Insider info on Erin: probably 80% of what I say is not original material. I'm a serial quoter. It's the truth. Whether it's The Office, What About Bob?, Waiting for Guffman, Friends, the internet or one of the thousands of people I've met who are more eloquent than myself, I love using a good quote.
Here's the issue: I am not in the habit of attributing my quotes to their origins. I'm a walking plagiarist and I'm turning myself in to the authorities. (That's you. You're the authority. It's clear that if you are somehow still subscribed to this blog then you are either impressively loyal or astoundingly bored and lacking reading material. Either way, today you get to be an authority.)
Before you sentence me to copycat prison, I must attempt to defend myself.
Here are the main reasons I don't attribute my perpetual stolen phrases:
- I want to look cool and seem funny. Just trying to be honest. I took an oath before starting this trial/post.
- People don't get or catch the reference.
Me: YOU GET NOTHING. GOOD DAY, SIR.
Person (usually a teen): I'm a girl.
Me: I know... Sorry, it's from a movie. It was a joke.
Person: Oh, what movie?
Me: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Person: Oh, the one with Johnny Depp? That was a weird movie
Me (inner monologue): Why? Why did I try to explain? What was I thinking? How in the world has she never heard that quote before? Why do today's youth have no culture? When will this stream of inner questioning end?
Person (inner monologue): ooooooooookkkkkkkkk. Yikes. (walks away)
- I've said them so frequently that I actually mentally attribute them to myself. There's that honesty again.
- It's a secret test of friendship. If someone catches the quote and either 1) smiles/laughs acknowledging the reference or 2) continues on with the next line as if it were playing out in real life, I know I have found a friend. Possibly a forever friend. How can you fight when you never say anything original? Just quote happy stuff all the time and you're set for life. Eternal friendship bliss? Check.
I clearly have realistic and healthy relationship standards.
So, there you go. I'm just putting myself out there and saying: Here world, this is my blood. It's red like yours. So love me.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Monday, July 15, 2013
Update encounters
Ok, so once again I fail at blogging.
Here's a post get you updated on my life (since I know you care):
- went to my high school reunion. Can't believe I'm old enough to have one of those. Had a great time and saw some wonderful people.
- unlike many of my classmates, I'm not pregnant. (I know someone was wondering. Everyone in coffee hour does.)
- survived VBS, PLC and countless other crazy activities.
- went to camp. Got awesome tan lines, little sleep, friendship bracelets and a marshmallow gun. (That's means everything was pretty much perfect)
- started caring about gardening. Maybe it actually is in the family genes.
- replaced a shower head all by myself.
God is good and life is busy!
Oh, and Mom and Sitti had a garage sale in which Sitti (who could sell you your right arm for a pretty penny) tried to sell self tanning lotion to an African American woman.
Those are the most noteworthy things I can think of right now. Consider yourself updated.
Here's a post get you updated on my life (since I know you care):
- went to my high school reunion. Can't believe I'm old enough to have one of those. Had a great time and saw some wonderful people.
- unlike many of my classmates, I'm not pregnant. (I know someone was wondering. Everyone in coffee hour does.)
- survived VBS, PLC and countless other crazy activities.
- went to camp. Got awesome tan lines, little sleep, friendship bracelets and a marshmallow gun. (That's means everything was pretty much perfect)
- started caring about gardening. Maybe it actually is in the family genes.
- replaced a shower head all by myself.
God is good and life is busy!
Oh, and Mom and Sitti had a garage sale in which Sitti (who could sell you your right arm for a pretty penny) tried to sell self tanning lotion to an African American woman.
Those are the most noteworthy things I can think of right now. Consider yourself updated.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Switch Encounters
The light switches in our laundry room are out of sync and it's driving me crazy.
There are two of them: one by the door to the garage and one by the door that leads to the hallway. Currently the lights are off and one switch is up and the other is down. I can't get them to both be down when the lights are off.
Before you go judging me for the insignificant things that bug the begeezes out of me, let me attempt a list of explanations:
1. Everyone knows when a light switch is flipped up the lights are supposed to be on. That's not the case in our laundry room. Sometimes both switches are up and the lights are on, but that glory is short lived. Once you've transferred your colored clothes to the dryer and loaded up the whites, the switch imbalance returns.
2. They didn't used to be out of synch. I swear. They used to be perfect and normal.
3. Since I know they used to be normal, I feel like there's a riddle living in my house. It taunts me daily. "Figure it out, already!" it screams. "How did this happen?" "I bet a third grader would have this solved in a jiff." Riddle taunts are unbearable.
4. Every attempt to remedy the situation has failed. I have flipped the lights on and off a million times.
The only other thing I can think to try would be having another person join in the madness and try to flip the lights at the exact same time. This person will have to be someone other than my husband. I can already hear the 20 minute science lecture I would get if I tried to present my strategy. A lecture followed by laughter, mind you.
5. Yes, it's possible I have a number of psychological ailments. Thanks for asking.
6. Yes, I know there are real problems and struggles that deserve my attention and thought, but who wants to read a blog about those?
I will keep you posted, reader. If I am able to solve this puzzle, I will probably buy myself a gold star sticker or something else equally awesome and accomplishy.
There are two of them: one by the door to the garage and one by the door that leads to the hallway. Currently the lights are off and one switch is up and the other is down. I can't get them to both be down when the lights are off.
Before you go judging me for the insignificant things that bug the begeezes out of me, let me attempt a list of explanations:
1. Everyone knows when a light switch is flipped up the lights are supposed to be on. That's not the case in our laundry room. Sometimes both switches are up and the lights are on, but that glory is short lived. Once you've transferred your colored clothes to the dryer and loaded up the whites, the switch imbalance returns.
2. They didn't used to be out of synch. I swear. They used to be perfect and normal.
3. Since I know they used to be normal, I feel like there's a riddle living in my house. It taunts me daily. "Figure it out, already!" it screams. "How did this happen?" "I bet a third grader would have this solved in a jiff." Riddle taunts are unbearable.
4. Every attempt to remedy the situation has failed. I have flipped the lights on and off a million times.
The only other thing I can think to try would be having another person join in the madness and try to flip the lights at the exact same time. This person will have to be someone other than my husband. I can already hear the 20 minute science lecture I would get if I tried to present my strategy. A lecture followed by laughter, mind you.
5. Yes, it's possible I have a number of psychological ailments. Thanks for asking.
6. Yes, I know there are real problems and struggles that deserve my attention and thought, but who wants to read a blog about those?
I will keep you posted, reader. If I am able to solve this puzzle, I will probably buy myself a gold star sticker or something else equally awesome and accomplishy.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
P@$$word Encounters
I'm not an internet hater. I love how accessible and easy the interweb makes life. I sometimes hate the drama it causes, but that a fifty page post for another day. But just like with anything wonderful, there has to be a catch. My catch?
Passwords.
How am I supposed to remember all my passwords?
Seriously.
Everything requires a password these days. And if you follow the password rules, you aren't supposed to use the same ones for everything, or even anything. If you have online banking, facebook, twitter, instagram, all your bills, netflix, credit cards, amazon, ebay, paypal, various memberships (like the jelly of the month club), every app or game on your phone and ipad, email, your other email, and your other email, you have your work cut out for you. It basically means you need a different password for about 50 different sites/accounts. AND some of those sites make you change them all the time!
I'm sure there's an app that can organize them all, but you probably need a password for that, too.
You can't use your pets' names, your birthday, anniversary, address or any other things that are readily available. Instead, you have to think of unique and obscure passwords for each account.
One of my best friends from high school whom I also roomed with for two years in college had the most unexpected email password ever. She was (and is) one of the most lovely people you will ever meet. Very kind, sweet, innocent (in a good way), and generally wonderful. I can't remember exactly why, but one day, for whatever reason, she told me her email password. It was "sexypanties." I was floored. Totally didn't see that coming and never would have expected it. It was the perfect password. (I really hope it's not still her password because now Andi can go hack her account.)
I probably should start taking plays from my friend's password playbook. My next set of passwords will probably be all about how much I love cilantro, sci-fi movies and reading.
Crap. Now I've told you my secrets.
Go ahead, h@( k @w@y.
Passwords.
How am I supposed to remember all my passwords?
Seriously.
Everything requires a password these days. And if you follow the password rules, you aren't supposed to use the same ones for everything, or even anything. If you have online banking, facebook, twitter, instagram, all your bills, netflix, credit cards, amazon, ebay, paypal, various memberships (like the jelly of the month club), every app or game on your phone and ipad, email, your other email, and your other email, you have your work cut out for you. It basically means you need a different password for about 50 different sites/accounts. AND some of those sites make you change them all the time!
I'm sure there's an app that can organize them all, but you probably need a password for that, too.
You can't use your pets' names, your birthday, anniversary, address or any other things that are readily available. Instead, you have to think of unique and obscure passwords for each account.
One of my best friends from high school whom I also roomed with for two years in college had the most unexpected email password ever. She was (and is) one of the most lovely people you will ever meet. Very kind, sweet, innocent (in a good way), and generally wonderful. I can't remember exactly why, but one day, for whatever reason, she told me her email password. It was "sexypanties." I was floored. Totally didn't see that coming and never would have expected it. It was the perfect password. (I really hope it's not still her password because now Andi can go hack her account.)
I probably should start taking plays from my friend's password playbook. My next set of passwords will probably be all about how much I love cilantro, sci-fi movies and reading.
Crap. Now I've told you my secrets.
Go ahead, h@( k @w@y.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Nosey Encounters
This post is a little more personal than I usually like to get, but I can't help it. There is something that's really bugging me and I need to vent about it - so naturally I've chosen a group of people I might know.
You see, I have a zit in my nose.
Seriously.
This. Is. Happening.
And you know what? It hurts like the dickens, hades and any other crazy word or cliche phrase you've ever heard. It's right at the tip of my nose. It's on the inside, but you can see the redness from the outside (read: I look like Rudolph). And it's the kind of pain that brings tears to your eyes automatically. We are talking all kinds of ugly here, people.
It hurts to flare my nostrils, which I apparently do much more than I previously realized. It hurts to sneeze. It even hurts to kiss my husband (Arab nose problems). And it really hurts to tend to my allergy induced snot stream every 5 minutes.
I'm having a great week.
On the more philosophical side of serious, I'm thinking of using my condition as an object lesson. Something along the lines of, "The problem is on the inside, but you can see it rearing it's ugly head on the outside."
You go ahead and let that sink in.
I'll be back when I'm done crying. Or when I master the art of concealer on my nose.
You see, I have a zit in my nose.
Seriously.
This. Is. Happening.
And you know what? It hurts like the dickens, hades and any other crazy word or cliche phrase you've ever heard. It's right at the tip of my nose. It's on the inside, but you can see the redness from the outside (read: I look like Rudolph). And it's the kind of pain that brings tears to your eyes automatically. We are talking all kinds of ugly here, people.
It hurts to flare my nostrils, which I apparently do much more than I previously realized. It hurts to sneeze. It even hurts to kiss my husband (Arab nose problems). And it really hurts to tend to my allergy induced snot stream every 5 minutes.
I'm having a great week.
On the more philosophical side of serious, I'm thinking of using my condition as an object lesson. Something along the lines of, "The problem is on the inside, but you can see it rearing it's ugly head on the outside."
You go ahead and let that sink in.
I'll be back when I'm done crying. Or when I master the art of concealer on my nose.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Statistical Encounters
It seems as though there is an abundance of data out there. People study and record data on just about everything these days. You can look up studies on people, frequency of freak accidents, likelihood of yada yada yada AND so on and so forth. Chances are, if you've wonder about it, someone has studied it and conveniently cataloged their maybe-accurate findings and posted them on the internet.
Here's what I want to know: which stall do people choose when they use a public restroom and why?
This is a serious question. I checked the interwebs, and I'm not the first to inquire about such things. But most people merely polled their friends and posted their findings. They quote people like Vicki who say, "I choose the stall farthest from the door because it's usually the cleanest."
Interesting thought, Vicki.
I have this theory that personality type plays a significant role in the stall selection process.
Do type-A people usually make similar choices? "Second stall from the left. Every time."
What about only children? "Whichever one I want."
Or type-A people who go to the bathroom 7 times a morning? Do they always go to the same stall? What if it's taken? What then? The horror!
I don't know Vicki, so I have no idea how she fits in this picture, but I might know you.
So, you, what do you do?
Here's what I want to know: which stall do people choose when they use a public restroom and why?
This is a serious question. I checked the interwebs, and I'm not the first to inquire about such things. But most people merely polled their friends and posted their findings. They quote people like Vicki who say, "I choose the stall farthest from the door because it's usually the cleanest."
Interesting thought, Vicki.
I have this theory that personality type plays a significant role in the stall selection process.
Do type-A people usually make similar choices? "Second stall from the left. Every time."
What about only children? "Whichever one I want."
Or type-A people who go to the bathroom 7 times a morning? Do they always go to the same stall? What if it's taken? What then? The horror!
I don't know Vicki, so I have no idea how she fits in this picture, but I might know you.
So, you, what do you do?
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Fly Encounters
Person,
The church was a polling place yesterday. This means nothing to me (since I don't vote here), except that it meant the church doors near my office were wide open all day. Why does that matter?
There are currently five flies in my office.
Did you hear me?
FIVE FLIES.
I can't handle it*.
*"It" may be defined as:
The swooping.
The diving.
The buzzing.
The puke they supposedly distribute with each landing.
The contaminated snacks.
The taunting glares they give me with their million eyes.
The way they swiftly wiggle their front legs.
I am not in the habit of asking "why" questions, but this is forcing me to make an exception.
Why, God? Why did you make these insects? What do they do for the earth? Why did you send them to my office?
If God were to answer via email, I think it may have a heading like this:
To: erin
From: God@aol.com
Subject: Re: That patience you prayed about
ugh.
p.s. clearly God would use aol as his email provider. He's had email since the dial-up days. The only other option would be the Yahoo variant "Yahweh," as illustrated in Bruce Almighty.
p.p.s. If your office is infested with flies, you may think about putting strips of sticky-side-up masking tape all over your desk and computer to trap the pests. This is a crafty thought, but it will not work and the flies will laugh at you as they dance on your snares.
The church was a polling place yesterday. This means nothing to me (since I don't vote here), except that it meant the church doors near my office were wide open all day. Why does that matter?
There are currently five flies in my office.
Did you hear me?
FIVE FLIES.
I can't handle it*.
*"It" may be defined as:
The swooping.
The diving.
The buzzing.
The puke they supposedly distribute with each landing.
The contaminated snacks.
The taunting glares they give me with their million eyes.
The way they swiftly wiggle their front legs.
I am not in the habit of asking "why" questions, but this is forcing me to make an exception.
Why, God? Why did you make these insects? What do they do for the earth? Why did you send them to my office?
If God were to answer via email, I think it may have a heading like this:
To: erin
From: God@aol.com
Subject: Re: That patience you prayed about
ugh.
p.s. clearly God would use aol as his email provider. He's had email since the dial-up days. The only other option would be the Yahoo variant "Yahweh," as illustrated in Bruce Almighty.
p.p.s. If your office is infested with flies, you may think about putting strips of sticky-side-up masking tape all over your desk and computer to trap the pests. This is a crafty thought, but it will not work and the flies will laugh at you as they dance on your snares.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Voicemail Encounters
I have decided on a new cell phone policy:
If you call me, and I don't answer or miss your call, it would be really helpful if you would wait about 2 minutes before placing another call.
Two main reasons this should be the law:
1. Most of the time when I don't answer - and it's a reasonable hour - it's because I didn't get to my phone in time. I'm going to try and call you right back. If I get your voicemail, a possibly endless game of phone tag will begin.
2. If you try to call me more than once in five minutes, I will think there is an emergency (or maybe our favorite song is on the radio). If I think there is an emergency, I will be trying to call you. If we call each other at the same time multiple times in a row, panic will ensue. If panic ensues, my imagination will start going down the list of possible terrible things you could be calling about. If my brain goes down that road, there's no telling where it will end. When we finally do connect via magical-portable-calling devices, and you tell me you just wanted to remind me there is a new episode of Modern Family on tonight, I will be furious with you. Why? Well because you made me panic and think you were in distress. Also, because I already know about the new Mod Fam episode. How do I know? Because I love the show. Also, because Eric Stonestreet and I are friends and we tailgate together. Duh. See:
Your adherence to this new policy/law is greatly appreciated.
Please and thank you.
If you call me, and I don't answer or miss your call, it would be really helpful if you would wait about 2 minutes before placing another call.
Two main reasons this should be the law:
1. Most of the time when I don't answer - and it's a reasonable hour - it's because I didn't get to my phone in time. I'm going to try and call you right back. If I get your voicemail, a possibly endless game of phone tag will begin.
2. If you try to call me more than once in five minutes, I will think there is an emergency (or maybe our favorite song is on the radio). If I think there is an emergency, I will be trying to call you. If we call each other at the same time multiple times in a row, panic will ensue. If panic ensues, my imagination will start going down the list of possible terrible things you could be calling about. If my brain goes down that road, there's no telling where it will end. When we finally do connect via magical-portable-calling devices, and you tell me you just wanted to remind me there is a new episode of Modern Family on tonight, I will be furious with you. Why? Well because you made me panic and think you were in distress. Also, because I already know about the new Mod Fam episode. How do I know? Because I love the show. Also, because Eric Stonestreet and I are friends and we tailgate together. Duh. See:
Your adherence to this new policy/law is greatly appreciated.
Please and thank you.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Moanday Encounters
Things I have learned/realized today:
1. Someone left a letter out when they were spelling "Monday." Clearly it should be called "moan-day" instead. Anyone who cares to argue with me on this should wait until tomorrow.
2. I have on my navy blue watch today. I've had it for two years and worn it about 3 times a week. I just now realized the only numbers that are missing are 2, 6 and 10. If any teenage drivers have this watch the "10 and 2" rule will be super confusing for them.
3. There are too many drugs that start with a Z sound.
4. There is a big difference between telling someone you took a Zyrtec or Zantac and accidentally telling them you took Xanex.
5. People are either freakishly good or absolutely terrible at hiding their true emotions with facial expressions.
6. If you are talking to someone who is bad at controlling facial expressions, and you get your prescription drugs confused AND you tell them you took two Xanex and it didn't help you at all, you will feel judged. Very, very judged.
Happy Moanday, reader.
Ugh.
1. Someone left a letter out when they were spelling "Monday." Clearly it should be called "moan-day" instead. Anyone who cares to argue with me on this should wait until tomorrow.
2. I have on my navy blue watch today. I've had it for two years and worn it about 3 times a week. I just now realized the only numbers that are missing are 2, 6 and 10. If any teenage drivers have this watch the "10 and 2" rule will be super confusing for them.
3. There are too many drugs that start with a Z sound.
4. There is a big difference between telling someone you took a Zyrtec or Zantac and accidentally telling them you took Xanex.
5. People are either freakishly good or absolutely terrible at hiding their true emotions with facial expressions.
6. If you are talking to someone who is bad at controlling facial expressions, and you get your prescription drugs confused AND you tell them you took two Xanex and it didn't help you at all, you will feel judged. Very, very judged.
Happy Moanday, reader.
Ugh.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Hateful Encounters
Wow. Haven't posted since April? I need to send myself to blogging summer school next year.
So sorry to go MIA on you, reader (mostly Peyton). I shall try and do better (said every person who ever stunk at blogging).
I posted quite a while ago about my disdain for the use of the word favorite. If you're using it correctly, you only get one. We butcher it all the time. Let me see if I can find it... ah ha, here it is.
Well today, let's discuss the haters.
The Plain White T's gave us all a mother-like lecture with their lyrics, "hate is a strong word, but I really really really don't like you." Much like your favorites, it's probably also best not to hate everything. I mean, people today hate so much stuff! People, places, food, movies, colors, cars, politics, anything their brother says... Don't get me wrong, if the color orange inspires deep emotional disdain and you can't stand to look at it, that's hate. You go ahead and hate orange. But probably most of us just really prefer a different color - no hate, just preference.
I have this wonderful dear friend who once literally saved my life, and she has this great game: The Hate Game. Basically you just say you hate things no one would ever hate. It's fabulous and hilarious. And it makes me think about how stupid I sound when I complain about small things. Here are some examples of hate game possibilities:
- You know what I hate? Chairs. Chairs are dumb. They are everywhere. And they have legs. So annoying.
- I really hate buttons. Buttons are lame. You have to like, press them all the time. Ugh.
- I hate cups. Cups are the worst. They always spill things and you have to hold them. Cups are gross.
- Do you know what I hate? Pillows. They take up so much room. Everyone has 50 of them in their house. I hate pillows.
Get it? When in the right mood, this game can turn your day around.
So, what do you hate?
So sorry to go MIA on you, reader (mostly Peyton). I shall try and do better (said every person who ever stunk at blogging).
I posted quite a while ago about my disdain for the use of the word favorite. If you're using it correctly, you only get one. We butcher it all the time. Let me see if I can find it... ah ha, here it is.
Well today, let's discuss the haters.
The Plain White T's gave us all a mother-like lecture with their lyrics, "hate is a strong word, but I really really really don't like you." Much like your favorites, it's probably also best not to hate everything. I mean, people today hate so much stuff! People, places, food, movies, colors, cars, politics, anything their brother says... Don't get me wrong, if the color orange inspires deep emotional disdain and you can't stand to look at it, that's hate. You go ahead and hate orange. But probably most of us just really prefer a different color - no hate, just preference.
I have this wonderful dear friend who once literally saved my life, and she has this great game: The Hate Game. Basically you just say you hate things no one would ever hate. It's fabulous and hilarious. And it makes me think about how stupid I sound when I complain about small things. Here are some examples of hate game possibilities:
- You know what I hate? Chairs. Chairs are dumb. They are everywhere. And they have legs. So annoying.
- I really hate buttons. Buttons are lame. You have to like, press them all the time. Ugh.
- I hate cups. Cups are the worst. They always spill things and you have to hold them. Cups are gross.
- Do you know what I hate? Pillows. They take up so much room. Everyone has 50 of them in their house. I hate pillows.
Get it? When in the right mood, this game can turn your day around.
So, what do you hate?
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Cart Encounters
I went to the store the other day and the most amazing thing happened: I had the perfect shopping cart.
This is not a joke.
It was amazing.
It was clean. All of its wheels turned - without squeaking, I might add. And I didn't have to throw my entire body weight behind it to turn up and down the aisles. It was as though I was the first person in the world to ever use it.
Such a thing has never happened to me before. It was glorious and, I fear, a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence.
Well done, perfect cart. Well done.
This is not a joke.
It was amazing.
It was clean. All of its wheels turned - without squeaking, I might add. And I didn't have to throw my entire body weight behind it to turn up and down the aisles. It was as though I was the first person in the world to ever use it.
Such a thing has never happened to me before. It was glorious and, I fear, a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence.
Well done, perfect cart. Well done.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Wrong Number Encounters
The other day a woman named "Gma Shelley" kept texting me pictures of a newborn baby. I mean, like a NEWborn. We are talking still slimy, and red and screaming.
Why do you care? You don't.
Why do I care? I don't. Because I'm not Kevin. And I don't know Gma or the naked child in the photos she kept sending.
I told her she had the wrong number.
She asked if I was Kevin.
I said no.
She said, "Oh sry lol."
Three minutes later: more baby pics.
I said, "Still not Kevin."
Reasons this disturbs me:
1. Who texts a number for their family member without already having it saved to their contacts?
2. What kind of grandma uses "Gma" and "sry lol?"
3. Who continues texting after they've been told they have the wrong number?
4. It's not nice to make someone frantically search their mental rolodex of pregnant friends to try and figure out who's child they are failing to celebrate.
5. NAKED BABY PICTURES SENT TO STRANGERS.
Why do you care? You don't.
Why do I care? I don't. Because I'm not Kevin. And I don't know Gma or the naked child in the photos she kept sending.
I told her she had the wrong number.
She asked if I was Kevin.
I said no.
She said, "Oh sry lol."
Three minutes later: more baby pics.
I said, "Still not Kevin."
Reasons this disturbs me:
1. Who texts a number for their family member without already having it saved to their contacts?
2. What kind of grandma uses "Gma" and "sry lol?"
3. Who continues texting after they've been told they have the wrong number?
4. It's not nice to make someone frantically search their mental rolodex of pregnant friends to try and figure out who's child they are failing to celebrate.
5. NAKED BABY PICTURES SENT TO STRANGERS.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Lenten Encounters
What's the deal with all advertisers lying during lent?
They all have commercials advertising their "fish" products, and I'm pretty sure their pants are on fire. Majorly.
Take Wendy's, for example. That hot and spicy redhead is lying through her teeth. Her fish sandwich commercial begins, "It's that time of year again. Time for people to rush to Wendy's for their favorite fish sandwich!"
Really?
Who thinks, "Wow. It's February! I have to hurry! I get to go to Wendy's and eat fish!"?
I'll tell you who thinks that: nobody. Nobody thinks that.
Also, nobody thinks that "the best fish can be found at Arby's." NO BODY.
I know you're supposed to be good all year long, but I find lying to make a Lenten profit especially disturbing.
They all have commercials advertising their "fish" products, and I'm pretty sure their pants are on fire. Majorly.
Take Wendy's, for example. That hot and spicy redhead is lying through her teeth. Her fish sandwich commercial begins, "It's that time of year again. Time for people to rush to Wendy's for their favorite fish sandwich!"
Really?
Who thinks, "Wow. It's February! I have to hurry! I get to go to Wendy's and eat fish!"?
I'll tell you who thinks that: nobody. Nobody thinks that.
Also, nobody thinks that "the best fish can be found at Arby's." NO BODY.
I know you're supposed to be good all year long, but I find lying to make a Lenten profit especially disturbing.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Airplane Encounters
I had to leave town for a weekend conference recently. The last time I traveled to said conference I got several good blog topics out of my journey. (Like this one and this one.)
Here are some things I thought of during my trek this time:
- They should limit the kinds of odiferous foods you can bring onto airplanes. Especially if it's a small airplane. The lady next to me on one of my flights was enjoying a wonderful sandwich from Subway but it was loaded with jalapeno peppers. I mean, really loaded. Not cool. Literally. My nostrils were burning.
- This whole thing where you have to pay money to check a bag has got to go. End of story.
- Also, the airlines have these new signs slash posters where they say "enjoy a drink on us!" and then they list all the drinks you can have while on your flight. How generous! You mean I can pay you almost $500 for a ticket, $50 to check my bag, and surrender my dignity in one of those creepy scanner things and you'll give me half a Coke?? I can't get over your giving spirit!
I'm not old. Or at least not THAT old, but I can remember the days when if you bought a ticket you could check TWO bags FREE, and you got a meal on every flight. Like a real meal. Served with actual metal utensils. CRAZY.
- I think all airport toilets should have those nifty automatic seat covers like they have in Chicago. It should be a standard requirement. I will add that to my list of goals for a future political campaign. (By the way, it just occurred to me that my award winning, undefeated campaign slogan will no longer work. "Vote for the Learned one," took me to the highest reaches of high school government. With my new last name, it no longer packs a punch. Heavy sigh. Oh well, Ghata get used to it.)
- Lastly, I wonder what they do with all the liquids and gels they confiscate from passengers at security. If it's more than 3 oz., they will take it from you. They must have piles of shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste and hair gel somewhere. I hope it's being put to good use. When I was little I used to think there were little elves who sorted the luggage and put in on the right plane and then back on the right conveyer belt. Maybe the elves get to use the products... One can only hope.
Here are some things I thought of during my trek this time:
- They should limit the kinds of odiferous foods you can bring onto airplanes. Especially if it's a small airplane. The lady next to me on one of my flights was enjoying a wonderful sandwich from Subway but it was loaded with jalapeno peppers. I mean, really loaded. Not cool. Literally. My nostrils were burning.
- This whole thing where you have to pay money to check a bag has got to go. End of story.
- Also, the airlines have these new signs slash posters where they say "enjoy a drink on us!" and then they list all the drinks you can have while on your flight. How generous! You mean I can pay you almost $500 for a ticket, $50 to check my bag, and surrender my dignity in one of those creepy scanner things and you'll give me half a Coke?? I can't get over your giving spirit!
I'm not old. Or at least not THAT old, but I can remember the days when if you bought a ticket you could check TWO bags FREE, and you got a meal on every flight. Like a real meal. Served with actual metal utensils. CRAZY.
- I think all airport toilets should have those nifty automatic seat covers like they have in Chicago. It should be a standard requirement. I will add that to my list of goals for a future political campaign. (By the way, it just occurred to me that my award winning, undefeated campaign slogan will no longer work. "Vote for the Learned one," took me to the highest reaches of high school government. With my new last name, it no longer packs a punch. Heavy sigh. Oh well, Ghata get used to it.)
- Lastly, I wonder what they do with all the liquids and gels they confiscate from passengers at security. If it's more than 3 oz., they will take it from you. They must have piles of shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste and hair gel somewhere. I hope it's being put to good use. When I was little I used to think there were little elves who sorted the luggage and put in on the right plane and then back on the right conveyer belt. Maybe the elves get to use the products... One can only hope.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Unique Encounters
Sometimes it's good to feel unique. Sometimes it's not.
Here's a few places/times it's nice to feel unique/different/special:
- When you're an artist at an art show. Your works stands out as something different, people notice you and you make more money.
- When you have a million siblings and there's something that you do that no one else does. You don't have to share, which is always fun whether you want to admit it or not.
- When you're applying for college scholarships or trying to get into med school or law school or something. You have to stand out from the crowd.
- When you're trying to get a job. Same song, second verse.
- If you're Waldo and the whole point of your existence is your ability to be found in large crowds of people, animals or barbarians.
Here's some places/times you DON'T want to feel unique/different/special:
- High school. I don't care what people say. No one wants to truly stick out in high school. The trend is to blend.
- At the doctor's office. The words "I've never seen anything like this," are not comforting in the least.
- Ditto for the dentist.
- The witness protection program. Duh.
- And you certainly don't want to feel unique at the Apple store when you're taking in your computer for repair. "Take a look at this!" is not something you want to hear one Genius yell to another.
Heavy sigh...
Here's a few places/times it's nice to feel unique/different/special:
- When you're an artist at an art show. Your works stands out as something different, people notice you and you make more money.
- When you have a million siblings and there's something that you do that no one else does. You don't have to share, which is always fun whether you want to admit it or not.
- When you're applying for college scholarships or trying to get into med school or law school or something. You have to stand out from the crowd.
- When you're trying to get a job. Same song, second verse.
- If you're Waldo and the whole point of your existence is your ability to be found in large crowds of people, animals or barbarians.
Here's some places/times you DON'T want to feel unique/different/special:
- High school. I don't care what people say. No one wants to truly stick out in high school. The trend is to blend.
- At the doctor's office. The words "I've never seen anything like this," are not comforting in the least.
- Ditto for the dentist.
- The witness protection program. Duh.
- And you certainly don't want to feel unique at the Apple store when you're taking in your computer for repair. "Take a look at this!" is not something you want to hear one Genius yell to another.
Heavy sigh...
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Restroom Encounters
Question: Why are department store bathrooms always located in a seemingly abandoned part of the building?
Seriously.
It seems like every bathroom is at the end of some scary deserted hallway, filled with half-empty cardboard boxes and clothing racks with nothing but empty hangers on them. The stores could be filled with people, but there's never anyone in the hallway leading to the bathroom. Even though I'm an adult, I feel like I could get kidnapped every time I embark on this frightening, but clearly necessary, adventure.
It's creepy. And I don't understand it.
Seriously.
It seems like every bathroom is at the end of some scary deserted hallway, filled with half-empty cardboard boxes and clothing racks with nothing but empty hangers on them. The stores could be filled with people, but there's never anyone in the hallway leading to the bathroom. Even though I'm an adult, I feel like I could get kidnapped every time I embark on this frightening, but clearly necessary, adventure.
It's creepy. And I don't understand it.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Injustice Encounters
I'm not a feminist. I'm not a sexist. I'm not (too) crazy.
BUT.
Having a wedding/getting married opened my eyes to a world of gender-based discrimination and injustice. Ok, maybe those words are harsh, but hear me out. Take a look at an abbreviated version of our boy and girl to-do lists (all because of the wedding):
Boy:
- Get fitted for tux.
- Recruit other boys to get fitted for tuxes
- Help parents plan rehearsal dinner
- Show up
- Assure girl that the wedding will happen not matter who decides to be late
- Wear fitted tux
- Take pictures
- Marry girl you love
- Go on honeymoon
- Carry gifts into new house
- Change address on driver's license
- Change address with the Post Office
- Go to work
- Come home
Girl:
- EVERYTHING ELSE
No, really. Everything else. Watch:
- Plan the WHOLE wedding and all the details that are too long to list
- Assemble and send invitations
- Pick wedding dress
- Endure three fittings of said dress
- Pick bridesmaids dresses
- Find shoes, earrings and all other accessories
- Get hair and make-up done
- Freak out just a little
- Manage the personalities of everyone in attendance. particularly family
- Wear thrice-fitted dress
- Take pictures
- Marry the man you love
- Go on honeymoon
- Retrieve certified copy of marriage license
- Open and record all gifts
- Wash and find a place for aforementioned gifts in new house
- Return 4 of 5 crock-pots and 6 of 7 coffee percolators.
- WRITE THANK YOU NOTES
- Decorate interior of house
- Change name and address on driver's license
- Change name and address on social security card (this involves traveling to some kind of alternate universe where time moves at a glacial pace and nobody smiles.)
- Change name on EVERYTHING ELSE (credit card, health insurance, bank accounts, dr's office, dentist, FACEBOOK, twitter)
- Go to work
- Come home
- Be thankful for everything (including the fact that you in no way involved your last name in your blog title)
Tell me how that's fair. You can't. Because it's not.
The things we do for love. (heavy sigh)
p.s. I love being married. Really. "I do." I mean, "I have" (Orthodox pun intended).
BUT.
Having a wedding/getting married opened my eyes to a world of gender-based discrimination and injustice. Ok, maybe those words are harsh, but hear me out. Take a look at an abbreviated version of our boy and girl to-do lists (all because of the wedding):
Boy:
- Get fitted for tux.
- Recruit other boys to get fitted for tuxes
- Help parents plan rehearsal dinner
- Show up
- Assure girl that the wedding will happen not matter who decides to be late
- Wear fitted tux
- Take pictures
- Marry girl you love
- Go on honeymoon
- Carry gifts into new house
- Change address on driver's license
- Change address with the Post Office
- Go to work
- Come home
Girl:
- EVERYTHING ELSE
No, really. Everything else. Watch:
- Plan the WHOLE wedding and all the details that are too long to list
- Assemble and send invitations
- Pick wedding dress
- Endure three fittings of said dress
- Pick bridesmaids dresses
- Find shoes, earrings and all other accessories
- Get hair and make-up done
- Freak out just a little
- Manage the personalities of everyone in attendance. particularly family
- Wear thrice-fitted dress
- Take pictures
- Marry the man you love
- Go on honeymoon
- Retrieve certified copy of marriage license
- Open and record all gifts
- Wash and find a place for aforementioned gifts in new house
- Return 4 of 5 crock-pots and 6 of 7 coffee percolators.
- WRITE THANK YOU NOTES
- Decorate interior of house
- Change name and address on driver's license
- Change name and address on social security card (this involves traveling to some kind of alternate universe where time moves at a glacial pace and nobody smiles.)
- Change name on EVERYTHING ELSE (credit card, health insurance, bank accounts, dr's office, dentist, FACEBOOK, twitter)
- Go to work
- Come home
- Be thankful for everything (including the fact that you in no way involved your last name in your blog title)
Tell me how that's fair. You can't. Because it's not.
The things we do for love. (heavy sigh)
p.s. I love being married. Really. "I do." I mean, "I have" (Orthodox pun intended).
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Coffee Encounters
Panera is usually a happy place. Even if it's super early in the morning, people have coffee, bagels and classical music to start their day out right. And later in the day they serve their crazy good mac and cheese. Who can't be happy when there's crazy good mac and cheese in the room?
Anyways, I go to Panera every Thursday morning to pick up bagels for a weekly meeting at the church. The people in the bakery know my order before I get to the counter. (It makes me feel like I live in a small town - even though Panera is a huge chain and OKC isn't too tiny either.) They assemble my bagel packs and I go on my merry little way.
But this morning tragedy struck Panera. Their coffee machine BROKE.
Did you hear me?
The COFFEE MACHINE BROKE.
They had signs posted all over, but people still approached the counter asking for coffee. Hoping and praying it couldn't be true. They came for coffee. They need coffee. THERE WAS NO COFFEE.
I don't drink coffee so I was unaffected by this caffeine famine, but man were those other people upset. Their facial expressions ranged from devastation to anger, sorrow to rage, and a few who just stood stunned, unable to process the news they just heard.
The moral of the story?
Drink more tea.
Anyways, I go to Panera every Thursday morning to pick up bagels for a weekly meeting at the church. The people in the bakery know my order before I get to the counter. (It makes me feel like I live in a small town - even though Panera is a huge chain and OKC isn't too tiny either.) They assemble my bagel packs and I go on my merry little way.
But this morning tragedy struck Panera. Their coffee machine BROKE.
Did you hear me?
The COFFEE MACHINE BROKE.
They had signs posted all over, but people still approached the counter asking for coffee. Hoping and praying it couldn't be true. They came for coffee. They need coffee. THERE WAS NO COFFEE.
I don't drink coffee so I was unaffected by this caffeine famine, but man were those other people upset. Their facial expressions ranged from devastation to anger, sorrow to rage, and a few who just stood stunned, unable to process the news they just heard.
The moral of the story?
Drink more tea.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Courthouse Encounters
Suppose you had to go to the county courthouse the other day to apply for a marriage license.
Suppose you had never been there and you had kind of an adventure within those walls.
Suppose your adventure went something like this:
You approach a building that looks all nice and friendly from the outside, but the people going through the doors with you don't look so inclined to be nice or friendly.
You have to go through security and get your bag x-rayed and they say you can't bring any knives in, but you make it through with TWO swiss army keychains in your purse. Two. When your cousin went there they stole her deadly weapons - also known as bobby pins. But not your knives.
Again, the inside of the first floor looks all nice and clean and people smile at you. Then you get in the elevator and go to the 2nd floor, where you think the office for marriage licenses is, and you meet a delightful lady who tells you you have to go to the 9th floor. You say thank you and she wishes you a good day and you saunter out feeling pretty darn good about this place you had obviously misjudged.
But then, THEN you get on the elevator and ride to the 9th floor. And when the doors open, it's clear you have been transported to an alternate universe. You know the office where Tom Hanks works in Joe vs. the Volcano? It's like that. But filled with even creepier people. People who stare at you. Some people in handcuffs. People who make you feel tiny and terrified. And they are all in this big line that fills the whole hall. And you see this tiny sign at the end of the line that says "Marriage Licenses." So you try to sneak through the crowd and work your way toward the door and the light at the end of the tunnel - no really, the marriage license room is bright and the hallway is long, it's actually a light at the end of the tunnel.
Anyway, you make it inside. There's no line in this room. There's a fairly friendly lady behind the counter who takes your information and gives you a worksheet to fill out. She makes a little small talk as you sign a paper and submit your paperwork. Then she looks at you and says "It's time for the oath." You laugh because she has to be kidding, right? Then she stares at you, totally unamused, and tells you to raise you right hand. You do it, because she will kill you if you don't, and you proceed to promise all the information you have provided is true. You also promise that you aren't related to your husband-to-be. So help you GOD.
Then you get to leave. But you can't breathe easily quite yet. Why not? Well, because you have to go back sometime in the next two weeks and pick up the actual license.
Wonder what you will see then.
Suppose you had never been there and you had kind of an adventure within those walls.
Suppose your adventure went something like this:
You approach a building that looks all nice and friendly from the outside, but the people going through the doors with you don't look so inclined to be nice or friendly.
You have to go through security and get your bag x-rayed and they say you can't bring any knives in, but you make it through with TWO swiss army keychains in your purse. Two. When your cousin went there they stole her deadly weapons - also known as bobby pins. But not your knives.
Again, the inside of the first floor looks all nice and clean and people smile at you. Then you get in the elevator and go to the 2nd floor, where you think the office for marriage licenses is, and you meet a delightful lady who tells you you have to go to the 9th floor. You say thank you and she wishes you a good day and you saunter out feeling pretty darn good about this place you had obviously misjudged.
But then, THEN you get on the elevator and ride to the 9th floor. And when the doors open, it's clear you have been transported to an alternate universe. You know the office where Tom Hanks works in Joe vs. the Volcano? It's like that. But filled with even creepier people. People who stare at you. Some people in handcuffs. People who make you feel tiny and terrified. And they are all in this big line that fills the whole hall. And you see this tiny sign at the end of the line that says "Marriage Licenses." So you try to sneak through the crowd and work your way toward the door and the light at the end of the tunnel - no really, the marriage license room is bright and the hallway is long, it's actually a light at the end of the tunnel.
Anyway, you make it inside. There's no line in this room. There's a fairly friendly lady behind the counter who takes your information and gives you a worksheet to fill out. She makes a little small talk as you sign a paper and submit your paperwork. Then she looks at you and says "It's time for the oath." You laugh because she has to be kidding, right? Then she stares at you, totally unamused, and tells you to raise you right hand. You do it, because she will kill you if you don't, and you proceed to promise all the information you have provided is true. You also promise that you aren't related to your husband-to-be. So help you GOD.
Then you get to leave. But you can't breathe easily quite yet. Why not? Well, because you have to go back sometime in the next two weeks and pick up the actual license.
Wonder what you will see then.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Busy Encounters
If anyone out there has any extra projects or crises they need help with in the next few weeks, please let me know. I'm totally bored and don't have very many things going on in my world. Just give me a holler!
Ok, so I'm being a little sarcastic. Actually I'm being the most sarcastic that it's humanly possible to be.
That being said, if I know you, and we are going to speak to or see each other soon, please refrain from any and all forms of the following phrases:
-"Erin, do you have time to (insert meaningless task that could wait a million years to be completed)...?"
-"Erin, could you help me with (insert thing that has absolutely no importance and requires a ridiculous amount of time)...?"
-"Do you have plans on (insert any day before November 12)...?"
-"Are you busy (again, any time before Nov. 12)...?"
Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.
Ok, so I'm being a little sarcastic. Actually I'm being the most sarcastic that it's humanly possible to be.
That being said, if I know you, and we are going to speak to or see each other soon, please refrain from any and all forms of the following phrases:
-"Erin, do you have time to (insert meaningless task that could wait a million years to be completed)...?"
-"Erin, could you help me with (insert thing that has absolutely no importance and requires a ridiculous amount of time)...?"
-"Do you have plans on (insert any day before November 12)...?"
-"Are you busy (again, any time before Nov. 12)...?"
Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.
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