Where's the Lysol? I need to spray this down!"
This pully thing doesn't work, but it's a perfectly good suitcase!
This outside pocket zipper is broken, just don't put anything in this compartment, and it's a perfectly good suitcase!
Maybe to stuff a body in, I'm thinking.
Needless to say, the Pastor's sweet gesture just ticks me off in the days leading up to a trip when I'm packing and cleaning. Now I feel like I have to deal with taking a junky suitcase to a dumpster. (Body, optional. I can get kind of cranky when I'm showcasing my talent.) Also, it made me feel like, even though I have this perfectly good - although somewhat inconvenient - backpack that I needed to all of a sudden go suitcase shopping. I didn't buy anything though, I couldn't decide.
Note to Pastor: $3 junkaroo suitcases are perfectly fine. For you. They make wonderful presents. For you.
Off to pack some more. This time I'll be wearing my evening gown and practicing my arm gestures while I do it. I won't get the new suitcase, but maybe someday I'll get the crown.
That could be my talent.
If anyone deserves a nice suitcase, it is me.
Most of the time, I use my backpack, which is a perfectly nice piece of luggage. There's just one flaw - you shove everything in and you can't see it. You want one thing, and you have to pull out everything.
So I mentioned to the Pastor it would be nice to have a suitcase. Then I could open it and see all my clothes and pull out the one thing I want!
Nowhere in this mentioning did I say anything about Goodwill.
Then I got a phone call:
Him: I got you a present.
Me, wise after five years: Do you really want to get my hopes up like that?
It's the thought that counts, right?
I pull into the driveway and there it is. At least it's red. I like red. N8 was with me. I said to N8 "do you think if I hit it with my car I can roll it down the driveway, or will it crumple under my car?"
It's the thought that counts, right?
It didn't do either. It kind of rolled off to the side. Lame.
Then we went into the house where the Pastor began to excitedly show me the special features of this $3 suitcase. To start with, "Where's the Lysol? I need to spray this down!"
This pully thing doesn't work, but it's a perfectly good suitcase!
This outside pocket zipper is broken, just don't put anything in this compartment, and it's a perfectly good suitcase!
Maybe to stuff a body in, I'm thinking.
Needless to say, the Pastor's sweet gesture just ticks me off in the days leading up to a trip when I'm packing and cleaning. Now I feel like I have to deal with taking a junky suitcase to a dumpster. (Body, optional. I can get kind of cranky when I'm showcasing my talent.) Also, it made me feel like, even though I have this perfectly good - although somewhat inconvenient - backpack that I needed to all of a sudden go suitcase shopping. I didn't buy anything though, I couldn't decide.
Note to Pastor: $3 junkaroo suitcases are perfectly fine. For you. They make wonderful presents. For you.
Off to pack some more. This time I'll be wearing my evening gown and practicing my arm gestures while I do it. I won't get the new suitcase, but maybe someday I'll get the crown.
5.25.2010
say cheese!
I admit it. Some days, I hate everyone in my family.
OK, some weeks.
OK, some months.
I'm sure, deep down, they don't mean to irritate me. They don't mean to touch my stuff, insult my cooking (or lack thereof) or taste in fashion. They don't mean to track stuff on my clean floor. They don't mean to change the radio station six times in ten seconds. I'm sure they don't mean to have all the good computers while I try to type a blog entry on a prehistoric iBook with a keyboard that skips around. I'm sure they are completely innocent.
But they still annoy me.
This doesn't just cost me emotionally, it robs me monetarily too. I actually had to buy a new camera today, just like the camera I bought last year. (Calm down, Pastor. It was $80). Oh how I remember last year. I was so excited. My very own camera. It was even pink. It was my birthday/mother's day present.
Then the Pastor used it and I haven't seen it since.
When I bought my camera today, the clerk asked me if I wanted the 2 year warranty. Yes, I said, only if it protects my camera from being stolen by my husband or touched by anyone I live with.
I live with, at times, four other individuals. One fully grown, and three others who are grown enough that if they lived in any other country they would be working 80 hour weeks in a sweatshop.
How can they be so needy and so not self-sufficient? Did I do this to them? How come they only like my chocolate bars and my camera and my computer?
Sometimes I think about new, unannoying babies or well-trained puppies. I'm sure some people would think if you can't stand your family, why would you make it bigger? How would a mini yorkie or maltipoo help?
Maybe if I was focused on something else and wasn't at everyones beck-and-call they would remember their own lunch money or where to find any given item in a cabinet. Maybe I would have time to take pictures.
Or, maybe, just maybe - I'd have another set of eyes to look into who would totally understand that every other person in this house is annoying. Another set of eyes, and absolutely no ability to change a radio station.
OK, some weeks.
OK, some months.
I'm sure, deep down, they don't mean to irritate me. They don't mean to touch my stuff, insult my cooking (or lack thereof) or taste in fashion. They don't mean to track stuff on my clean floor. They don't mean to change the radio station six times in ten seconds. I'm sure they don't mean to have all the good computers while I try to type a blog entry on a prehistoric iBook with a keyboard that skips around. I'm sure they are completely innocent.
But they still annoy me.
This doesn't just cost me emotionally, it robs me monetarily too. I actually had to buy a new camera today, just like the camera I bought last year. (Calm down, Pastor. It was $80). Oh how I remember last year. I was so excited. My very own camera. It was even pink. It was my birthday/mother's day present.
Then the Pastor used it and I haven't seen it since.
When I bought my camera today, the clerk asked me if I wanted the 2 year warranty. Yes, I said, only if it protects my camera from being stolen by my husband or touched by anyone I live with.
I live with, at times, four other individuals. One fully grown, and three others who are grown enough that if they lived in any other country they would be working 80 hour weeks in a sweatshop.
How can they be so needy and so not self-sufficient? Did I do this to them? How come they only like my chocolate bars and my camera and my computer?
Sometimes I think about new, unannoying babies or well-trained puppies. I'm sure some people would think if you can't stand your family, why would you make it bigger? How would a mini yorkie or maltipoo help?
Maybe if I was focused on something else and wasn't at everyones beck-and-call they would remember their own lunch money or where to find any given item in a cabinet. Maybe I would have time to take pictures.
Or, maybe, just maybe - I'd have another set of eyes to look into who would totally understand that every other person in this house is annoying. Another set of eyes, and absolutely no ability to change a radio station.
5.23.2010
I am just full of information this week. And fat.
1. If you start your bikini/beach diet in October for your June trip, you will lose the weight.
2. In that same eight month time period, you will also be able to gain it back. Back and front actually.
3. But when you think about it, who really needs the perfect bikini body, when you can purchase the perfect sarong. (Thank you, Ann Taylor Loft.)
4. Why not get some harmful uv action at this point? If I was really concerned about my health, I would have stopped going to Mexican restaurants. Tan, brown-ish fat always looks better than white fat. Think about it - this is why you cook pork and chicken. That, and the deadly diseases and gross-ness.
5. Frankly, I blame all the leggings and maxi-dresses. I knew I should have stayed away from the leggings! How are you supposed to know when to stop shoving food into your pie-hole when none of your clothes are constricting? Stupid stretchy fabrics! You may be forgiving, but I am not. Thanks for nothing.
Oh well. You live and learn. Or maybe you don't. I was at least smart enough to have that really smart, techie kid who is good with the photo editing. Note to self: increase his allowance before trip.
2. In that same eight month time period, you will also be able to gain it back. Back and front actually.
3. But when you think about it, who really needs the perfect bikini body, when you can purchase the perfect sarong. (Thank you, Ann Taylor Loft.)
4. Why not get some harmful uv action at this point? If I was really concerned about my health, I would have stopped going to Mexican restaurants. Tan, brown-ish fat always looks better than white fat. Think about it - this is why you cook pork and chicken. That, and the deadly diseases and gross-ness.
5. Frankly, I blame all the leggings and maxi-dresses. I knew I should have stayed away from the leggings! How are you supposed to know when to stop shoving food into your pie-hole when none of your clothes are constricting? Stupid stretchy fabrics! You may be forgiving, but I am not. Thanks for nothing.
Oh well. You live and learn. Or maybe you don't. I was at least smart enough to have that really smart, techie kid who is good with the photo editing. Note to self: increase his allowance before trip.
5.20.2010
Shop til you drop! Sadly, I've been dropped.
I made a terrible, awful, horrible mistake.
I let my husband see all of my shoes in the same place, at the same time. He's in bed now, with the lights out and a cool cloth over his face, muttering something like "my eyes! my eyes!"
You think I would know better than this. Stupid moving to a different house! Stupid tempting large cabinets with the stupid shelves to put shoes on! How could I have been so stupid?
Please, I implore you, learn from my mistake.
Since I won't be shopping for a very loooooooooong time and am basically grounded to my room to blog, I will offer you everything I know that you need to know about how to shop and get away with it. Yes, I am paying it forward.
Robyn's helpful tips, in no particular order:
1. Leave bags in trunk. Duh! Keep decoy items in trunk (dead body?) to cover bags. Bags go directly from trunk to closet. This bag-to-closet-transfer is akin to moving the President of the United States from one secret bunker to another.
2. Dispose of all plastic tags and price tags. Get over it Environment! These are things we cannot and will not ever recycle. Only God knows what could have been built with all the plastic tag thingys (what are those called anyway?) that have been removed from the clothes I have purchased in my lifetime.
3. Tear receipts into teeny, tiny pieces. Trust no one, not even the shredder.
4. Practice convincingly saying "No, I've had this for a long time. In fact, I think I got it when I was in high school." Then not only will your man think your parents paid for it, but also that you are as thin as you were in high school.
4a. Rule of thumb - any article of clothing/purse/shoes should be treated just like you would a new car - once you drive a new car off the lot it depreciates instantly and is no longer considered new. This is the same for mall shopping. Once you walk out of that mall? It is no longer new, therefore you can always truthfully answer "no" when asked if something is new. I have been married to the Pastor for over five years now, and yet have managed to not wear anything new during that time (And the man has a Ph.D.? Who's the smart one here?). Pretty amazing, huh?
5. Cash is great because it doesn't leave a trail but nothing will rat you out faster than some kid you are forced to take shopping with you. Schools are not so helpful by teaching kids about things like math and money. Decimal confusion works here. If you spend $90.00 say isn't it great that mommy bought all of that for $9.00? Granted this may be harmful to them in the future, but this is shopping survivalism. If you have one of those smart kids, you will probably have to resort to bribery.
6. Stores do not make it easy on us with their helpful size stickers. I know, I know - sometimes it's a real struggle just to hastily remove the price tags when you are getting dressed in the morning, but don't be sloppy - give yourself a final once-over in the mirror and make sure you have removed that tiny, circular XS/S/M/L/XL sticker too.
7. Multiple shopping bags only confuse men. If possible, don't even let the store give you a bag. That's what those large purses are for. As far as I am concerned, caring for the environment was the best thing that ever happened - those reusable shopping bags were not created by tree huggers, they were created by desperate women who love to shop. Shopping bags send a message to the world that says "I care" and conditions your man. He won't know if you are bringing home cans of green beans to donate to the poor or a new outfit.
7a. Keep some cans of green beans in your reusable shopping bags.
8. Sometimes you should buy stuff you don't want just so you can make a big deal about how you don't need it, you care about the budget, blah blah blah and make a huge production of returning it in front of your husband.
9. Save this one for when you need to buy something really fabulous/expensive. Sometimes you have to buy something extra when you've been shopping. That's really why places like Victoria's Secret and Frederick's of Hollywood exist. Men are easily distracted and nothing throws them off quite like buying crotchless panties or stockings.
10. Consider changing your religious preferences. The Amish with their modest dress, Indian women wearing sarees, Muslim women and their burqas - you and I both know these ladies are wearing whatever they want under those cover ups and their husbands? None the wiser. Once they get to lunch with their girlfriends? The wraps come off and the great outfits come out.
11. I especially love it when I can find those racks of clothes that are 70% off, then 30% off, then take an extra 10% off. 70 + 30 + 10 = 110. Whatever I bought must have been free and therefore doesn't count as shopping!
There. I've taken one for the team. Go forth, little shopping Jedis. Oh, one more little tidbit. If you get caught, if you get desperate, just say you didn't buy it for yourself - you bought it for me and send it my way (in plain, unmarked wrapping). In the meantime, don't worry about me and my shopping-free existence. With all this extra time at home I'm bound to find some new secret hiding places.
I let my husband see all of my shoes in the same place, at the same time. He's in bed now, with the lights out and a cool cloth over his face, muttering something like "my eyes! my eyes!"
You think I would know better than this. Stupid moving to a different house! Stupid tempting large cabinets with the stupid shelves to put shoes on! How could I have been so stupid?
Please, I implore you, learn from my mistake.
Since I won't be shopping for a very loooooooooong time and am basically grounded to my room to blog, I will offer you everything I know that you need to know about how to shop and get away with it. Yes, I am paying it forward.
Robyn's helpful tips, in no particular order:
1. Leave bags in trunk. Duh! Keep decoy items in trunk (dead body?) to cover bags. Bags go directly from trunk to closet. This bag-to-closet-transfer is akin to moving the President of the United States from one secret bunker to another.
2. Dispose of all plastic tags and price tags. Get over it Environment! These are things we cannot and will not ever recycle. Only God knows what could have been built with all the plastic tag thingys (what are those called anyway?) that have been removed from the clothes I have purchased in my lifetime.
3. Tear receipts into teeny, tiny pieces. Trust no one, not even the shredder.
4. Practice convincingly saying "No, I've had this for a long time. In fact, I think I got it when I was in high school." Then not only will your man think your parents paid for it, but also that you are as thin as you were in high school.
4a. Rule of thumb - any article of clothing/purse/shoes should be treated just like you would a new car - once you drive a new car off the lot it depreciates instantly and is no longer considered new. This is the same for mall shopping. Once you walk out of that mall? It is no longer new, therefore you can always truthfully answer "no" when asked if something is new. I have been married to the Pastor for over five years now, and yet have managed to not wear anything new during that time (And the man has a Ph.D.? Who's the smart one here?). Pretty amazing, huh?
5. Cash is great because it doesn't leave a trail but nothing will rat you out faster than some kid you are forced to take shopping with you. Schools are not so helpful by teaching kids about things like math and money. Decimal confusion works here. If you spend $90.00 say isn't it great that mommy bought all of that for $9.00? Granted this may be harmful to them in the future, but this is shopping survivalism. If you have one of those smart kids, you will probably have to resort to bribery.
6. Stores do not make it easy on us with their helpful size stickers. I know, I know - sometimes it's a real struggle just to hastily remove the price tags when you are getting dressed in the morning, but don't be sloppy - give yourself a final once-over in the mirror and make sure you have removed that tiny, circular XS/S/M/L/XL sticker too.
7. Multiple shopping bags only confuse men. If possible, don't even let the store give you a bag. That's what those large purses are for. As far as I am concerned, caring for the environment was the best thing that ever happened - those reusable shopping bags were not created by tree huggers, they were created by desperate women who love to shop. Shopping bags send a message to the world that says "I care" and conditions your man. He won't know if you are bringing home cans of green beans to donate to the poor or a new outfit.
7a. Keep some cans of green beans in your reusable shopping bags.
8. Sometimes you should buy stuff you don't want just so you can make a big deal about how you don't need it, you care about the budget, blah blah blah and make a huge production of returning it in front of your husband.
9. Save this one for when you need to buy something really fabulous/expensive. Sometimes you have to buy something extra when you've been shopping. That's really why places like Victoria's Secret and Frederick's of Hollywood exist. Men are easily distracted and nothing throws them off quite like buying crotchless panties or stockings.
10. Consider changing your religious preferences. The Amish with their modest dress, Indian women wearing sarees, Muslim women and their burqas - you and I both know these ladies are wearing whatever they want under those cover ups and their husbands? None the wiser. Once they get to lunch with their girlfriends? The wraps come off and the great outfits come out.
11. I especially love it when I can find those racks of clothes that are 70% off, then 30% off, then take an extra 10% off. 70 + 30 + 10 = 110. Whatever I bought must have been free and therefore doesn't count as shopping!
There. I've taken one for the team. Go forth, little shopping Jedis. Oh, one more little tidbit. If you get caught, if you get desperate, just say you didn't buy it for yourself - you bought it for me and send it my way (in plain, unmarked wrapping). In the meantime, don't worry about me and my shopping-free existence. With all this extra time at home I'm bound to find some new secret hiding places.
4.21.2010
here.
everything you need to know about our relationship
http://imarriedthepastor.blogspot.com/2005/05/ultimate-commitment.html
http://imarriedthepastor.blogspot.com/2005/05/ultimate-commitment.html
here.
Re-run.
Pastor - I'm recycling your video card.
Happy Anniversary. Living with you makes every day just as happy as the day you found 13 pairs of pants at Goodwill.
Pastor - I'm recycling your video card.
Happy Anniversary. Living with you makes every day just as happy as the day you found 13 pairs of pants at Goodwill.
4.19.2010
cookie monster
So I was reading a blog.
It belongs to a mommy who started planning months in advance for her toddler's birthday party.
I felt all smug. Who needs months and months to plan for a toddler party? I have thrown together some fantastic soirees in much shorter time.
Then I realized I was guilty of spending months and months and months getting ready for a little girl's party.
My own.
As far back as January when I was at the Mexican market, I saw this fantastic princess cake for a Quinceanera. I made a mental note that I wanted that cake for my birthday (seriously don't try to go get it - it's approximately the size of a Volkswagen Bug).
I've thought about my need for candy necklaces and bracelets, but this may not have as much to do with my birthday as my secret plan of having strings of sugar around my neck and wrists to get the Pastor to nibble on me.
I've dropped some not-so-subtle hints that maybe it was time for Mom to finish recuperating from her knee replacement surgery and get busy making me some oatmeal cookies.
I've thought about my pre-birthday diet - the key word being thought - how I want to look amazing for my special day. Or, more likely, how I want to make sure I have plenty of room to gorge on cake and Mexican food.
I apologize to you, random blogger. And I offer you this warning: be careful of how elaborate you make her parties now. You may create a monster.
It belongs to a mommy who started planning months in advance for her toddler's birthday party.
I felt all smug. Who needs months and months to plan for a toddler party? I have thrown together some fantastic soirees in much shorter time.
Then I realized I was guilty of spending months and months and months getting ready for a little girl's party.
My own.
As far back as January when I was at the Mexican market, I saw this fantastic princess cake for a Quinceanera. I made a mental note that I wanted that cake for my birthday (seriously don't try to go get it - it's approximately the size of a Volkswagen Bug).
I've thought about my need for candy necklaces and bracelets, but this may not have as much to do with my birthday as my secret plan of having strings of sugar around my neck and wrists to get the Pastor to nibble on me.
I've dropped some not-so-subtle hints that maybe it was time for Mom to finish recuperating from her knee replacement surgery and get busy making me some oatmeal cookies.
I've thought about my pre-birthday diet - the key word being thought - how I want to look amazing for my special day. Or, more likely, how I want to make sure I have plenty of room to gorge on cake and Mexican food.
I apologize to you, random blogger. And I offer you this warning: be careful of how elaborate you make her parties now. You may create a monster.
4.14.2010
sa-batty-cal
Today I was just a typical mommy - running errands. While I was in the bank filling out my deposit slip, my darling angel ran around the lobby, through the maze you have to go through to get to a teller window, and went through all the suckers until he found a red one. He took a few licks off a sucker and then started to search for a place to stick the sticky mess, with a helpful teller shadowing him to make sure it ended up in the garbage. After the bank, it was to home where I made us lunch and he went down for his afternoon nap!
Only this wasn't a toddler, it was my husband.
The P is on sabbatical. I'm not really sure what that word means, but I think it might be Latin or something for "annoy your wife."
I am literally wolfing down an entire Godiva chocolate bar as I write this. Stressed much? He's always been like a tasmanian devil the way he tornadoes through the house and leaves piles here and piles there. Now it's even worse. There are books everywhere, and trust me they are books no one wants to read.
And he's so helpful.
Maybe a little too helpful. It was nice to have his company on this beautiful errand running day, but he feels the need to (when he hasn't lost all patience and turned into an unruly toddler at the bank) give me helpful hints on how I can be much more efficient on everything I do. In fact, he was just standing over my shoulder as I write this giving my helpful hints on this post. He didn't want me to include the part on orange juice (below). He said that doesn't mean he didn't say it, but for some reason he thought the post was better without that tidbit.
Maybe I need to stick a how-to-listen-to-your-wife book in one of these piles or perhaps download one to his Kindle. Hmmmm.
Anyway, while I have spent the last five years trying to find as many ways as I can to make things take as long as possible (there's a lot of hours in the day) he thinks I should be faster and more efficient, so I'll have more time to do what, I'm not sure.
Then there's the issue of the household budget.
The P's got these elaborate schemes to fly here and there. While I appreciate the lovely trips, I also like the idea of having luxurious items in my fridge, like I don't know, orange juice. Yes, not only am I a very bad girl for my daily Starbucks, I'm also completely decadent for having luxurious oj in the fridge. I will admit I like the fancy kind where someone has taken care of getting rid of all the pulp for me. I don't like pulp.
On the plus side, I never thought I'd be so happy to go to the gym. My safe place. My girl's only gym where I can go "work out" for hours.
I may seem a teeny bit cranky. I'm not, it's just that I didn't have my coffee - and juice - this morning.
Only this wasn't a toddler, it was my husband.
The P is on sabbatical. I'm not really sure what that word means, but I think it might be Latin or something for "annoy your wife."
I am literally wolfing down an entire Godiva chocolate bar as I write this. Stressed much? He's always been like a tasmanian devil the way he tornadoes through the house and leaves piles here and piles there. Now it's even worse. There are books everywhere, and trust me they are books no one wants to read.
And he's so helpful.
Maybe a little too helpful. It was nice to have his company on this beautiful errand running day, but he feels the need to (when he hasn't lost all patience and turned into an unruly toddler at the bank) give me helpful hints on how I can be much more efficient on everything I do. In fact, he was just standing over my shoulder as I write this giving my helpful hints on this post. He didn't want me to include the part on orange juice (below). He said that doesn't mean he didn't say it, but for some reason he thought the post was better without that tidbit.
Maybe I need to stick a how-to-listen-to-your-wife book in one of these piles or perhaps download one to his Kindle. Hmmmm.
Anyway, while I have spent the last five years trying to find as many ways as I can to make things take as long as possible (there's a lot of hours in the day) he thinks I should be faster and more efficient, so I'll have more time to do what, I'm not sure.
Then there's the issue of the household budget.
The P's got these elaborate schemes to fly here and there. While I appreciate the lovely trips, I also like the idea of having luxurious items in my fridge, like I don't know, orange juice. Yes, not only am I a very bad girl for my daily Starbucks, I'm also completely decadent for having luxurious oj in the fridge. I will admit I like the fancy kind where someone has taken care of getting rid of all the pulp for me. I don't like pulp.
On the plus side, I never thought I'd be so happy to go to the gym. My safe place. My girl's only gym where I can go "work out" for hours.
I may seem a teeny bit cranky. I'm not, it's just that I didn't have my coffee - and juice - this morning.
4.11.2010
I hate you Skype.
Videochatting with the out of town Pastor.
Could he see me when I had the Sephora candy colored eyes? No. (N8 said it looked like my eye makeup had been done by a preschooler with a box of crayons, but I don't care. I know it looked good.)
Could he see me when I had on my false eyelashes? No.
My big earrings? My big bumped up hair? No. No.
But when I just woke up? Of course. Let's just say I'm not a natural beauty.
I remember before Mrs. Jetson videochatted she could spray her makeup and hair on instantly.
Where's that technology?
Could he see me when I had the Sephora candy colored eyes? No. (N8 said it looked like my eye makeup had been done by a preschooler with a box of crayons, but I don't care. I know it looked good.)
Could he see me when I had on my false eyelashes? No.
My big earrings? My big bumped up hair? No. No.
But when I just woke up? Of course. Let's just say I'm not a natural beauty.
I remember before Mrs. Jetson videochatted she could spray her makeup and hair on instantly.
Where's that technology?
3.25.2010
taxing
The Pastor proposed to me in March.
We got married three weeks later.
I attributed this whirlwind courtship to the things my fantastical romantic imagination usually comes up with: love, passion, romance, unmitigated desire and spring fever.
Five years later, I have removed the rose colored glasses. I had to in order to work with all the receipts, numbers and spreadsheets.
Now I know it wasn't any of the things I thought. It was tax season.
I have been saving receipts, organizing receipts, filing receipts and entering numbers into spreadsheets all year. And people? Let's just say Math Barbie wasn't my favorite doll. Each year the Pastor is - very sneakily - growing more and more removed from the entire process. All he had to do this year was sit with me for an hour and read some data so I could finalize everything.
It was at that meeting that I had to make a choice. I was conflicted - should I put up with my whining, petulant husband ("I don't wannnnnnnnnnnnnna look at the receipts!" I'm sleepy!") or start making up stuff, commit tax fraud, and go to prison.
It was a tough call, but don't worry, I did the right thing.
The Pastor owes me big time now. My fantastical imagination is at it again - wondering what he is going to buy me for all this hard work.
That'll be one receipt that mysteriously disappears.
We got married three weeks later.
I attributed this whirlwind courtship to the things my fantastical romantic imagination usually comes up with: love, passion, romance, unmitigated desire and spring fever.
Five years later, I have removed the rose colored glasses. I had to in order to work with all the receipts, numbers and spreadsheets.
Now I know it wasn't any of the things I thought. It was tax season.
I have been saving receipts, organizing receipts, filing receipts and entering numbers into spreadsheets all year. And people? Let's just say Math Barbie wasn't my favorite doll. Each year the Pastor is - very sneakily - growing more and more removed from the entire process. All he had to do this year was sit with me for an hour and read some data so I could finalize everything.
It was at that meeting that I had to make a choice. I was conflicted - should I put up with my whining, petulant husband ("I don't wannnnnnnnnnnnnna look at the receipts!" I'm sleepy!") or start making up stuff, commit tax fraud, and go to prison.
It was a tough call, but don't worry, I did the right thing.
The Pastor owes me big time now. My fantastical imagination is at it again - wondering what he is going to buy me for all this hard work.
That'll be one receipt that mysteriously disappears.
3.16.2010
remember the Sabbath and keep it skinny
Today I was once again reminded how my weekly weigh in and weight loss meeting is more of a religious experience for me than actually going to church.
There is definitely prayer. No one prays harder than a woman on a scale.
There's confession and contrition as I review the journal of every morsel of food I've put in my mouth over the past week. And the food I conveniently forgot to write down. And the food I was too horrified to write down.
There's a bible. It's confusing too - with numbers and calories and fat grams and points and exchanges.
There's a sermon about what I'm supposed to do, or not do.
I feel moved to be a better person. A thinner, healthier person. A person who doesn't hate exercise. The kind of person who will go forth and eat Mexican food no more. (This usually lasts about two hours.)
There's an offering. What - you thought you could lose weight for free? Then you must be a guy and probably don't even care about the number on the scale.
What's even worse is I'm better behaved. I must be more afraid of getting fat than I am of ticking off Jesus, because I do not play with my cell phone, doodle, whisper or watch Sex and the City in my head. I concentrate. And unlike church where I dress to the nines, I never care about how I look. I even wear the same outfit every single Tuesday ever since I determined it weighed less than anything else I own. Yes, there was valuable time involved where I could have fed the poor or ministered to the homeless, but instead I weighed all my clothes.
One more similarity - just as soon as it's over, I'm headed to Starbucks.
There's always next week.
There is definitely prayer. No one prays harder than a woman on a scale.
There's confession and contrition as I review the journal of every morsel of food I've put in my mouth over the past week. And the food I conveniently forgot to write down. And the food I was too horrified to write down.
There's a bible. It's confusing too - with numbers and calories and fat grams and points and exchanges.
There's a sermon about what I'm supposed to do, or not do.
I feel moved to be a better person. A thinner, healthier person. A person who doesn't hate exercise. The kind of person who will go forth and eat Mexican food no more. (This usually lasts about two hours.)
There's an offering. What - you thought you could lose weight for free? Then you must be a guy and probably don't even care about the number on the scale.
What's even worse is I'm better behaved. I must be more afraid of getting fat than I am of ticking off Jesus, because I do not play with my cell phone, doodle, whisper or watch Sex and the City in my head. I concentrate. And unlike church where I dress to the nines, I never care about how I look. I even wear the same outfit every single Tuesday ever since I determined it weighed less than anything else I own. Yes, there was valuable time involved where I could have fed the poor or ministered to the homeless, but instead I weighed all my clothes.
One more similarity - just as soon as it's over, I'm headed to Starbucks.
There's always next week.
2.26.2010
Lent Vent
Dang that Pastor. The longer I am around him, the more stuff he teaches me, and even worse - he makes me think. Shhhhhh! Don't tell him!
You know what that amounts to? One un-funny blog.
I typically (try to) give up something for (most of) Lent. I'm usually pretty successful at denying myself one of my petty indulgences.
I've given up nail polish and cursing and shopping and cupcakes in the past. How sad is it, that a person would consume so many cupcakes, something that used to be reserved for elementary school birthday parties, that it would actually be sacrificial to not eat them?
This year, I decided to tackle Lent on a week by week basis. The first week I gave up sugar.
Wow. Turns out I have a lot of sugar. If you think that as a result of my Lenten sacrifice that I lost a bunch of weight, well you would be wrong. Because as I was going through sugar detox, did I pray and reflect and contemplate? No, I ate a bunch of other junk instead. Tortilla chips anyone?
What did I learn? I need to have a lot less sugar in my diet. I need to cut it out, a little at a time - not cold turkey.
What a stupid thing to learn during Lent.
Moving on. Week two, I decided to turn off the t.v. A quick historical background. The first couple of years we were married, we didn't have cable. Then we got cable. Then we got the dvr. Then we became the biggest tv whores on the planet and never looked back.
The Pastor was busy a couple of nights and left me home alone with the kiddos. I didn't turn the tv on, and you know what? Not one of them asked to watch a thing. We all hung out in the living room. Doing our own things. It was quiet. And no one needs to panic! All that stuff we didn't watch, waited for us on the dvr. People got voted off American Idol, someone on 16 and Pregnant realized their boyfriend wasn't going to change, and our lives were not severely impacted.
How lame is it to think that I - someone who's biggest accomplishment for the month of February was not wearing the same thing twice - could really give up anything in a sacrificing way? Would it really mater in my life if I gave up coffee or tortilla chips? Baristas, waitresses, waiters and salespeople know me. I have probably have 90 pairs of underpants, a dozen tubes of mascara, dozens of lipsticks and a dozen coach bags. My life is superficial and meaningless and unimportant - even if I do look nice while I'm doing it.
I can remember the things that I gave up in the past, all the cupcakes and the shoes I did without, the things that I denied myself, but I cannot remember a single solitary thing I did for another human being. I can't remember a single thing that I learned or said or did that actually mattered.
As I move forward with the rest of Lent, I don't plan to give anything else up - I am giving of myself. I hope that I will write a part two and tell about that. More importantly, I just hope that I do it, and remember it in Lents to come.
You know what that amounts to? One un-funny blog.
I typically (try to) give up something for (most of) Lent. I'm usually pretty successful at denying myself one of my petty indulgences.
I've given up nail polish and cursing and shopping and cupcakes in the past. How sad is it, that a person would consume so many cupcakes, something that used to be reserved for elementary school birthday parties, that it would actually be sacrificial to not eat them?
This year, I decided to tackle Lent on a week by week basis. The first week I gave up sugar.
Wow. Turns out I have a lot of sugar. If you think that as a result of my Lenten sacrifice that I lost a bunch of weight, well you would be wrong. Because as I was going through sugar detox, did I pray and reflect and contemplate? No, I ate a bunch of other junk instead. Tortilla chips anyone?
What did I learn? I need to have a lot less sugar in my diet. I need to cut it out, a little at a time - not cold turkey.
What a stupid thing to learn during Lent.
Moving on. Week two, I decided to turn off the t.v. A quick historical background. The first couple of years we were married, we didn't have cable. Then we got cable. Then we got the dvr. Then we became the biggest tv whores on the planet and never looked back.
The Pastor was busy a couple of nights and left me home alone with the kiddos. I didn't turn the tv on, and you know what? Not one of them asked to watch a thing. We all hung out in the living room. Doing our own things. It was quiet. And no one needs to panic! All that stuff we didn't watch, waited for us on the dvr. People got voted off American Idol, someone on 16 and Pregnant realized their boyfriend wasn't going to change, and our lives were not severely impacted.
How lame is it to think that I - someone who's biggest accomplishment for the month of February was not wearing the same thing twice - could really give up anything in a sacrificing way? Would it really mater in my life if I gave up coffee or tortilla chips? Baristas, waitresses, waiters and salespeople know me. I have probably have 90 pairs of underpants, a dozen tubes of mascara, dozens of lipsticks and a dozen coach bags. My life is superficial and meaningless and unimportant - even if I do look nice while I'm doing it.
I can remember the things that I gave up in the past, all the cupcakes and the shoes I did without, the things that I denied myself, but I cannot remember a single solitary thing I did for another human being. I can't remember a single thing that I learned or said or did that actually mattered.
As I move forward with the rest of Lent, I don't plan to give anything else up - I am giving of myself. I hope that I will write a part two and tell about that. More importantly, I just hope that I do it, and remember it in Lents to come.
2.17.2010
nice guys finish last?
The Pastor has been doing many nice things lately. He said to me the other day, "I better be getting some good press on this out in blog-land."
Oopsie. Poor Pastor. I guess when he is well-behaved, there's not much in the way of writing material, huh?
He did get me the Hope Diamond (genuine refrigerator magnet).
He did upgrade my big diamond ring. So now we are on BDR 2.0
He did get the transmission in my little red Honda fixed so I don't have to drive a van anymore.
He did take me to a lovely bed & breakfast.
He did get me an appropriate present on Valentine's Day. No candy, flowers or card, but this is progress for a man who would rather celebrate holy-days than holidays. His words, not mine, from his sermon this past Sunday. The Valentine's Day sermon entitled "Can't buy me love." I knew I was in trouble when I heard that.
Stupid Beatles. I was always more of a fan of Madonna's "Material Girl."
Oopsie. Poor Pastor. I guess when he is well-behaved, there's not much in the way of writing material, huh?
He did get me the Hope Diamond (genuine refrigerator magnet).
He did upgrade my big diamond ring. So now we are on BDR 2.0
He did get the transmission in my little red Honda fixed so I don't have to drive a van anymore.
He did take me to a lovely bed & breakfast.
He did get me an appropriate present on Valentine's Day. No candy, flowers or card, but this is progress for a man who would rather celebrate holy-days than holidays. His words, not mine, from his sermon this past Sunday. The Valentine's Day sermon entitled "Can't buy me love." I knew I was in trouble when I heard that.
Stupid Beatles. I was always more of a fan of Madonna's "Material Girl."
2.11.2010
1.31.2010
white madness
signs that you have been snowed in way too long
1. You mastered the art of making tamales.
2. You cleaned your house.
3. You keep going to check to see if there's enough clothes to wash another load, but all the laundry has been done.
4. You washed your sheets.
5. You contemplated baking, but thank goodness, you are out of vanilla.
6. You started reading a book.
7. You cleaned out your spices. That's how you figured out you were out of vanilla.
8. You watched everything on your DVR, including "The Pregnancy Pact." You are contemplating recording other movies on Lifetime.
9. You are high score #1 - 10 on every single one of your Wii games. You have invented new Wii games, for instance only hitting the shoes or the panda heads in soccer. You are playing the Wii games just so you can spend time with other people, like Timmy the Trainer.
A few more days, and I may even get desperate enough to do my taxes.
1. You mastered the art of making tamales.
2. You cleaned your house.
3. You keep going to check to see if there's enough clothes to wash another load, but all the laundry has been done.
4. You washed your sheets.
5. You contemplated baking, but thank goodness, you are out of vanilla.
6. You started reading a book.
7. You cleaned out your spices. That's how you figured out you were out of vanilla.
8. You watched everything on your DVR, including "The Pregnancy Pact." You are contemplating recording other movies on Lifetime.
9. You are high score #1 - 10 on every single one of your Wii games. You have invented new Wii games, for instance only hitting the shoes or the panda heads in soccer. You are playing the Wii games just so you can spend time with other people, like Timmy the Trainer.
A few more days, and I may even get desperate enough to do my taxes.
1.23.2010
It was very easy/anyone could see/that the Prince was charming/the only one for me.
Me, asking for something which I think is perfectly reasonable yet the Pastor thinks is completely ridiculous: "I’m going to tell you something else I want, then the thing I’m asking for won’t seem so ridiculous to you."
Pastor: "Oh yeah? What’s that?"
Me: "When I die, I want one of those glass coffins, like in Snow White."
Pastor, laughing hysterically: "Are you serious? You really want everyone seeing your shriveled up dead body?"
Me: "No, I just like the idea of it. Besides, the dwarfs found her beautiful even in death and kept a constant vigil at her side."
Pastor: "Someone is under the spell of the Disney magic!"
*****
OK, it is possible that I have watched Snow White one too many times, but what does it say about me now that instead of wanting to be a Princess or find Prince Charming, the thing I'll settle for is a glass coffin?
1.13.2010
how much is that doggie in the intersection?
what the kids said -
Hey Mom! The Pastor tried to get a little dog for you! He chased after it three times to try to catch it for you but the dog was too fast. Even though the dog had three inch legs, it was faster than the Pastor.
what I thought -
Oh that is sweet! It would be nice to have a little dog! A friend! Something to love me unconditionally! Something that will never grow up and get a girlfriend! Something that will never, ever leave me!
what the Pastor said -
We saw a dog in the street and I chased it out of traffic. It was going to cause an accident.
what I said -
(sigh)
Hey Mom! The Pastor tried to get a little dog for you! He chased after it three times to try to catch it for you but the dog was too fast. Even though the dog had three inch legs, it was faster than the Pastor.
what I thought -
Oh that is sweet! It would be nice to have a little dog! A friend! Something to love me unconditionally! Something that will never grow up and get a girlfriend! Something that will never, ever leave me!
what the Pastor said -
We saw a dog in the street and I chased it out of traffic. It was going to cause an accident.
what I said -
(sigh)
1.08.2010
hormone therapy
The Pastor was telling me about some Mystics who believed in the afterlife a person's punishment and reward was to re-live their entire life. All the joys and all the hurts, with all the knowledge, yet powerless to make any changes.
Those Mystics may have been on to something. I believe we have something just like this, and we don't have to wait for the ever-after. It's called RAISING A TEENAGER.
I now get to live through what I no doubt put my parent's through.
I may be powerless to make any changes, but at least I can pick up the phone, call my parents and apologize to them for ever having liked a boy. And my behavior from ages 12 - 18. Or was it from ages 12 - 34?
Sorry Mom and Dad.
Those Mystics may have been on to something. I believe we have something just like this, and we don't have to wait for the ever-after. It's called RAISING A TEENAGER.
I now get to live through what I no doubt put my parent's through.
I may be powerless to make any changes, but at least I can pick up the phone, call my parents and apologize to them for ever having liked a boy. And my behavior from ages 12 - 18. Or was it from ages 12 - 34?
Sorry Mom and Dad.
1.04.2010
waxing poetic
Once upon a time, there was a 15 year old girl we’ll call Robyn. She was in Driver’s Ed class with a 15 year old boy named Greg. He had a crush on her, and she had a crush on him. They flirted.
Then, one day, Greg said something about a few errant hairs Robyn hadn't ever noticed.
There was no happily ever after to this Hairy Tale. That’s when the tweezing began.
I’m exhausted. I’ve been tweezing for 23 years. That’s longer than I’ve been driving. Longer than I went to school. Longer than all of my marriages combined. Even longer than how long I have been on a diet, and that’s a long time. The only things I’ve been doing longer than tweezing are menstruating – another fun thing – and breathing.
It’s something I dread every single day. I wonder where I will have a stray hair today?!
Do you have any idea how many tweezers I have bought? I wish I did. Wouldn’t you think one would be enough? First, there are the tweezers that are no good because they just don’t pluck right. Then there are all the tweezers that are perfect, yet someone else in the house uses them to perform plantar wart removal surgery. I mourn the loss for these tweezers, and buy more.
Can you even travel with tweezers anymore? I don’t think so. Me with my unwanted hair is a huge security threat. The Pastor takes me somewhere, things start to grow, I get to buy a new pair which gets donated to some hotel maid or T.S.A. agent.
No doubt when I am dead and gone and Nate is cleaning out my stuff he will find tweezers everywhere. All the tweezers – the good ones – I’ve hid so well to avoid their use on stinky feet or clogged drains – that I even hid them from myself. Car tweezers.
I think I’ve given up on my eyebrows though. Several months ago I was at the dermatologist with Nate and somehow the subject of eyebrow waxing came up. The doctor turned away from Nate and asked me “Seriously, you don’t wax your eyebrows, do you? You are fair enough you don’t need to do that.”
I took this as gospel. For the past 6 years I have been waxing approximately once per month, at let’s say the rate of $10 each time. That’s $720 I’ve spent just on my stupid eyebrows. And it’s not like anyone cares! It’s not like anyone has ever said “You have really fantastic eyebrows!”
Here’s how it would go. I’d go to an Asian nail place. Let them wax on/wax off. Then I would be left with huge bright red patches of irritated skin for approximately 24 hours. Then my irritated skin would start to break out around my eyebrows. Then about the time it cleared up, I had stubbly brows again and it was back for another torture session.
Of course the techs at those nail places are always laying a huge guilt trip on you. Without even so much as looking at you they spout off “wax your eyebrows today?” Then if you agree it’s never enough. What about your upper lip? What about your chin? No! Please don’t try to up-sale me any more waxing!
All this trouble for the hair that people CAN see. This doesn’t include the bikini waxes and Nair and Veet and shaving and the laser hair “reduction.” Don’t let the med-spas trick you into laser hair removal, because the fine print will tell you at best you will have less, finer hair - but you'll still have hair!
What does all this hair mean? Do I have too much testosterone? Because I’ve got to tell you, most of the time I FEEL LIKE I HAVE MORE THAN ENOUGH ESTROGEN. I’ve even gone so far as to wonder if I’m somehow a hermaphrodite.
I will never be impressed by the circus freak bearded lady. Girlfriend let herself go. I’d be more impressed by someone who has managed to find the secret to permanent unwanted hair removal. Then, we’d all live happily ever after.
The end.
Then, one day, Greg said something about a few errant hairs Robyn hadn't ever noticed.
There was no happily ever after to this Hairy Tale. That’s when the tweezing began.
I’m exhausted. I’ve been tweezing for 23 years. That’s longer than I’ve been driving. Longer than I went to school. Longer than all of my marriages combined. Even longer than how long I have been on a diet, and that’s a long time. The only things I’ve been doing longer than tweezing are menstruating – another fun thing – and breathing.
It’s something I dread every single day. I wonder where I will have a stray hair today?!
Do you have any idea how many tweezers I have bought? I wish I did. Wouldn’t you think one would be enough? First, there are the tweezers that are no good because they just don’t pluck right. Then there are all the tweezers that are perfect, yet someone else in the house uses them to perform plantar wart removal surgery. I mourn the loss for these tweezers, and buy more.
Can you even travel with tweezers anymore? I don’t think so. Me with my unwanted hair is a huge security threat. The Pastor takes me somewhere, things start to grow, I get to buy a new pair which gets donated to some hotel maid or T.S.A. agent.
No doubt when I am dead and gone and Nate is cleaning out my stuff he will find tweezers everywhere. All the tweezers – the good ones – I’ve hid so well to avoid their use on stinky feet or clogged drains – that I even hid them from myself. Car tweezers.
I think I’ve given up on my eyebrows though. Several months ago I was at the dermatologist with Nate and somehow the subject of eyebrow waxing came up. The doctor turned away from Nate and asked me “Seriously, you don’t wax your eyebrows, do you? You are fair enough you don’t need to do that.”
I took this as gospel. For the past 6 years I have been waxing approximately once per month, at let’s say the rate of $10 each time. That’s $720 I’ve spent just on my stupid eyebrows. And it’s not like anyone cares! It’s not like anyone has ever said “You have really fantastic eyebrows!”
Here’s how it would go. I’d go to an Asian nail place. Let them wax on/wax off. Then I would be left with huge bright red patches of irritated skin for approximately 24 hours. Then my irritated skin would start to break out around my eyebrows. Then about the time it cleared up, I had stubbly brows again and it was back for another torture session.
Of course the techs at those nail places are always laying a huge guilt trip on you. Without even so much as looking at you they spout off “wax your eyebrows today?” Then if you agree it’s never enough. What about your upper lip? What about your chin? No! Please don’t try to up-sale me any more waxing!
All this trouble for the hair that people CAN see. This doesn’t include the bikini waxes and Nair and Veet and shaving and the laser hair “reduction.” Don’t let the med-spas trick you into laser hair removal, because the fine print will tell you at best you will have less, finer hair - but you'll still have hair!
What does all this hair mean? Do I have too much testosterone? Because I’ve got to tell you, most of the time I FEEL LIKE I HAVE MORE THAN ENOUGH ESTROGEN. I’ve even gone so far as to wonder if I’m somehow a hermaphrodite.
I will never be impressed by the circus freak bearded lady. Girlfriend let herself go. I’d be more impressed by someone who has managed to find the secret to permanent unwanted hair removal. Then, we’d all live happily ever after.
The end.
1.02.2010
happy
I had the most wonderful, delightful New Year’s and New Decade's Day.
I missed my family though. But most of all I missed Mom’s New Year’s snacks – especially the cheeseballs.
I missed my family though. But most of all I missed Mom’s New Year’s snacks – especially the cheeseballs.
12.14.2009
the Pastor emailed this to me
I think it means I'm not getting a present
*****
excerpt from: God in the Dock/C.S. Lewis
Three things go by the name of Christmas. One is a religious festival. This is important and obligatory for Christians; but as it can be of no interest to anyone else, I shall naturally say no more about it here. The second (it has complex historical connectons with the first, but we needn't go into them) is a popular holiday, an occasion for merrymaking and hospitality. If it were my business to have a "view" on this, I should say that I much approve of merrymaking. But what I approve of much more is everybody minding his own business. I see no reason why I should volunteer views as to how other people should spend their own money in their own leisure among their own frineds. It is highly probable that they want my advice on such matters as little as I want theirs. But the third thing called Christmas is unfortunately everyone's business.
I mean of course the commercial racket. The interchange of presents was a very small ingredient in the older English festivity. Mr. Pickwick took a cod with him to Dingley Dell; the reformed Scrooge ordered a turkey for his clerk; lovers sent love gifts; toys and fruit were given to children. But the idea that not only all friends but even all acquaintances should give one another presents, or at least send one another cards, is quite modern and has been forced upon us by the shopkeepers. Neither of these circumstances is in itself a reason for condemning it. I condemn it on the following grounds.
1. It gives on the whole much more pain than pleasure. You have only to stay over Christmas with a family who seriously try to "keep" it (in its third, or commercial, aspect) in order to see that the thing is a nightmare. Long before December 25th everyone is worn out - physically worn out by weeks of daily struggle in overcrowded shops, mentally worn out by the effort to remember all the right recipients and to think out suitable gifts for them. They are in no trim for merrymaking; much less (if they should want to) to take part in a religious act. They look far more as if there had been a long illness in the house.
2. Most of it is involuntary. The modern rule is that anyone can force you to give him a present by sending you a quite unprovoked present of his own. It is almost a blackmail. Who has not heard the wail of despair, and indeed of resentment, when, at the last movement, just as everyone hoped that the nuisance was over for one more year, the unwanted gift from Mrs. Busy (whom we hardly remember) flops unwelcomed through the letter-box, and back to the dreadful shops one has to go to?
3. Things are given as presents which no mortal ever bought for himself - gaudy and useless gadgets, "novelties" because no one was ever fool enough to make their like before. Have we really no better use for materials and for human skill and time than to spend them on all this rubbish?
4. The nuisance. For after all, during the racket we still have all our ordinary and necessary shopping to do, and the racket trebles the labor of it.
We are told that the whole dreary business must go on because it is good for trade. It is in fact merely one annual symptom of that lunatic condition of our country, and indeed of the world, in which everyone lives by persuading everyone else to buy things. I don't know the way out. But can it really be my duty to buy and receive masses of junk every winter just to help the shopkeepers? If the worst comes to the worst I'd sooner give them money for nothing and write it off as a charity. For nothing? Why, better for nothing than for a nuisance.
*****
excerpt from: God in the Dock/C.S. Lewis
Three things go by the name of Christmas. One is a religious festival. This is important and obligatory for Christians; but as it can be of no interest to anyone else, I shall naturally say no more about it here. The second (it has complex historical connectons with the first, but we needn't go into them) is a popular holiday, an occasion for merrymaking and hospitality. If it were my business to have a "view" on this, I should say that I much approve of merrymaking. But what I approve of much more is everybody minding his own business. I see no reason why I should volunteer views as to how other people should spend their own money in their own leisure among their own frineds. It is highly probable that they want my advice on such matters as little as I want theirs. But the third thing called Christmas is unfortunately everyone's business.
I mean of course the commercial racket. The interchange of presents was a very small ingredient in the older English festivity. Mr. Pickwick took a cod with him to Dingley Dell; the reformed Scrooge ordered a turkey for his clerk; lovers sent love gifts; toys and fruit were given to children. But the idea that not only all friends but even all acquaintances should give one another presents, or at least send one another cards, is quite modern and has been forced upon us by the shopkeepers. Neither of these circumstances is in itself a reason for condemning it. I condemn it on the following grounds.
1. It gives on the whole much more pain than pleasure. You have only to stay over Christmas with a family who seriously try to "keep" it (in its third, or commercial, aspect) in order to see that the thing is a nightmare. Long before December 25th everyone is worn out - physically worn out by weeks of daily struggle in overcrowded shops, mentally worn out by the effort to remember all the right recipients and to think out suitable gifts for them. They are in no trim for merrymaking; much less (if they should want to) to take part in a religious act. They look far more as if there had been a long illness in the house.
2. Most of it is involuntary. The modern rule is that anyone can force you to give him a present by sending you a quite unprovoked present of his own. It is almost a blackmail. Who has not heard the wail of despair, and indeed of resentment, when, at the last movement, just as everyone hoped that the nuisance was over for one more year, the unwanted gift from Mrs. Busy (whom we hardly remember) flops unwelcomed through the letter-box, and back to the dreadful shops one has to go to?
3. Things are given as presents which no mortal ever bought for himself - gaudy and useless gadgets, "novelties" because no one was ever fool enough to make their like before. Have we really no better use for materials and for human skill and time than to spend them on all this rubbish?
4. The nuisance. For after all, during the racket we still have all our ordinary and necessary shopping to do, and the racket trebles the labor of it.
We are told that the whole dreary business must go on because it is good for trade. It is in fact merely one annual symptom of that lunatic condition of our country, and indeed of the world, in which everyone lives by persuading everyone else to buy things. I don't know the way out. But can it really be my duty to buy and receive masses of junk every winter just to help the shopkeepers? If the worst comes to the worst I'd sooner give them money for nothing and write it off as a charity. For nothing? Why, better for nothing than for a nuisance.
11.27.2009
No trip is complete without a trip to one of these
because the Pastor can't ever pass up another cheap, used, old man shirt!
Don't worry, we made it to a Coach store too, but the Pastor didn't take any pictures. He may have been too upset.
a dream is a wish your heart makes
I was so happy to get to go to the Disney Film Exhibit at the New Orleans Museum of Art. Since we are "members" of the art museum back home, we got to use our membership cards to get in for free! What a deal!
I have nice memories of going to see Snow White wearing a Snow White printed dress on Christmas Eve with my Dad. The exhibit contains original art work used to make different Disney Princess movies. Most interesting, I thought, were the various incarnations Princesses went through before they settled on the final look.
11.23.2009
long winded Bible Scholars
Me, looking at book at Pastor's Bible Conference: "Paul wasn't a Christian?"
Pastor: "No, he was a Jew."
It takes a whole book to explain that?
Pastor: "No, he was a Jew."
It takes a whole book to explain that?
11.12.2009
all I want for Christmas
Dear Santa,
In my defense, I have now gotten up three mornings in a row when the alarm clock went off.
And since June? I've been trying really hard to live on a budget.
I even stopped buying magazines. I've been going to the library and reading them for free.
The most impressive thing? I didn't go to On the Border for two whole months, and I went five weeks without going to Ted's Cafe' Escondido.
Here is my Christmas list.
See my post below.
XOXOXO,
Robyn
p.s. Even though I've been on a diet for 7 weeks now, I promise I'll get you the good cookies. From the German place.
In my defense, I have now gotten up three mornings in a row when the alarm clock went off.
And since June? I've been trying really hard to live on a budget.
I even stopped buying magazines. I've been going to the library and reading them for free.
The most impressive thing? I didn't go to On the Border for two whole months, and I went five weeks without going to Ted's Cafe' Escondido.
Here is my Christmas list.
See my post below.
XOXOXO,
Robyn
p.s. Even though I've been on a diet for 7 weeks now, I promise I'll get you the good cookies. From the German place.
lack of Focus
RIP blue Honda, 2005 - 2009
Four and a half years ago when I married the Pastor, I had a less than a year old Ford Focus and a car payment. We kept the car for a few months, then determined it would be more fun for me to stay at home than to drive a new car. Instead, I began driving a 1996 Honda Civic LX. Don't let the LX fool you.
This blue Honda had damage just about everyplace you could think of.
It was one thing to pull up to Starbucks for my $5.00 coffee, I can imagine what people thought here in the land of brand-new shiny SUV's. What is she doing buying expensive coffee when she drives a car like that? However, the blue Honda wasn't without it's advantages.
You could park it anywhere. Spill something? No problem.
Someone hit me once. The driver was completely worked up about it. I looked at the "damage" and said "let's not worry about it." All accidents should be that easy and forgivable.
It was the perfect car to drive to The Church of the Homeless.
The engine light stayed on the entire time we owned the car, with one exception. That exception was when we loaned the car to a family in need we didn't even know. Yes, another advantage. We could share the blue Honda freely. We didn't worry about our car for months and when it finally showed back up, the engine light was off. I guess the family who had borrowed it was worried about returning it with the engine light on. It didn't last.
Through no fault of our own or it's own, several weeks ago, the blue Honda drove it's last mile for us.
Had I kept my Focus with the car payment, we would have spent $13,750 on car payments alone.
We paid $1,200 for the blue Honda. We put two new front tires on it, and virtually spent no other money on it for the rest of the time we owned it.
Today, someone from Craigslist paid $800 for the blue Honda. So we enjoyed the blue Honda for years for just a few hundred dollars.
Bye blue Honda. You and your great gas mileage will be sadly missed.
11.06.2009
Once again, proof that God is a woman, and she has a sense of humor. And maybe a little PMS.
The Pastor is not having a good day.
He wanted to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, and went to take the Mustang convertible for a drive, possibly the last drive of the year before it hibernates. #FAIL. The Mustang ended up in the shop.
As the Pastor was walking home from dropping the Mustang off, I drove by him. He hopped in my red Honda.
We turned the corner, and I don't know the technical, mechanical terms for this, but my transmission fell out.
Off to vehicle #3. (Did I mention our blue Honda died last week and we are still mourning the loss?) The Pastor and I ran an errand, got back in the van and it took two tries to start it. I'm convinced it started on the second try because of the fervent prayers I started praying after the the false start.
What a relief. We'll go eat bar-b-q to cheer the Pastor up! Nope, the bar-b-q coupon expired two days ago.
God was clearly telling the Pastor to not go anywhere. Let's just get a Red Box and go home. We went to Red Box machine #1, ordered up our movies, dispense #FAIL. On to Red Box machine, #2, also not working.
This series of events started after the Pastor thought it would be hilarious to not hang up my dish towel correctly on the oven handle.
That will teach him. And God? You've punished him enough. I'm sure he'll be more respectful of the dish towel from now on, and he won't leave jelly to permanently affix itself to the sink.
He wanted to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, and went to take the Mustang convertible for a drive, possibly the last drive of the year before it hibernates. #FAIL. The Mustang ended up in the shop.
As the Pastor was walking home from dropping the Mustang off, I drove by him. He hopped in my red Honda.
We turned the corner, and I don't know the technical, mechanical terms for this, but my transmission fell out.
Off to vehicle #3. (Did I mention our blue Honda died last week and we are still mourning the loss?) The Pastor and I ran an errand, got back in the van and it took two tries to start it. I'm convinced it started on the second try because of the fervent prayers I started praying after the the false start.
What a relief. We'll go eat bar-b-q to cheer the Pastor up! Nope, the bar-b-q coupon expired two days ago.
God was clearly telling the Pastor to not go anywhere. Let's just get a Red Box and go home. We went to Red Box machine #1, ordered up our movies, dispense #FAIL. On to Red Box machine, #2, also not working.
This series of events started after the Pastor thought it would be hilarious to not hang up my dish towel correctly on the oven handle.
That will teach him. And God? You've punished him enough. I'm sure he'll be more respectful of the dish towel from now on, and he won't leave jelly to permanently affix itself to the sink.
10.29.2009
boo-hoo
Last Sunday when the Pastor preached I was horrified to learn I may have been an inspiration for his sermon. And it wasn't for my service at the Soup Kitchen.
He asked how many people were buying pumpkins, picking out costumes, getting candy, etc. for Halloween. Then he asked who was getting ready for All Saint's Day.
Uh oh. How was I supposed to know there would be a quiz?
Now I feel convicted about dressing up in a costume. I'd like to tell you I have some deep-seated need to dress up, because my parents were super-psycho fundamentalist Christians who wouldn't let us dress in costumes and Trick-or-Treat, but that's not the case. The truth is my earliest Halloween memory is my brother dressed as the Devil. My parents have huge Halloween inflatables in their yard and kids from all around come over to have their picture made in their Halloween Land.
I could tell you I want to dress up because Halloween is the only night of the year I dress inappropriately. That might inspire the Pastor to do a sermon on lying.
I could act like it's a relief. I'd been waffling on my costume anyway. The only thing I really wanted to dress up as was a Flapper. I got to the point where I'd waited too long and now all the good costumes are gone. I'm not being a Witch again. There's always a ton of Snow Queens left in the store because it's an ugly costume. I am not going as an Ice Queen. Why would I want that image out there in the universe?
So this year I'm going as a 38 year-old woman who is choosing to not dress up in a costume, live on a budget and save her money. Besides, in a couple of weeks donating a Flapper costume to the clothing room at the Church of the Homeless doesn't make a lot of sense.
I guess that means I'm going as a grown-up this Halloween.
Yep, it's pretty scary.
I hope the Pastor likes it.
10.26.2009
Robyn's happy day haiku
grabbed my skinny jeans
wonder if they will fit now
yes it is good day
See what no Mexican food for a month does for you? : ) Time to celebrate. Just not with chips & salsa!
wonder if they will fit now
yes it is good day
See what no Mexican food for a month does for you? : ) Time to celebrate. Just not with chips & salsa!
10.25.2009
note to self
Dear Future Robyn,
As you prepare to go on your next trip with the Pastor, remember this:
No matter how far in advance you start packing, no matter how organized you are, no matter what you lay out, no matter what you buy, get ready or make checklists for you will not be prepared for the "Pastor Factor."
The "Pastor Factor" is the Pastor, coming home while you are finalizing everything minutes before your departure and deciding that he needs to, say, sit down in the middle of your kitchen floor and shine his shoes with Mink Oil even though he has - I promise you - not used his mink oil/shoe shine kit in 20 years.
I have no suggestions for you on how to actually deal with the unpredictability of the Pastor Factor, just know that it's coming.
Have a great trip!
Sincerely,
Present Robyn
As you prepare to go on your next trip with the Pastor, remember this:
No matter how far in advance you start packing, no matter how organized you are, no matter what you lay out, no matter what you buy, get ready or make checklists for you will not be prepared for the "Pastor Factor."
The "Pastor Factor" is the Pastor, coming home while you are finalizing everything minutes before your departure and deciding that he needs to, say, sit down in the middle of your kitchen floor and shine his shoes with Mink Oil even though he has - I promise you - not used his mink oil/shoe shine kit in 20 years.
I have no suggestions for you on how to actually deal with the unpredictability of the Pastor Factor, just know that it's coming.
Have a great trip!
Sincerely,
Present Robyn
10.21.2009
priorities
Important to the Pastor on our trip to NYC:
-Human Rights Watch.
-The United Nations something or other.
-Genocide blah blah blah.
-The New York Public Library, because there are books there.
Important to me on our trip to NYC:
-Tiffany & Co - like that scene in Sweet Home Alabama??? when Patrick Dempsey's character said "Pick one!"
-A cupcake from Magnolia Bakery, the same place where Carrie Bradshaw (yes, another make-believe person) had a cupcake.
-A carriage ride through Central Park, just like when Big took Carrie on one in Sex and the City.
-Carlo's Bakery (Cake Boss) in Hoboken, New Jersey. OK, another tv show, but this one does involve real people.
-A slice of authentic New York pizza.
-The MoMA.
-The Met.
-The New York Public Library, where Carrie nearly married Big.
-Another cupcake from Magnolia Bakery.
-And another cupcake from Magnolia Bakery.
-OK, maybe two more cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery.
I now have a necklace and a bracelet from Tiffany's. And I'm sure I gained at least 5 lbs. And the Pastor? What does he have to show for his trip? Absolutely nothing. He should be ashamed of himself!
-Human Rights Watch.
-The United Nations something or other.
-Genocide blah blah blah.
-The New York Public Library, because there are books there.
Important to me on our trip to NYC:
-Tiffany & Co - like that scene in Sweet Home Alabama??? when Patrick Dempsey's character said "Pick one!"
-A cupcake from Magnolia Bakery, the same place where Carrie Bradshaw (yes, another make-believe person) had a cupcake.
-A carriage ride through Central Park, just like when Big took Carrie on one in Sex and the City.
-Carlo's Bakery (Cake Boss) in Hoboken, New Jersey. OK, another tv show, but this one does involve real people.
-A slice of authentic New York pizza.
-The MoMA.
-The Met.
-The New York Public Library, where Carrie nearly married Big.
-Another cupcake from Magnolia Bakery.
-And another cupcake from Magnolia Bakery.
-OK, maybe two more cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery.
I now have a necklace and a bracelet from Tiffany's. And I'm sure I gained at least 5 lbs. And the Pastor? What does he have to show for his trip? Absolutely nothing. He should be ashamed of himself!
10.20.2009
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