I'm pretty tough on sunglasses. I'm not an extreme sports player or have a physically demanding job, but for some reason, my sunglasses take a beating. But, when I find a pair I like, I want to hold on to them forever.
When I could finally wear sunglasses, after switching to contacts, I couldn't wait to buy a pair of Ray Bans. I saved up my money and went to the old Service Merchandise store to pick out my pair. I had priced them everywhere and chose the least expensive retail option. I loved those sunglasses. They gave me a coolness factor that I'd never had before. But, I was highly protective of them, always worried they would disappear or get damaged. I think I finally quit wearing them when the fad faded.
Sunglasses are like purses for me. I can wear any of them, but when I find one that fits like a glove, I never want another pair (or pocketbook.) I had a pair I loved that came, from all places, Avon. Those precious sunglasses were the victim of destruction from my series of unfortunate events last Fall. Due to my sensitive eyes, I needed a pair of sunglasses and quick. Thankfully, God was watching out for me and the next pair of sunglasses I found at Walgreen's were the perfect cousin of the pair that had a sad demise.
These lovely Foster Grants were perfect. Until a few short weeks later when I put them on my face and the right lens popped out. What?!? Are you kidding me? This can't be happening. Unfortunately, a Walgreen's purchase of sunglasses doesn't come with a warranty. So, I carefully popped the lens back in and eased them over my ears and, voila, it stayed in place. What relief. Until a few days later when it happened again. I thought about getting another pair, but these, even with the hopping lens, were still a great pair of shades.
Over the coming weeks I managed to drop my sunglasses a few times followed by a shriek of horror expecting the hopping lens to pop out or break. Neither would happen, but oddly, the left lens chipped...twice....on two different drops to the ground. Although these shades were a great follower of the pair that got smushed in my fall at the post office, they weren't as durable. Those sunglasses had all but been stepped on when they finally got caught under the crush of my head as it hit the concrete. I was disappointed that a couple of tosses on a tile floor were too tough for these Fosters.
I began to get the sense that Mr. Foster Grant wanted to die, but I wasn't going to let him. At least once a week my hopping lens would fall out, but I'd retrieve it...off the ground...out of the pocket in my purse...wherever it landed. I'd simply pop it back in and away I'd go. I had contemplated getting a new pair of shades, but really loved Mr. Grant and hated to go shopping again. Then it happened. Foster ditched me.
Monday was a holiday for me and although it wasn't a holiday for the rest of the world, that made it easy for me to run errands and get lots accomplished. I went to Staples to pick up a few office supplies and, as I always do, stuck Mr. Foster in my purse pocket when I entered the building. After making my purchases and heading out the door, I reached for the Grants, and they were gone! I thought maybe I had put them inside my purse and decided to get to my car and begin the hunt. Foster Grant was gone. Maybe he jumped out at Staples in hopes to just die quietly among the printer cartridges and PDAs. Wherever he left, I'm sure he's at peace now that I'm not sloshing him around and dropping him every other day.
I left Staples and headed directly to Walgreen's to procure a new pair of shades. A nice cobalt blue polarized pair of Panama Jack's now cover my eyes from the sunlight. Hopefully Jack will be kinder to me than Foster.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Top Five Insignificant Things That are Significantly Annoying
5. When walking into an elevator, there is no universal location for elevator buttons. Every time I walk into an elevator, if I turn the left, they are located on the right and vice versa - all while the elevator door is closing on me.
4. No bathroom paper towel holder dispenses just one paper towel. Either a small corner is ripped off, requiring you to pull another complete towel, or multiple towels come out at the same time.
3. Whether you retrieve ice from the freezer or the door of your fridge, inevitably one cube will fall to the floor. To avoid this as much as possible, I keep my door ice on the "crush" setting at all times - then only small pieces hit the floor.
2. Radio traffic reports. Who was the genius that decided that traffic reports on the radio start without any intro other than a conglomeration of screeching sirens and honking horns? Even a short, "And now for the traffic report..." to forewarn me would be helpful. It catches me off guard every time and I hit my brakes or jump expecting to be hit by another vehicle. And, to top it off, the reports are always wrong - I have been at the exact location of a reported traffic jam and it's smooth sailing, yet been in the midst of standstill traffic that I never heard about on the radio.
1. People who can't breathe without the cell phone to their ear. People walk, drive, and carry on with life all while holding a cell phone to their ear and chatting with someone. If I had a criminal mind, I'd hit all these well-distracted folks who obviously have little concern with their surroundings. And, to make the streets more dangerous, they migrate to their cars, continuing on the phone. If you are that popular, let me introduce you to BlueTooth Technology.
4. No bathroom paper towel holder dispenses just one paper towel. Either a small corner is ripped off, requiring you to pull another complete towel, or multiple towels come out at the same time.
3. Whether you retrieve ice from the freezer or the door of your fridge, inevitably one cube will fall to the floor. To avoid this as much as possible, I keep my door ice on the "crush" setting at all times - then only small pieces hit the floor.
2. Radio traffic reports. Who was the genius that decided that traffic reports on the radio start without any intro other than a conglomeration of screeching sirens and honking horns? Even a short, "And now for the traffic report..." to forewarn me would be helpful. It catches me off guard every time and I hit my brakes or jump expecting to be hit by another vehicle. And, to top it off, the reports are always wrong - I have been at the exact location of a reported traffic jam and it's smooth sailing, yet been in the midst of standstill traffic that I never heard about on the radio.
1. People who can't breathe without the cell phone to their ear. People walk, drive, and carry on with life all while holding a cell phone to their ear and chatting with someone. If I had a criminal mind, I'd hit all these well-distracted folks who obviously have little concern with their surroundings. And, to make the streets more dangerous, they migrate to their cars, continuing on the phone. If you are that popular, let me introduce you to BlueTooth Technology.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
How to Kill a Bug
I remind people often that I didn't vote for women's liberation. All that nonsense occured before I was of voting age. My common response is "I am not, 'I am women hear me roar' but I'm 'I am woman, get my door.'" Thank you Ms. Feminist for removing my rights as Queen. After all the poor men were brainwashed that we women didn't need them, I became of age to date and they were too scared to commit.
I joke that I am not as independent of a woman as I seem - I just play one on TV. Desperate times call for desperate actions. And, when one of those "boy jobs" appear, I have to put my man pants on and do it.
Surely, I'm not alone. I know many single women who are surviving in the world alone - not by choice, but by God's Design - and need some support and assistance with those less than appealing tasks, such as killing bugs.
I don't like bugs. I may not like their creepy crawliness ways, but I'm also not so weak that I scream bloody murder the moment I see one. I've lived long enough to know, I'm bigger than him and as my Dad always told me, "Hey, they don't eat much." But, since I'm not the "hunter" but the "nurturer" I don't prefer murdering bugs. Not because I'm Tom Cruise and think it's my reincarnated great great great Grandfather, John Wilkes Booth coming back to assasinate Bin Laden, but because it's frankly icky. The killing part is kind of fun. Taking a whack at a bug does release some pent up anger. But then you have to clean up the bug guts - ewww. And some of those critters are hard to whack because their 100 legs make them move pretty doggone fast.
So, for all of you out there who would like a step by step in killing bugs, keep reading.
1. When you see a bug, don't scream, run through the house or stand on a chair. The sound of the scream or running through the house could cause him to scurry. And, standing on a chair makes it a bit difficult to dispose of the small animal.
2. Calmly walk to your bathroom and grab a can of hairspray. Ladies, we all should have at least one can of that stuff in our house.
3. Take the can, aim at the bug and shoot. He'll either freeze from suffocation from the fumes or be so sticky he can't move from the spot. Either way, you now have the upper hand.
4. Once he's immobilized, you can whack at him, put him out of his misery and enclose him in the nearest paper towel.
5. Take the mummified bug and dispose of him in your toilet. One good flush and there is no worry of him resurrecting out of your trash can and terrorizing you in the middle of the night.
6. Wash off the crime scene. Hairspray is sticky and you want to remove all evidence that you had to slay that bug with assistance from Pantene.
I had a teacher in 3rd grade who helped me off with my jacket one time when the zipper got stuck. She yanked it over my head and said, "There's more than one way to skin a cat." And, ladies, there's more than one way to kill a bug.
I joke that I am not as independent of a woman as I seem - I just play one on TV. Desperate times call for desperate actions. And, when one of those "boy jobs" appear, I have to put my man pants on and do it.
Surely, I'm not alone. I know many single women who are surviving in the world alone - not by choice, but by God's Design - and need some support and assistance with those less than appealing tasks, such as killing bugs.
I don't like bugs. I may not like their creepy crawliness ways, but I'm also not so weak that I scream bloody murder the moment I see one. I've lived long enough to know, I'm bigger than him and as my Dad always told me, "Hey, they don't eat much." But, since I'm not the "hunter" but the "nurturer" I don't prefer murdering bugs. Not because I'm Tom Cruise and think it's my reincarnated great great great Grandfather, John Wilkes Booth coming back to assasinate Bin Laden, but because it's frankly icky. The killing part is kind of fun. Taking a whack at a bug does release some pent up anger. But then you have to clean up the bug guts - ewww. And some of those critters are hard to whack because their 100 legs make them move pretty doggone fast.
So, for all of you out there who would like a step by step in killing bugs, keep reading.
1. When you see a bug, don't scream, run through the house or stand on a chair. The sound of the scream or running through the house could cause him to scurry. And, standing on a chair makes it a bit difficult to dispose of the small animal.
2. Calmly walk to your bathroom and grab a can of hairspray. Ladies, we all should have at least one can of that stuff in our house.
3. Take the can, aim at the bug and shoot. He'll either freeze from suffocation from the fumes or be so sticky he can't move from the spot. Either way, you now have the upper hand.
4. Once he's immobilized, you can whack at him, put him out of his misery and enclose him in the nearest paper towel.
5. Take the mummified bug and dispose of him in your toilet. One good flush and there is no worry of him resurrecting out of your trash can and terrorizing you in the middle of the night.
6. Wash off the crime scene. Hairspray is sticky and you want to remove all evidence that you had to slay that bug with assistance from Pantene.
I had a teacher in 3rd grade who helped me off with my jacket one time when the zipper got stuck. She yanked it over my head and said, "There's more than one way to skin a cat." And, ladies, there's more than one way to kill a bug.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
It's Easier to Be Struck by Lightning...
There is a statistic that was recently debated as false that it is easier to be hit by lightning or attacked by a terrorist than to get married over the age of 40. I first remember hearing that stat in the movie "Sleepless in Seattle" but it was apparently based on an actual study. In recent weeks, after revisiting those that compiled the study, it was revealed that those numbers are false.
Although I've not been personally touched by a terrorist, it's evident that we've all felt the pain of 9/11. And, most of us could go six degrees through our connections and touch someone who was directly affected by that horrible day. So, maybe that event alone has swayed the study statistics. I have great friends from high school that were directly connected to 9/11 - one of them being a 9/11 survivor from the Pentagon and his wife, who to this day shudders at the recollection of that frightful day.
So, on to the next statistic....being struck by lightning. This is not a very common occurance, and so, I can understand the correlation between lightning strikes and marriage after 40. Sadly, since I am over 40, it's not an encouraging thing to think about. Well, I've now proven that statistic as truth.
About a month or so ago, the Spring thunderstorm season started around these parts. We've seen our share of tornadoes and strong storms, and I've been very blessed to have been passed over. But, earlier in May, I wasn't. Oddly, my house was struck - but a random act of striking. One of my cable boxes was hit, my DSL modem, and my caller ID box. Thankfully my TV and DVD player hooked to that cable box were fine. And, even more importantly, the computer was unharmed. The harshest hit, the one that somewhat freaked me out, was the hit in my enclosed patio room. My Dad actually found this one when window cleaners came to my house. As they moved the blinds, they noticed a melted spot, and then a black mark on the carpet in the corner. Even an innocent folding chair got in the bolt's crossfire and now has a tatoo on it's backside. Thankfully no fires occured and everything is fixable or replaceable.
Leave it to me to be able to be struck by lightning rather than get married.
Although I've not been personally touched by a terrorist, it's evident that we've all felt the pain of 9/11. And, most of us could go six degrees through our connections and touch someone who was directly affected by that horrible day. So, maybe that event alone has swayed the study statistics. I have great friends from high school that were directly connected to 9/11 - one of them being a 9/11 survivor from the Pentagon and his wife, who to this day shudders at the recollection of that frightful day.
So, on to the next statistic....being struck by lightning. This is not a very common occurance, and so, I can understand the correlation between lightning strikes and marriage after 40. Sadly, since I am over 40, it's not an encouraging thing to think about. Well, I've now proven that statistic as truth.
About a month or so ago, the Spring thunderstorm season started around these parts. We've seen our share of tornadoes and strong storms, and I've been very blessed to have been passed over. But, earlier in May, I wasn't. Oddly, my house was struck - but a random act of striking. One of my cable boxes was hit, my DSL modem, and my caller ID box. Thankfully my TV and DVD player hooked to that cable box were fine. And, even more importantly, the computer was unharmed. The harshest hit, the one that somewhat freaked me out, was the hit in my enclosed patio room. My Dad actually found this one when window cleaners came to my house. As they moved the blinds, they noticed a melted spot, and then a black mark on the carpet in the corner. Even an innocent folding chair got in the bolt's crossfire and now has a tatoo on it's backside. Thankfully no fires occured and everything is fixable or replaceable.
Leave it to me to be able to be struck by lightning rather than get married.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
The Long Way Home
Last weekend I attended a singles retreat with my church. The location of the retreat was about 30 minutes north of Louisville in a lovely, secluded wooded area of Indiana. It was probably the most low stress, drama free retreats I've ever been on, which makes my first experience so enjoyable, I'm anxious to go back.
When we pulled out of there on Saturday afternoon, the weather was gorgeous and I looked forward to the drive home. I was so involved in the drive that I missed a turn and took a few more country roads than I had originally planned. But, after getting back on track, my car had found its way to the highway and headed for the bridge that would take me back to Kentucky. It was one of those days that you wanted to drive forever. I probably could have if I hadn't been so sleep-deprived from the weekend of fun. Even though I wasn't as perky of a driver, I felt the need to take "the long way home."
My Mom has been gone almost six years, which is hard to fathom at times. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about her, miss her, or remember something she said or taught me. My Mom was notorious for her sayings and commentary - what a lot of folks miss about her. God has been gracious and has brought back to me "new memories" - those that were somewhere in the depths of my heart and soul, yet I hadn't thought of them in years. Like a sweet piece of peppermint candy, I'll savor those memories as long as they last and enjoy the refreshing aftertaste that keep that memory alive. A few weeks ago I had one of those moments and relived it this weekend.
I grew up in the south end of Louisville, yet we would drive to the east end of town to shop, eat, or run errands. Mom and I loved to go shop - mostly at craft stores - and then go try out the newest restaurant in town. Once we would be ready to head home, Mom would proclaim, "Let's take the long way home." I loved those words. That phrase meant that instead of hopping on the highway that would take us home in 15-20 minutes, we would take the scenic route. In Louisville, that meant driving through old Bardstown Road, the Highlands, up beautiful Eastern Parkway and around to the area of town where we lived. Mom would tell stories, point out significant landmarks, and laugh as we talked about almost anything. When I was younger and we'd be leaving one of our day excursions, I'd hold my breath hoping Mom would say those six wonderful words, "let's take the long way home." I could almost always count on her saying it every time.
As I drove home on Saturday, I relived that moment, but this time, by myself, and headed to the southeastern end of town where I live now. I reflected on how much Mom would have loved taking that "long way home" and as I traversed through new areas of town, I reminisced about memories that I have in those areas, much like my Mom did for me. The trip was complete as I stopped off at a local craft store to buy some yarn for a project I'm working on. There was a time when I rebelled against the statement, "You are just like your Mom." Now, I live for it. Thanks, Mom, for teaching me the joy in taking the long way home.
When we pulled out of there on Saturday afternoon, the weather was gorgeous and I looked forward to the drive home. I was so involved in the drive that I missed a turn and took a few more country roads than I had originally planned. But, after getting back on track, my car had found its way to the highway and headed for the bridge that would take me back to Kentucky. It was one of those days that you wanted to drive forever. I probably could have if I hadn't been so sleep-deprived from the weekend of fun. Even though I wasn't as perky of a driver, I felt the need to take "the long way home."
My Mom has been gone almost six years, which is hard to fathom at times. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about her, miss her, or remember something she said or taught me. My Mom was notorious for her sayings and commentary - what a lot of folks miss about her. God has been gracious and has brought back to me "new memories" - those that were somewhere in the depths of my heart and soul, yet I hadn't thought of them in years. Like a sweet piece of peppermint candy, I'll savor those memories as long as they last and enjoy the refreshing aftertaste that keep that memory alive. A few weeks ago I had one of those moments and relived it this weekend.
I grew up in the south end of Louisville, yet we would drive to the east end of town to shop, eat, or run errands. Mom and I loved to go shop - mostly at craft stores - and then go try out the newest restaurant in town. Once we would be ready to head home, Mom would proclaim, "Let's take the long way home." I loved those words. That phrase meant that instead of hopping on the highway that would take us home in 15-20 minutes, we would take the scenic route. In Louisville, that meant driving through old Bardstown Road, the Highlands, up beautiful Eastern Parkway and around to the area of town where we lived. Mom would tell stories, point out significant landmarks, and laugh as we talked about almost anything. When I was younger and we'd be leaving one of our day excursions, I'd hold my breath hoping Mom would say those six wonderful words, "let's take the long way home." I could almost always count on her saying it every time.
As I drove home on Saturday, I relived that moment, but this time, by myself, and headed to the southeastern end of town where I live now. I reflected on how much Mom would have loved taking that "long way home" and as I traversed through new areas of town, I reminisced about memories that I have in those areas, much like my Mom did for me. The trip was complete as I stopped off at a local craft store to buy some yarn for a project I'm working on. There was a time when I rebelled against the statement, "You are just like your Mom." Now, I live for it. Thanks, Mom, for teaching me the joy in taking the long way home.
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