"My milkshake brings..." umm, a big headache.

Here’s a shocker: I’m going to talk about food. If you’ve been around me in the past… oh eleven months, you know it’s been a bit of an obsession- as evidenced by the pregnancy pounds I packed on. You’ll start seeing more entries about food because after this weekend I’m embarking on a serious weight loss campaign. Why put off till Tuesday what I could do today? It’s called the Minnesota State Fair. Corn Dogs. Funnel Cakes. Roasted Corn. Need I say more? I mean, what’s five more pounds in the grand scheme of things really? But, more about that later.

This entry is about one food item in particular: milkshakes. Did I miss something about milkshakes? I remember when you could use a pay phone for a dime (I should just say I remember pay phones at this point), when a bottled coke was 25 cents, and when you could drink milkshakes through a straw. Try that now and you’ll end up sucking your teeth down your throat. Sonic recently had a $2.99 burger and shake special that I took advantage of more than once. Cellulite be damned. That’s a bargain- I don’t care who you are. The last milkshake I got there was so thick that I turned my cup upside down and shook it. Not a drop fell. I’m not even sure there was milk in that thing. Or liquid of any kind. And they gave me a straw with it. A STRAW. Were they taunting me? Was that some kind of a cruel joke? I had to use the straw as a spoon. It took me two days to eat that thing.

Today, I got a milkshake from Jack in the Box. Shut up. I already know I’m fat. The girls at the window handed me a straw and asked if I needed a spoon. I declined.
“Have you ever had one before?” she asked. As if she couldn’t tell I’d been eating a lot of milkshakes! I said I had and she gave me this pitiful look as I drove away. Probably because she knew I was about to suck my brain into my stomach.

I don’t understand why milkshakes have become so menacing. I swear, I think you burn all the calories you’re eating by the time you work that hard to get it down. It’s a good thing I’m about to get skinny. Exercising is one thing, but drinking a milkshake is just too much work.

The cookie question: to dunk or drown?

When I made that recent trip to Publix for Chips Ahoy, I apparently fascinated my co-worker with the way I eat cookies and milk. I never realized my way was so “bizarre”.
It’s a natural process for me. I just take some cookies and pile them in the bottom of a mug. Then I pour milk over the top of them, break them up, and eat them with a spoon.
I realize that some people like to dunk their cookies, but I don’t. Yes, the cookies eventually get soggy. Once the chunks are gone, I just simply drink the milk, which is then sweetened with cookie crumbs and chocolate chips. It’s not gross- stop thinking that. Most people drink the milk after they eat all the cereal. How is that different?

From the way my co-worker kept watching me in astonishment, you would have thought I was riding a unicycle with a monkey on my back while eating cookies through a straw and juggling three pints of milk. Which begs me to question: how do you eat cookies and milk? Are you a dunker, a drowner, or do you have another way? I can’t be the only cookie drowner out there!

Seasons Greetings Neighbor!

If you haven't been fortunate enough to be exposed to a neighbor's festive holiday expressions, let me share mine with you.

This...














This is the view from our back yard. This? This is our neighbor's BACK yard.

This...














This is the neighbor's front yard. And this?













This is a close-up that just doesn't do it justice. There's music. Playing loudly into the street. And this? This is my gift to you.













You're welcome.

Things that seem like a good idea at first: Paddle Boats

Do you remember how exciting it was as a kid to go out on a paddle boat? Chances are, you got to go out on it without adult supervision. What can happen on a paddle boat really? It’s not going to tip over. You’re not going to go so fast that you fall off. About the worse that could happen was having your foot slip off the pedal and having it slap you in the calf or shin. As a matter of fact, I’m not really sure where the excitement came from. I don’t know if I had short-term memory loss as a kid, but every time I had a chance, I thought it would be fun to ride a paddleboat. And every time, after a three- minute spin across the water, it would occur to me how much paddle boats sucked. Seriously. Those things are a lot of work! And your little brother or sister who ended up on that back seat after you threatened to throw them off in deep water if they didn’t let you “drive”… they’re just dead weight. So, there you are, pedaling away for the longest five minutes of your life only to realize you’ve moved three feet. But once you realize how bad this idea was, those three feet seem like three miles to get that thing turned around and back to shore so you can find some fun that doesn’t require so much dang work.

My point was made when I watched some kids a few weeks ago at a small lake. I was sitting on the far shore with some friends, out of earshot, watching these two young boys beg their dad to push them offshore in the paddleboat. He got them all secure in life vests and sent them on their way. “Watch this,” I said to my friend. “They’re about to realize what a mistake that was.” Those kids were on that thing two minutes tops before they were headed back to shore and asking to get in a canoe instead.

And people, just in case you’re thinking about taking a spin on one as an adult- because you have that nostalgic feeling- the older you are, the more torturous it is. Save the energy.

The Dunkin Donuts Diet

I know what you’re thinking? I can diet and eat and Dunkin Donuts? Thanks to brilliant innovation by the corporation that made its name on fried dough, icing, and lard injected fillings- YES YOU CAN! On a recent trip to Dunkin Donuts, I noticed a handful of new menu options labeled DD Healthy, Smart Choices if you will- mostly flatbread sandwiches of egg whites, or veggie omelets. Kudos to Dunkin Donuts for the effort, but it begs the question: If you’re trying to be healthy, should you really be walking into Dunkin Donuts? Even if you have a “Smart Choice,” when you’re standing at the counter surrounded by glorious scent of sweetness and you have that chocolate laden Boston crème donut staring you in the face, do you really think you’re going to order egg whites on flatbread? I think not! When I’m standing there at the counter, I’m not thinking about my hips. I’m thinking about how many donuts I can order without embarrassing myself. So, “no thank you” Dunkin Donuts on the flatbread- not unless you’re going to coat it in crème filling and drizzle it with chocolate. If I want healthy, I’ll go to Subway. I don’t come to Dunkin Donuts because I want flatbread. I come because I want fried, I want filled, and I want fat.

The Essence of Saturday Night

I'm sitting here watching two of my girlfriends follow the "Anyone Can Dance: Nightclub Freestyle" DVD. I'm not sure at what point tonight they lost all motor control, but I wish you could see this! We've determined that this in no way demonstrates appropriate nightclub dancing, but it is the best $10 I ever spent for such quality entertainment. As the video instructor was demonstrating steps 1-5, one of my friends shouted out, "She totally just stuck her ass out and she didn't tell us to do that!!" I guess that move is implied in nightclub dancing.

The three of us here are the last of a large group of women who had a wedding shower for me today. We started with margaritas, chips 'n salsa, gifts... then we went out for Mexican food. Now I'm left watching two of them try to learn hip rolls in my living room. This is the best freakin' wedding shower EVER!

You say toe-mae-toh, I say toh-mah-toe.

On the way home from meeting with the caterer, Jon and I decided to run by our new house and check on things, turn on some lights, etc. For convenience sake, we traveled through a "sketchy" neighborhood. Among other interesting sites, we saw a tightly-clothed woman in high hair and heels walking alone down the side of the street.

"Niiiiice- a prostitute. That's great," Jon said sarcastically.

"I can't believe we just saw a hooker."

"She could have been a crack-whore, not necessarily a hooker."

Yeah... that's better.

The Price of Fake Fame

Do you know that for $250 you can hire fake paparazzi to follow you around for thirty minutes? Makes you think twice about buying those clothes, or food, or other things you actually need, doesn’t it? I mean, we’re talking about having a complete stranger trace your every step, bombard you with questions that are none of their business, and blind you with camera flashes… all so you can feel important for half an hour… so you can feel like someone cares about your average life. I’d laugh if it weren’t so sad. Just when I thought our culture couldn’t get anymore self-obsessed…

A Haunting History

Jon and I did a lot of “fun” things on our recent trip to Memphis. We ate barbecue, we toured Graceland, we visited friends, saw the Peabody Ducks, and hung out on Beale Street. While I enjoyed all those things, our most memorable excursion was our trip to the National Civil Rights Museum. We spent three and a half hours at the former Lorraine Motel, where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated on April 4, 1968. Even with little knowledge about the Civil Rights Movement, it’s difficult to approach the entrance without a sense of reverence. A stone monument in honor of Dr. King sits below the balcony where a floral wreath marks the spot he fell victim to hate. That remembrance of hate serves as an introduction to a history of it.

The walls of the museum are covered in history… excerpts of letters from slaves, historical documents, photos- faces that permeate you to the core. As I stood and read the words of the oppressed, my heart was filled with various emotions. These strangers… these people with whom I have never had anything in common… these faces of the past… seemed very real and very alive. As a white woman, I stood there reading the words of a female slave… reading words that I could never express because my privilege will never allow me to experience. Tears welled up in my eyes and I had to take a moment to gain my composure. This was the first wall. We had been there all of four minutes and there were so many walls, so many faces, so many words, and so many years ahead of us still.

We walked along, each at our own pace, reading, thinking, feeling. We didn’t talk much- probably because our words seemed worthless in our present company of history. There were so many photographs marking hatred toward the black man, but none so memorable as the one that haunts me still. It was taken in Omaha, Nebraska, 1919. (Warning: This is a graphic photograph and is not for the faint of heart.) I stood in front of this photograph for a few minutes. It wasn’t the horrific image of the black man that haunted me most (although it was disturbing in its own right.). It was the faces of the white men in the photo that pierced my soul. There they stood, some with smiles and smirks, some with blank faces… none with remorse, or an awareness of the cruelty of their beings. There they stood- proud… like hunting buddies after catching their big game. There they stood- without respect, without acknowledgement for the value of life. There they stood, in their superior white skin.

I’m not sure this photograph will ever leave my memory. As disturbing as it is, I’m not sure I would want to forget it, because it reminds me of the nature of hate… the nature of pride… the nature of man.

Red means stop. Green means go. Yellow means speed up?

I learned something while I was in Minnesota- people up North actually slow down when they approach a yellow signal on traffic lights. I looked it up- the “amber” color does actually mean “prepare to stop.” Go figure. Growing up in the South, I always thought it meant, “GO, GO, GO… You can make it!!!” I had a friend in college who averaged about one traffic incident a month. One month, she slammed into the back of another car. When we asked her what happened she said, “Well, I was trying to make the yellow light and the car in front of me wasn’t.”

I have actually noticed drivers behind me get angry if I slow down when approaching a yellow light. I always tend to look in my rear view mirror, just to see their response. The face tightens, the brow furrows, the hands pop off the steering wheel in that “C’MON” kind of way. You know what I’m talking about. Those people. I have been one of those people. But, now I’m changing my ways.

In the past few days, I have watched several cars speed on through yellow lights, which often turn red before they even enter the intersection. Just yesterday, my turn signal lit up and as I started to accelerate, a car came speeding past my front end. Two seconds. Two seconds and I would have been far enough out for that car to slam into my driver’s side door, likely causing injury. I can just hear the driver’s story now.

“What happened?”

“Well, I was trying to make the yellow light and she thought that green arrow meant it was safe for her to turn. She must be from up North.”

Random Saturday Celebrations

A couple from Jon’s church hosted a Christmas party yesterday afternoon. Nothing quite conveys festive cheer like a house full of geriatric Lutherans, in their slacks, Christmas sweaters, and walking canes, boozing it up at the wine table.

I was only one of two non-Lutheran attendees, so I didn’t have much to contribute to the conversations about all things Lutheran. I’m not sure I could have held an attention span long enough to engage in any lengthy conversations though. I was too busy counting the number of times this gray-haired woman in a bright blue sweater with sparkly Christmas balls came back to get more wine. “Nothing wrong with a little holiday cheer,” I overheard her say as she topped off her fourth glass before going outside to smoke. When she wasn’t around, I was watching the only other person in the room under 60, a male college student sitting between two women who were discussing their ailments. I have to give him credit for enduring without alcohol.

I wish I could have stayed to witness more, but I had to get home for my own festivities- sloppy joes, poker, and a white elephant gift exchange. Nothing says “Christmas” like loose meat sandwiches, gambling, and stealing gifts from each other!

Proposition?

Maybe it's just me, but this sounds a lot like prostitution.

There are some things I just don't need to know.

So, there’s a pregnant woman working at an undisclosed Exxon station who apparently wants to have her tubes tied. How do I know this, you wonder. Glad you asked.
Because as I was getting my morning caffeine on my way to work, I stood between two store employees who were having a very un-private conversation across the store… literally across the store. The pregnant woman was discussing her OBGYN appointments and how someone she knows is trying to dissuade her from having her tubes tied.

I glanced around the store. Am I the only one who thinks this is weird?

“Well, she can’t force me to have another damn baby,” she stated.

Seriously, are you having this conversation… here? Now?

The girl working the register was relatively quiet and I made the assumption that she was just as appalled at the unprofessional behavior on display. That was, until she started spouting off expletives as she joined their conversation after she finished my transaction.

I guess the upside is that they weren’t talking about menstrual cycles or their sex lives. But then again, there aren’t really levels of inappropriateness. It either is or isn’t.
And, if talking about your female doctor visits and medical procedures on your reproductive organs isn’t inappropriate for that situation, I don’t know what is.

A Family Affair

We don’t have family heirlooms in my family, but I’ve always liked the idea. A sentimental or valuable trinket from the past, serving as a continual reminder of those who have gone before us. Perhaps great aunt Effie’s cameo necklace, great grandfather’s pocket watch or pipe, mawmaw’s snuff can (sometimes it’s the little things), a mummified baby you keep on the bureau. Oh, how I wish I were kidding!

And I thought burial or cremation were my only options!

Odd Encounters - #1

As I was leaving the produce section of Kroger today (this is where you take note of my healthy shopping habits), I stopped my cart abruptly before a head on crash with a seedy looking man, who's picture I would imagine being posted on the Sex Offenders Registry.

“Ladies first,” he said politely.

“Thank you,” I smiled and proceeded.

“Want to hear a story?” he asked from behind me.

“Um, sure?” I sensed this was a rhetorical question and the story was coming just the same. I stopped and turned around.

“There is this young girl who works in my office with me. One day we had a similar thing happen and I let her go first. She didn’t say ‘thank you’ like you did. You know what she said?”

The suspense was killing me. I nodded.

“She said, ‘you’re awesome sweety'.”

I stood there with a blank look on my face, obviously confused.

“Did you want me to say ‘you’re awesome sweety’ instead of ‘thank you’,” I asked.

“No, no. I just thought you’d like to hear a story.”

Huh. I think I’m still confused.