Ahh... you're here. It is so refreshing to know I can always count on you to be here. You have this peacefully calming affect on me...it's such a breath of fresh air in the midst of a hectic day.
My life is a bit more peaceful than it has been in the previous few weeks. The stress and physical strain of making a huge life-altering decision has come and gone. I have peacefully and comfortably turned down an incredible job offer. Alas, I am the only one who fills my shoes, and dare I say I chose Keens over Stilettos.
My mind is at peace, but my emotions and physical body have endured somewhat of a good ol' fashioned 'beat-down.' Many a-sleepless nights and nail biting daydreams of a potential and successful future in Houston left me in the groggiest of spirits. I've got all the symptoms: sore throat, scratchy voice, a seemingly endless supply of thick rubbery mucus that surfaces at the most convenient moments possible (delighted to know, I'm sure), and a fuzzy haze of lethargy.
What do you make of it, Doc?
"Well, Ms. Fogarty, stay here in this backless paper shirt and I'll be back in about 20 minutes to give you your diagnosis. Here, sit on this butcher paper until I return...and feel free to peruse this 'Highlights' magazine while I'm away. I recommend the hidden objects page; it can be quite tantalizing. "
(Little does he know that all but one of the hidden objects have already been circled by previous patients. One of these days, I will prevail in having the 'first crack' at it.)
"Okay Ms. Fogarty...you can put your shirt back on in a minute. The parchment paper robe is merely so I feel more authoritative. I have some bad news."
"Bad news? ...What is it?"
"Well...how should I put this...It's... news that's not good."
"No, I mean what is the bad news?"
"Oh. The bad news is someone has already circled all the hidden objects in all our Highlights magazines."
"Tell me something I don't know. What's the good news, then?"
"The good news is the results of your tongue depressor tests are in."
"Am I going to die?"
"Yes. We all die eventually, but there's no telling when or where."
"No, I mean what good news do you have to share?"
"Well, since you asked, I just saved money on my car insurance, but that's none of your business."
"Did you really? Oh wow, well who do you have insura--No, no, I meant what are the test results?"
Diagnosis: I've determined you to be...'drained.'
Prognosis: 100% chance of recovery...but it will be tough.
Prescription: Take one (1) nap, for ten (10) minutes each day, until gone. Do not take on an empty stomach."
No empty stomach, hmm? I think I can tackle that minor detail. Chocolate pudding is the herbal remedy for many weaklings. For others, ice cream (hard, soft, and the malted variety) has become a staple: the medicinal therapy of choice. My sick food? Planters Cheeseballs. I personally have come to believe that one whiff of the artificial cheese powder on circular puffs of crumbly air nurses my immune system back to health almost instantaneously. I have faith that this, in combination with the purest elixir found in nature - pulp-free pineapple orange juice- is the ancient tribal healing secret.
...And rest, I shall. I'll be blunt, there's no reason to hide: I milk it. I milk it like a maid. Being sick is an opportune time to let yourself be vulnerable and leave your well-being to others. People, I will share this with you one time, and one time only: If you don't milk it, you aren't taking advantage of all that being sick has to offer. This is your time to have everything you need to survive within arm's reach. Warm cozy blanket? Here, have four. I brought your pirate slippers with the googly eyes, too, to keep your feet snuggly. Big puffy pillow? Let me fluff it for you. Thirsty? Here's a sippy mug full of pineapple orange juice, there's an endless supply in the fridge, ring this little bell if you need more (I imagine those very words are being spoken in heaven on a regular basis). Tissues? I got you Kleenex, quilted, with lotion built right into each sheet. I'll even throw your snotty tissues away. Hug? No--gross, what are you trying to do, get us all sick?
It was quite an emotional dilemma, but through the magic of cheeseballs, I am miraculously and slowly nursing myself back to health.
Peace out,
H
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Houston, we have... a Heather??
Welcome Back! Something is different about you today... Did you change your hair? ...New outfit? ... Lost weight? ...I can't quite put my finger on it, but whatever it is, I love it.
My hair is a few shades lighter these days, thank you for noticing. A quick trip to a beauty salon, and a checking account deduction of 70 US Dollars yielded a hipper, trendier, me. Some hairs on my head are unquestionably more important than others, and I felt as though they should be highlighted as such...mission accomplished.
The reason for my sudden leap into the world of those who spend more than one minute on their hair in the mornings? The ominous and ever-intimidating "job interview." Yes, soon, I will be joining the ranks of the full-time, gainfully employed. I will uncharacteristically leave out the fine print of the whole ordeal, and give you the big scope: I was flown to Houston for a big bad job interview. It was quite the adventure to be whisked away to an all inclusive 3-day, 2-night job interview experience.
It's a pretty nifty little gig that I auditioned for... they are the hooligans responsible for the 3D imaging on google earth, and are also the little rascals that are contracted to expand the Panama Canal. The division of the company that yours truly would be gracing, is a division who markets geological oil basin and oil well drilling data to big wigs like Exxon Mobile, Texaco, Shell, Chevron, BP, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I had to wear my "big girl" clothes and "grown up" heels the whole time. Heck, I even accessorized. I can see you've inched (or for our Canadian readers: centimetered) closer to the edge of your seat; you should know by now that in this intricate little relationship of ours, you will be the absolute FIRST to know what the future holds for this little geological girl-wonder....don't you worry.
I often wonder what my life will evolve into after I enter the real world... is there life after graduation? I try to picture myself in a downtown highrise apartment, with my hip highlights and trendy new 'do, cleaning and putting away groceries, planning and organizing for the next work day. Then I snap out of it. "This is my life, here, not my delusion," I tell myself. It'll be more like watching TV in my apartment in sweats and a ponytail, eating chicken fingers I ordered in from Applebees with paper plates and plasticware. While in mid honey-mustard dip, I'll suddenly realize I have a presentation to a client the following morning, but nonetheless plan to pull an all-nighter after my chicken strips are thoroughly consumed.
Although, I may surprise myself (and my mother). There are times when I display a bizarre and twistedly unfamiliar bout of cleanliness around the house...I dare say there is a slight-albeit slight- chance that in some unthinkable way, bits and pieces of that behavior may be carried over into my soon to be new, grown-up life. Is it possible?
Come to think of it, you'll never believe this (I can barely conceive the notion, myself), but there have been times, whilst the family was away and I was left to fend for my own well-being, that the entire kitchen remained a sparkling, pearly spit-spot combination of cleanliness and Comet, with a hint of Palm Olive and bleach. Ladies and Gentlemen, let the records show: I, Heather, cleaned, on my own accord. This was not just for a minute, not just for a day, but I assure you, this was for the entire duration of my time alone in the home. If I wasn't there for the episode in person, I would have scoffed in disbelief at anyone who tried to convince me otherwise. Indeed, mere minutes after their arrival, I recall walking in the room to find it in a complete state of disarray. Every cupboard door was swung open. Drawers were no longer flush with the counters edge. A peanut-buttery aroma filled the air as I found our JIF jar in a new home near the toaster, lid unscrewed. Crumbs of every shape, color, size, and texture were strewn about the cutting board as if Hansel and Gretel one day needed to return to that very spot. Previously non-existent grocery items paraded the counter tops. A frying pan lay dormant upon the stove. A box of Saran plastic wrap was prepped and ready to pounce at any bowl of left-overs that dared not be fresh.
I remember smiling, knowing that it was not I (this ONE time), that made a mess and left it there. Furthermore, this was in fact proof, that there could be other times it may not have been me, as well (it's a bit of a stretch, but evidence is evidence, your honor).
I suppose whether I am ready to grow up or not, I will eventually have no choice. Am I ready to give up my relaxed jeans and Keens in lieu of fancy pants and accessories in the heat of Houston? ...Let's just say I have five days to figure that out. Wish me luck in the decision! It's a doozy!
Peace out,
H
My hair is a few shades lighter these days, thank you for noticing. A quick trip to a beauty salon, and a checking account deduction of 70 US Dollars yielded a hipper, trendier, me. Some hairs on my head are unquestionably more important than others, and I felt as though they should be highlighted as such...mission accomplished.
The reason for my sudden leap into the world of those who spend more than one minute on their hair in the mornings? The ominous and ever-intimidating "job interview." Yes, soon, I will be joining the ranks of the full-time, gainfully employed. I will uncharacteristically leave out the fine print of the whole ordeal, and give you the big scope: I was flown to Houston for a big bad job interview. It was quite the adventure to be whisked away to an all inclusive 3-day, 2-night job interview experience.
It's a pretty nifty little gig that I auditioned for... they are the hooligans responsible for the 3D imaging on google earth, and are also the little rascals that are contracted to expand the Panama Canal. The division of the company that yours truly would be gracing, is a division who markets geological oil basin and oil well drilling data to big wigs like Exxon Mobile, Texaco, Shell, Chevron, BP, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I had to wear my "big girl" clothes and "grown up" heels the whole time. Heck, I even accessorized. I can see you've inched (or for our Canadian readers: centimetered) closer to the edge of your seat; you should know by now that in this intricate little relationship of ours, you will be the absolute FIRST to know what the future holds for this little geological girl-wonder....don't you worry.
I often wonder what my life will evolve into after I enter the real world... is there life after graduation? I try to picture myself in a downtown highrise apartment, with my hip highlights and trendy new 'do, cleaning and putting away groceries, planning and organizing for the next work day. Then I snap out of it. "This is my life, here, not my delusion," I tell myself. It'll be more like watching TV in my apartment in sweats and a ponytail, eating chicken fingers I ordered in from Applebees with paper plates and plasticware. While in mid honey-mustard dip, I'll suddenly realize I have a presentation to a client the following morning, but nonetheless plan to pull an all-nighter after my chicken strips are thoroughly consumed.
Although, I may surprise myself (and my mother). There are times when I display a bizarre and twistedly unfamiliar bout of cleanliness around the house...I dare say there is a slight-albeit slight- chance that in some unthinkable way, bits and pieces of that behavior may be carried over into my soon to be new, grown-up life. Is it possible?
Come to think of it, you'll never believe this (I can barely conceive the notion, myself), but there have been times, whilst the family was away and I was left to fend for my own well-being, that the entire kitchen remained a sparkling, pearly spit-spot combination of cleanliness and Comet, with a hint of Palm Olive and bleach. Ladies and Gentlemen, let the records show: I, Heather, cleaned, on my own accord. This was not just for a minute, not just for a day, but I assure you, this was for the entire duration of my time alone in the home. If I wasn't there for the episode in person, I would have scoffed in disbelief at anyone who tried to convince me otherwise. Indeed, mere minutes after their arrival, I recall walking in the room to find it in a complete state of disarray. Every cupboard door was swung open. Drawers were no longer flush with the counters edge. A peanut-buttery aroma filled the air as I found our JIF jar in a new home near the toaster, lid unscrewed. Crumbs of every shape, color, size, and texture were strewn about the cutting board as if Hansel and Gretel one day needed to return to that very spot. Previously non-existent grocery items paraded the counter tops. A frying pan lay dormant upon the stove. A box of Saran plastic wrap was prepped and ready to pounce at any bowl of left-overs that dared not be fresh.
I remember smiling, knowing that it was not I (this ONE time), that made a mess and left it there. Furthermore, this was in fact proof, that there could be other times it may not have been me, as well (it's a bit of a stretch, but evidence is evidence, your honor).
I suppose whether I am ready to grow up or not, I will eventually have no choice. Am I ready to give up my relaxed jeans and Keens in lieu of fancy pants and accessories in the heat of Houston? ...Let's just say I have five days to figure that out. Wish me luck in the decision! It's a doozy!
Peace out,
H
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Trick or Treason
This is so weird... I dreamed about you being here, reading this very blog, just last night. And here you are! ...Spooky!
Dentists and orthodontists should not be allowed to celebrate Halloween if they're going to get all tooth-doctory on us. Do not bring your work home with you, folks! We all have a personal responsibility to brush, and maybe some of us will forget, but your complimentary bristles on a stick (instead of a Snickers) will not help us remember. It will make us despise you and your trade.
2) Raisins
Usually, foods on a stick are yummy (corn dogs, ice pops), but Dum Dums just can't be included on that list. Not even if they were breaded and deep-fried and served at a fair. A quick rule of thumb: If you're A) drooling out more than you swallow, or B) feel like you need a wet wash cloth mid-way through... kids don't want it, either.
Evil people have long been handing out apples even before "poisoned candy" scares. Ever seen Snow White? Avoid anything that does not come in its own wrapper. And no, adding your own cutesey wrapper with those "offical halloween markings" on it does not count.
Halloween is supposed to be a holiday for children and young people alike, not senior citizens who suck on hard candies all day. Something about the strawberry-shaped strawberries, gold-wrapped butterscotch, and peppermint in cellophane that just screams "I'm past the expiration date." (These usually get set aside for Granny.)
10) Anything Fun-Sized
Who started calling it this? Since when is one bite fun? Indulgence and a teeth-rotting sugar rush: that's what's fun. Portion control doesn't need to start this young. A normal-sized candy bar will make you the most popular house on the block. A king-sized candy bar will have you calling in for back-up. Want to really watch their heads spin? Whip out a soft carbonated beverage...they'll never know what hit 'um.
Speaking of spooks, (ooh, nice segue) on halloween night, some houses struggle with the concept of "candy." Let me enlighten you:
There are "good" houses, and there are "bad" houses. The best trick-or-treaters know to avoid the latter. We all love Halloween, but wish certain homes would just stop handing out the classically bad "treats." They weren't good last year, the year before that, or now....and don't kid yourself: Word spreads fast. Once you've been identified as a "bad" house, it's virtually impossible to redeem yourself. Whispers will spread like wildfire through every child in every neighborhood in town. One wrong treat, and you'll find witches, ghosts, princesses, and firemen avoiding your house like the plauge. Take the big orange marshmallow shaped like a peanut for example: handing out one of these doorstops will dishevel your home from trick-or-treaters for a minimum of five (5) years. And stencils? ...You're looking at ten to life.
If you want to be the cool house on the block, you'll know better than to hand out any of these eye-rollers:
1) Toothbrushes
Dentists and orthodontists should not be allowed to celebrate Halloween if they're going to get all tooth-doctory on us. Do not bring your work home with you, folks! We all have a personal responsibility to brush, and maybe some of us will forget, but your complimentary bristles on a stick (instead of a Snickers) will not help us remember. It will make us despise you and your trade.
2) Raisins
Little boxes of stuck-together shriveled globs are not what little kids schlep around the neighborhood for all night. When they say trick-or-treat, they want candy that will rot their teeth, not wrinkled grapes. No preservatives? No thank you. (Using an empty box as a kazoo-like instrument, though, is kinda fun.)
Ah, the fruitcake of halloween; it just never goes away. If you love them, fine. But don't subject the rest of us to the sickeningly sweet triangle that tastes like neither candy nor corn. It's the exact same rock-hard candy corn you had sitting in a dish by the door LAST halloween-- you're not fooling anyone.
These chalky candies are supposedly "fruit-flavored," but no fruit I know tastes like hard dust -- and makes everything eaten after that taste like hard dust, too.
Usually, foods on a stick are yummy (corn dogs, ice pops), but Dum Dums just can't be included on that list. Not even if they were breaded and deep-fried and served at a fair. A quick rule of thumb: If you're A) drooling out more than you swallow, or B) feel like you need a wet wash cloth mid-way through... kids don't want it, either.
Evil people have long been handing out apples even before "poisoned candy" scares. Ever seen Snow White? Avoid anything that does not come in its own wrapper. And no, adding your own cutesey wrapper with those "offical halloween markings" on it does not count.
It looks like chocolate and sort of smells like chocolate, but the mini brown tubes are not real chocolate. They taste like watered-down chocolate, and have a chewy texture that will strip the fillings right off your molars. It's also the cheapest possible option for candy givers. Kids know it. They resent you for it.
Halloween is supposed to be a holiday for children and young people alike, not senior citizens who suck on hard candies all day. Something about the strawberry-shaped strawberries, gold-wrapped butterscotch, and peppermint in cellophane that just screams "I'm past the expiration date." (These usually get set aside for Granny.)
I do not laffy when I get these. I sobby. I get depressedy. Because it gets all stucky to my teethy and doesn't even taste that goody.
10) Anything Fun-Sized
Who started calling it this? Since when is one bite fun? Indulgence and a teeth-rotting sugar rush: that's what's fun. Portion control doesn't need to start this young. A normal-sized candy bar will make you the most popular house on the block. A king-sized candy bar will have you calling in for back-up. Want to really watch their heads spin? Whip out a soft carbonated beverage...they'll never know what hit 'um.One last word to the wise: Don't even THINK about handing out those disgusting peanut butter flavored chewy candies wrapped in orange or black waxed paper. It's a death sentence. You might as well leave a basket outside your home marked "free eggs, fire at will."
Happy Halloween, everybody... and good luck.
Peace out,
H
Peace out,
H
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