Kissin' and Tellin'

One of P’s friends had his first kiss this week, and P was telling me about it last night.  Here’s how the conversation went:

P:  “Mom, I have to tell you something about Beck.”

Me (guessing):  “He has a girlfriend.

P:  “YES!  How did you know???”

Me:  “Because I can read your mind.”

P:  “But did you know that he kissed her?”

Me (he’s got my attention now):  “What?!?  On the lips?  Was that his first kiss???”

P:  “Yes!  He’s the man!”

Me:  “Was it a sucky-face kind of kiss or just a quick smooch?”

P:  “Well, he turned to kiss her, and…”

Me:  “You were there???”

P:  “No, but they both told me about it.”

Me:  “Wait, they BOTH told you about it?  Why would they both tell you about it?  How did you find out in the first place?”

P:  “Well Beck told me and Andy about it after school, and then I asked Sophie if it was true, and she said yes.  But she said it wasn’t on the lips.  She said that Beck came towards her and she turned her head, so he kissed her cheek. ”

Me:  “So he told you it was on the lips and she said it was on the cheek?  Did you go back to Beck and see if he would fess up?  Did he?”

P:  “Yeah, I did, and he said it was just on the cheek.  But I don’t care.  He’s got my respect for going for it.”

Me:  “Don’t get any ideas.”

P:  “Mom, how old were you when you had your first kiss?”

Me:  “Fourteen”

P:  “Was he ugly?”

End of loving mom-son moment.

Walk A Mile In These Shoes

How can that be comfortable?

The bane of my existence.

Google Reader Sort: Mystery Unlocked

There’s something that has been bothering me about Google Reader:  the SORT on my reading pane.  You know that big area on the right hand side that shows all the new posts?  That’s what I’m talking about.  I’ve been spinning my wheels for months trying to understand the puzzle that is this sort.  It’s like the rubik’s cube of RSS, and all I'm doing is moving tiles around.

So here’s my problem with it.  I can’t figure it out, that’s my problem with it!  Isn’t it supposed to show the new posts, by publish date?  Then why does it keep showing the same old ones that I’ve skipped over, time and again???

I tell you, this thing has frustrated me to no end.  To compensate for this problem, I've had to resort to clicking on every blog on my list, every day, to see if anything new has popped up. 

Btw, to all those bloggers out there whose stats are inflated by the same IP Address in California that is landing on your latest post over and over again:  I apologize, that was me.  It’s not that I’m stalking you.  I’m just techno-challenged.

Occasionally, I’ve given Google a try to see if I can hit on that magic solution, but I haven’t had much luck.  Then, this afternoon, it all came together, like some hallucinogenic episode of House.  Up from my subconscious bubbled this tidbit I had read somewhere:  Blog visits can look like visits simply because a subscriber happened to scroll down your post without actually looking at it. 

And then I remembered seeing this on the top of my reader page:

As you view items in your reading list, they will be automatically marked as read as you scroll down (when in the "Expanded" view).  

Somehow, these two seemingly irrelevant pieces of information had been percolating long enough in my brain to result in an idea.  Instead of just scrolling down the window pane, how about it I select the blog first, AND THEN scroll down the pane, pretending to read (but really just scrolling). So I gave it a try.  And you know what happened?  It worked!  With each post I scrolled past, I saw the count for that blog drop, until there was nothing.  And then poof!  That blog fell off my reading pane!  Eureka!!!  I had broken the code!

To be sure I wasn’t seeing things, I tried it again, with another blog.  And again.  And again.  They all came off.  This was some heady stuff.  I was on a roll, and they were all going down.  A few minutes later, I was staring at a pristine, white reading pane.  It felt glorious.

With this huge milestone under my belt, I feel like I can conquer the world.  Next on my list:  world peace.

What's in My Fridge Today

Mine is not a food blog.  But I do love me some food, so there will be an occasional food post now and then.  Take this post for example.  It's going to be about food.  Let's get started...

So I came home from teaching a class full of 4th graders how to create art like Cezanne today, when I realized that painting like the Masters builds an appetite of enormous proportions.  Ravenous is too mild of a word.  You know that feeling you get when it seems like you're so hungry that your stomach has started digesting itself?  That's how hungry I was.  But this was my fridge and my pantry that I was coming home to.  I knew I was going to need to lower my expectations if I was ever going to experience any satisfaction from this meal.

With expectations duly lowered, I went to the fridge.  Here's the sight that met my eyes:

The first things that jump out at me are
1)  a bag of carrots
2)  a bag of celery
3)  a huge container of ketchup
4)  a box of spinach
5)  something mysterious in a bowl

This bowl looks like it might have something good in it.  Let's take a look.

Umm, that's a negative.  Anything that leaves pond scum-like marks on the dish deserves to be left alone.  I carefully placed the wrap back across the bowl and returned it to the fridge for another unsuspecting soul to discover.

What is going on with my fridge?  Someone must've switched fridges with me while I was out, because these options are way too healthy for this family.  Or perhaps that's why these are the only items left in there.  Hmmm.

I was so taken aback by these sparse and completely unappetizing choices that I closed the door and moved on to the freezer.  Maybe there was a frozen meal left in there by the frozen meal fairy.  And here's what I was greeted with in the freezer:

Dino Nuggets?  Am I now reduced to eating Dino Nuggets? 

This is not looking good, and I'm getting dangerously close to grazing status, but I decide to take my chances and head for the pantry, knowing full well I will surely be tested here.  This is where I like to graze, for obvious reasons.

Aside from the Chewy, Gooey Chips Ahoy, did you notice the bucket and the giant ziplock full of candy?  There are two more buckets, just out of range, along with a whole slew of other high salt, high fat options to fill this empty stomach.  But the kids have begged me to stop eating both their favorite Gooey Chips Ahoys and their Halloween candy (all the Reese's Peanut Butter cups are gone anyway), so I reluctantly close the door and head back to the vegetable patch fridge.

Then it kicks in:  mom mode.  The mode that tells me "there's food to eat, you just need to make it."  The mode that frightens me, because it reminds me that, at times like these, I am only one Dorothy Hamill haircut away from being my mother.

Looking fly, big brother.

With renewed purpose, I revisit the fridge and see that I can make a quesadilla with guacamole; an omelet with toast; a grilled cheese with tomatoes; or nachos.  All perfectly reasonable options.

But wait, what's that brick-shaped item on the second shelf, all wrapped up in foil?  GOLD MINE.

The mac and cheese that I had made earlier in the week.  My day is looking better already.

All warmed up, with a side of carrots, I've got nothing to complain about now.  Beats Dino Nuggets any day.  I leave the table with an empty plate and a full stomach.

But I will be coming back for those Gooey Chips Ahoys in about an hour.

Things I Do At Parties When No One Is Looking

What's a blogger to do when it's Sunday night and she has run out of time to whip up a fantastic, original post for a Monday morning deadline? 

Why, dig up a picture of herself pretending to pounce on a family of gentle deer, of course.

Smize For The Camera!

I work for a company that employees tens of thousands of other worker bees just like me.  When you work in a company so large, there are certain processes that you have to get used to.  Take, for example, employee identification protocol. Employee IDs and security badges are a way of life in a large company.  Without them, all is chaos.  And while they're necessary, they do have a way of making us feel more like numbers than people.  But there is one way in which we get to express our individuality:  our badge photo.  This photo is our moment of individuality in an otherwise anonymous electronic existence.  It travels with us throughout our years of employment, proof that we are more than just a number in a database. 

I've had the same id photo for the last five years.  It's not the best photo, but it has one overwhelming redeeming quality:  it was taken when I was five years younger.  That's reason enough to want to hold onto it.  A couple of weeks ago, I received warning that new photos were on the way; rumor had it that these photos were going to be different (read disappointing).  Word on the street was that we would be prohibited from showing teeth (as in, smiling) in these new photos.  The theories for such a policy are enough to fill an entirely separate post, but I'll go with my initial reaction that HR merely wanted the closest approximation to my face, in death, should they need to identify me one day.

I'm aware that I am no longer a spring chick, so the prospect of taking what I can only anticipate to be an unflattering mug shot made me leery.  In my mind, there are many different ways this photo can turn out.  Worst case scenario, I end up looking older, more haggard, and more masculine than I truly look in person.  Best case scenario, I end up looking like myself, after a long day at the office.  I'm being realistic, folks.

Since I had some time to prepare, I decided to do what I could to increase the odds of a flattering shot.  I was going to need to come up with my best Mona Lisa.

And then I remembered Tyra.  As in Tyra Banks.  The queen of Smize.

For those who are not in the know (aka tv junkies), smize is the term Ms. Banks came up with (yes, she is powerful enough to create her own language) to describe a smile that exudes from your eyes. Your mouth may not be showing it, but who needs a mouth when you've got smize?  Here's an example of Tyra doing what she does best:  smizing.

So after some due diligence (which included this lovely tutorial on how to smize), I got the camera out and prepared for a dry run.

Here's where it all turned ugly.

First of all, as the camera unrelentingly reminded me, I am no Tyra Banks.  This reminder was especially harsh, as I had just spent hours (ok, minutes) combing through image after image of Tyra's flawless face.  It's like spending the afternoon with beautiful people, sharing stories, enjoying your lush surroundings, only to come face to face with your reflection in the ladies room.  After looking at all that beauty, you kind of forget what you look like, and the comparison is disappointing.  Which cast the first doubts into my brain:  can one of the greatest beauties of our time really tell us there is such a thing as smiling eyes?  When you're that gorgeous, even a puffy, runny nosed, your-boyfriend-just-broke-up-with-you face will look fabulous.  Perhaps the smize is just a myth.

Whatever.  I still had to take this mug shot, so I needed the myth to be true, now more than ever.  I knew the basics from my tutorial:  relax, think of something that makes me smile, have a hearty laugh to break the tension.  And then SMIZE.

Here's my first attempt to channel Tyra:

Let me explain this photo.  Tyra told me to imperceptibly squint, while thinking happy thoughts.  Again, I think a lot of the success of the smize has to do with the face that the smize is being attempted on.  I'm disappointed in my face, and this is barely the first photo.  It usually takes at least 3 photos to get to this point, but again, I've just been staring at Tyra's flawless face before moving to mine.

Redo.  But this time, scratch the squint.  My eyes are small enough as it is.  Instead, let's try to maximize my eyes.

Bad idea.  Let's try another one.

Hey that's not too bad.  I'm feeling a little hopeful.  I just need to remember how I held my face for this one.

But that was 4 days before picture day.  A lot can be forgotten in four days.

Picture day arrived, and I had developed a cold that left me feeling miserable.  There's no getting out of this, so I decide to take some last minute practice shots, in the hopes that I could recreate that last face from the weekend.

I don't know what happened to me in the time between photos, but here's the treasure trove I came up with that morning.

Can these all be blamed on Nyquil?  I wish.  This is the ugly truth about photos and me.  I have to take about 40 shots to come up with 3 good ones.  Tyra would not be proud.

I finally gave up when I got to this one.  There was no saving me today.  I was off to work with a hope and prayer.  And a box of kleenex.

The "photo studio" was set up in the main lobby, the one with the floor to ceiling glass wall.  Perfect to let in all that natural lighting that would highlight every crack and crevice on one side of my face while casting unflattering shadows on the other side.  As expected, the photographers brought nothing to the table.  Nigel, where are you when I need you?

I did my best to make friends with my photographer.

"How bad are these turning out?"  while peeking over her shoulder.

"They're not too bad," she tells me.  I can see from the previous photos, she's lying.

We take the photo, and she offers a sneak peak.  I hate it.  She offers to take another one.  I hate the second one even more.

By now there's a line of others awaiting their turn to smize.  Why hadn't I been satisfied with the first photo?  Serves me right.

I'm stuck with it.  "Just use that one," I say as I walk away in disgust.

For legal reasons, I can't share the the final product.  Pity.  It turned out pretty bad. At the last minute, I tried to add some volume to my hair, which is how I ended up looking like the Goblin King.  While I don't truly look like David Bowie, somehow this picture manages to capture the essence pretty well.  If you could see the badge, you'd agree.

Lost and Found

Over the holidays, we packed up the family for an extended stay at my mom's, about a half hour down south from us.  These trips to our family property on the beach (I exaggerate) are really just cramped sleepovers, with me sandwiched between two kids (who magically appear while I'm sleeping) on a tiny full-sized bed.  Despite the unbearable sleeping conditions, we look forward to these visits, because at some point we're able to dump the kids with my mom and disappear for an hour or two (or sometimes five).

Being the less than organized adults that we are, we usually leave a few items behind with each visit.  A couple of toys, a pair of pants, perfume...minor things.  We don't  sweat it since, after all, they'll still be there next time we see her.  But this visit we forgot the medicine cooler.  On the importance scale, that little blue cooler falls right beneath my purse and above my kids.  Ok, maybe my kids come before the cooler, but it's debatable.  Between the necessary daily meds for the kids and the vitamins that keep my hair from falling out of my head, the contents of this cooler are an important part of our daily lives.

A quick call to Mom told us the cooler was nowhere to be found.  Over the next couple of days, we made several sweeps of the cars and the house, checking places that didn't even make sense, hoping to find that little blue box.  With each new day, we got farther away from the last time the kids had taken their doses.  Four days of skipped meds later, we broke down and refilled the kids' prescriptions, to the tune of about $400.

Coincidentally, I was on the brink of death with the worst case of stomach flu ever to reach California at the same time that the cooler went missing.  From my death bed, I brainstormed all the possible ways we could've lost that blue cooler.  I even had dreams about it.  But my subconscious did not reveal it's whereabouts.

Five days after losing the cooler and one day after refilling the prescriptions, I had recovered well enough to drag my sorry self to the grocery store.  As I backed out of the driveway, careful to do all my head checks, something catches my eye.  Is that....did I just see...are you KIDDING ME???

There it was, sitting right there, in my rear view mirror.  If it were possible for an inanimate object to do so, I'd say that cooler was mocking me.