Friday, June 28, 2013

The Universe is Telling Me Not to Reproduce

It's a pretty well-known fact that I am not a kid person -- in the sense that I have no desire to have children and little babies make me nervous if their parents are more than 3 feet away -- not the sense that I don't like kids. I actually like kids. In small doses. And with the knowledge I get to send them home with their parents.

It's ironic then that I just got puked on by an adorable 7-month-old who I was actually offering to hold. To my credit, I didn't puke in return. But I'm pretty sure my ovaries shriveled up a little bit.

My co-worker Mary told me that's the universe's way of saying, "You're right, Shelley. You shouldn't have kids."

Thanks, universe, but you could have just sent me a text.

It felt wrong (and disgusting) to post a puke pic, so you get a monkey.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

You Didn't Put That on Your Business Cards, Did You?

If I ever start my own business, I'm going to think long and hard about an appropriate name. It has to be applicable to whatever field I'm in. And it HAS to be clever. Knowing me, it will probably contain some kind of intentional euphemism that will make people grin and bring me their business just for my sheer cheekiness. It WILL NOT have an unintentional euphemism that will make people grin and then want to do business with anyone BUT me.

I could never hire a DB and keep a straight face.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

I Set My Bed on Fire and It Was Not a Drill (or a Euphemism)

Anyone have one of those bean bag things that you can stick in the microwave to warm up and use as a heating pad for sore muscles? I used to have one. It was wonderful. I would nuke it up then put it between the sheets at the foot of the bed to warm my feet on cold nights. Did I mention it was wonderful?

And then. Then it wasn't wonderful. Then it was awful because one night back in January I nuked the bean bag just a little too long. I didn’t realize it at the time, but one of the beans inside turned into a tiny ember. And then I put that tiny ember (and the cloth bag it was in) under the covers and crawled into bed.

Usually when I would do my foot warmer trick, the bean bag wouldn’t be warm anymore after 30 minutes or so, but I would typically be asleep by then. That night, I woke up coughing two hours after I had crawled in bed and my feet were still warm. “Strange” I thought, and rolled over to go back to sleep. But I couldn’t stop coughing. I coughed and coughed...enough to wake myself up to “almost-functional” status and to I realize that my feet were more than just warm. They were hot. Like, really hot. And where was that smoke coming from?

And then I finally REALLY woke up. I jumped out of bed and yanked the covers off, and sure enough, my bed was on fire. The ember in the heating pad hadn’t turned into raging flames, but it HAD turned into a nice smoldering fire that burned its way down through the topper of my mattress and into an almost perfect circle about 6 inches wide and 3 inches deep.

Now, throwing the covers off the bed made the smoke go from “pretty much contained under the blankets” to “wow, get me a disco ball and some glow sticks and I could totally throw a rave in here - no smoke machine necessary.” Despite the smoky haze, the smoke detectors in my apartment didn’t go off even once. I was actually grateful for that because at that point it was 3 am. I wasn’t too concerned about waking up the neighbors (because they wake me up all the time), but I was worried that someone would call 9-1-1 and the firemen who showed up would be hot (in the yummy sense of the word, not in the actual fire extinguisher sense) and they would see what a complete idiot I was. Clearly my priorities need work.

Anyway, if you’ve stopped laughing, you might be wondering how I put out the fire. Well, as always, I had stopped at Sonic that night. Just before bed I had filled up the Route 44 cup with ice water and put it on the night stand. I didn’t even hesitate to grab it when I realized I had a fire to deal with. I just yanked the lid off and poured. Whoever says Sonic isn’t a life saver can just shut the hell up.

Ultimately, everything turned out fine. I had to throw away some bedding and seriously air out the apartment (you can buy Febreze in bulk at Sam’s), but I didn’t get rid of the mattress. I just let it dry out (44 ounces is ALOT of water) and then flipped it over. I had completely forgotten about the 6-inch-wide and 3-inch-deep hole until I flipped the mattress back over yesterday when I was changing the sheets. (No, I didn't go five months without changing the sheets.)

At this point, my mom is reading this and worrying about the smoke detectors not going off. Don’t worry, Mom, I remembered to have the apartment maintenance guy come fix them. I told him I had seriously burned some toast and the alarms didn’t go off. (Liar, liar, mattress on fire. I know.)

Why am I telling this story now, six months later? First, like I said before, I remembered it when I flipped the mattress yesterday. Second, because enough time has passed that I’m more amused by it than mortified. And third, I just remembered I have this sign hanging in my apartment:

Irony is a bitch sometimes.

Friday, June 21, 2013

Full House. I Win!

Every now and then, I’ll see or do something that instantly takes me back to a moment or memory of my childhood. It’s like a good kind of PTSD, because most of my childhood memories are pretty awesome. (Which either means my childhood itself was awesome, or I have repressed a lot of shit.)

I experienced this holy-cow-I'm-four-years-old-again phenomenon (or is it phenomena? I'm too lazy to look it up) when I got home from work this afternoon. I opened the fridge and saw three Diet Cokes and two bottles of wine. I automatically thought “Full House. I win!” And that made me think of my Aunt Joy.

Now, my Aunt Joy was actually my Great Aunt Joy because she was my mom’s Aunt Joy because she was my mom’s dad’s younger sister. You got that? Anyway, when it came down to it, she was just Aunt Joy. Looking back now, I realize that she was probably only in her 50’s during the times I was around her as a little girl, but I remember her as being really OLD. (Sorry about that, Aunt Joy. I was toddler/little kid, what did I know?) I also remember her as being really ladylike. And nice. And she was always dressed well and had her hair done. And she ALWAYS used her indoor voice. (Hard to believe we’re related, huh?) Now that I think about it, my memories of her are actually pretty similar to what I remember of Mrs. Cleaver from Leave It to Beaver. That's a pretty good compliment for Mrs. Cleaver.

Anyway, Mom and I would go over to visit Aunt Joy or pick her up to go have lunch at Furr’s Cafeteria, which cute little toddler Shelley would call Furr’s “Catateria”, which would make Aunt Joy proclaim me to be the smartest little girl ever. (Clearly, she knew her stuff.) Whenever we were around Aunt Joy, she pretty much spoiled me with attention. Her kids had been all boys, and she didn’t have any granddaughters yet at that point, so I think she was happy to have the chance to spoil a little girl. But spoiling me is not really what I remember her for. See, until we left Odessa when I was 5, Mom and Dad would occasionally drop me off so Aunt Joy could babysit and I have two memories from these times which are what come to mind when I think of Aunt Joy.

The first memory has to do with the things in Aunt Joy’s kitchen. She kept Christmas towels out all year long. Not because she was a Christmas fanatic or an eccentric old lady or anything. She kept them out all year because she could buy kitchen towels that had “Joy” stitched on them at Christmastime, and that was her name. It didn't matter to her that they were covered in Christmas trees and holly. Being Christmas towels, they were red, of course. In fact, it wasn't just the towels that were red. She had that whole kitchen decorated with red stuff, including the breakfast table that looked alot like something you’d find in 50's-style diner. The tabletop was red and the seats of the chairs were red. I thought that was pretty strange because I had never seen a house with red stuff in the kitchen. Looking back now, it’s kinda funny I reacted like that because my own mom had painted the cabinets in our kitchen popsicle orange, and yet it was the red stuff that I thought was weird.

Besides her kitchen, the other thing that really stands out in my memories of my Aunt Joy is that she, my sweet and dainty west Texas Mrs.Cleaver, is the person who taught me how to play poker. Remember how she thought I was the smartest little girl ever? Well, as soon as I was old enough to know my numbers, she decided I was smart enough to play cards, so she cracked open a deck and started dealing me in. She taught me what was a good poker hand, what was a bad poker hand and how to figure out which cards to keep and which cards to throw away. She taught me the winning combinations, too, like 4 of a kind, straight, flush, and of course, full house. I was pretty good at knowing what to keep or throw away, and what made a good hand, but the one thing I had a hard time remembering was which combination beat which (still have trouble with that to this day), so anytime I got a full house, I least as far as I was concerned. My parents found out I had learned poker because once when we went on a family fishing trip, I caught a bunch of little fish, 3 perch and 2 crappie to be specific, and I announced that I had a full house of fish. Needless to say, they were a little taken off guard. Me? I’m just surprised that I didn’t end my full house of fish announcement with “I WIN!”

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

I'm the Anti-Catholic and Lebron James Isn't a Bobble Head

Yesterday was day number 26 on the LOW SUGAR VEGETARIAN DIET. Do you know what that means? That means I managed to go 25 days before I gave in. Because yesterday, I gave in. I really gave in. Like all the way in. Like, “screw Richie Cunningham, MD and his LOW SUGAR VEGETARIAN DIET” in.

I was bragging on myself at work. I told everyone how I had only had meat 4 or 5 times in the last 4 weeks AND had managed to stay away from sweets and sugary wonderfulness. I proclaimed that I was only going to allow myself to eat meat on Fridays (so that if it made me feel bad the next day it wouldn’t affect me at work). This inspired a friend to proclaim me the Anti-Catholic (as in, how Catholics don’t eat meat on Fridays during Lent…NOT as in, I don’t like Catholics. I TOTALLY like Catholics. And the Anti-Catholic thing will be great for me during Lent because I can go to barbecue restaurants on Friday evenings and won’t have to stand in line because no one else will be there). 

But I digress. (I usually do.) 

I got in the car after work yesterday and I wanted meat. To be specific, I wanted Long John Silver’s fish, which hardly qualifies as meat, but definitely qualifies as something I should NOT be eating. So I went through their drive-thru on the way home, got some fish and crunchy thingys, and took them home to devour. And they were good. 

But I wasn’t satisfied. I was watching the Spurs and the Heat play game 6 in the NBA playoffs. So naturally, I wanted sports bar food. Beer. Or mozzarella sticks. Or chips and queso. (My spell check doesn't recognize "queso." Clearly this program was not created by a Texan.) Any of those things would have made me happy. I settled for a half-time trip to Sonic for a milkshake because milkshakes are half price after 8pm. At that price I couldn’t afford to NOT get a milk shake during half time. And it was good.  

And the Spurs weren’t good. They handed the game to the Heat in the last minute, in case you were wondering. Lebron James even took off his headband. Turns out, without the headband, his head is normal-sized after all. (I always kinda thought he looked like a bobble head doll.)

But I digress. Again.

Today, I woke up hung over, despite having no alcoholic beverages last night. (I didn't even have a glass of wine.) I have a food hangover. I feel DISGUSTING today. And then, to add insult to gastric distress, I came across this article on Time’s website. It’s about how eating red meat increases the likelihood of having Type 2 Diabetes. Touche’, Richie Cunningham, MD. Touche’.

So, what did I learn from all of this?

  • Popovich should NEVER take Duncan off the court in the last minutes of the game.
  • Meat and sugar make me feel yucky. 
  • The LOW SUGAR VEGETARIAN DIET has to start back up again today. 
  • My doctor is a red-headed know-it-all.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

I Love Irony

I don't think ice cream trikes would be much better than ice cream trucks. I love irony.

Things That Make Me Irrationally Pissed Off

Yesterday on my way home from work, I got behind a pimped-out car with the name of a body shop/tattoo artist/cartoon character/who-the-hell-knows-what on the back window. They had spelled it so that it ended in a “z” instead of an “s”. For some reason, that z-in-place-of-s thing pisses me off. More than it should. It makes me want to write my congressman and get a law passed that makes people who improperly end things in z where they should use s take a mandatory spelling and grammar class. (And yes, I recognize the fact that I regularly use improper grammar and spelling. Irony, thy name is Shelley.)

Then my brain went to the place where it started thinking “that z thing pisses me off almost as much as this other thing.” And it came up with quite a few other things. Things that really are ridiculous to get bent out of shape over, but always seem to get my blood pressure up. Those things include, but are in no way limited to, the following:

1. That there is a speed bump and stop sign together in the Wayland Plaza. Do you want me to slow down or stop? If I stop first, then I don’t have enough momentum to get over the speed bump. But if I keep up enough momentum to get over the speed bump, then it’s hard to stop before the stop sign.

2. Clothes that are size 0. If we get literal, a size 0 means you don’t exist.

3. Taylor Swift. No explanation necessary.

4. People who use “axe” instead of “ask”. Oh. My. God.

5. The memory of not being able to find personalized pencils and keychains when I was little and stuff like that really mattered. They only had “Shelly”, not “Shelley”.

6. The fact that Kim Kardashian is a celebrity.

7. Grown men who wear skinny jeans.

8. Grown women who speak in little girl voices (Unless that’s their actual voice. They can’t help that. But, it’s still annoying).

9. Fast food restaurants that don’t serve tea.

10. Daycares and preschools with names like “Kiddie Kampus” or “Kid’s Kollege” or “Kids Kare.” Why should someone send their kids to learn from people who would rather be cute than intelligent? Let’s just call this “Reason I Don’t Have Children #1104.”

Now that you’ve read my list, I figure you’re having one of two reactions. Either, “Wow. So it’s not just me then? But Shelley forgot...” or “Wow. Shelley really needs to take some anger management classes.” Both are appropriate responses.

So tell me in the comments section below, what did I miss? What ridiculous thing pisses YOU off?

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Ice Cream Trucks, Chocolate and Taylor Swift

Ice cream trucks should be against the law. First of all, they're always driven by some weird/pervy old dude with a mildly pornographic name like Big Willy or Dandy Dick (can anyone say "creeper in a kidnap van?"). Second, all that sugar isn't helping the nation's obesity problem (and if I can't have sugar, no one else should get to have it either). Finally, there's that ice cream truck music. It turns out the only thing more irritating than a Taylor Swift song is the 400th repeat of "Turkey in the Straw" as the van slowly works its way through my apartment complex.

What would be awesome though, would be a wine and chocolate truck. The driver would be a handsome man called Diego or Ruark, or some other name straight out of a cheesy romance novel. He would sell wine and chocolate that had no calories. He would harmlessly flirt with me his female customers and never call me them "m'am." He would play awesome 80's tunes from Rick Springfield and Duran Duran, with absolutely no irony whatsoever.

Sigh. Clearly the wine and chocolate truck is just a (really awesome and vivid) fantasy. It appears the LOW SUGAR VEGETARIAN DIET has finally made me crack. The thought of a truck full of yummy, sugary ice cream driving right by my door is almost more than I can take. And that "Turkey in the Straw"? That just makes me think of turkey, which makes me think of Thanksgiving, which makes me think of ham and stuffing and pecan pies and...

Dear God, I'm starting to wish Big Willy would just play Taylor Swift.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Quote of the Day

I work at a college. Being around 18-24 year olds all means I get to hear some crazy things. At the end of the day, I usually proclaim a "Quote of the Day."

There was "I was going to go online and pay my tuition after the party, but when I woke up, I wasn't in my own apartment."

And then we had, Girl A: "My mom is a big Mick Jagger fan. We even have him hanging up in our living room."   Girl B: "You mean, like a stuffed body?"

One of the best Quote of the Day winners came from listening to two young women planning a bachelorette party using Craigslist. Yes, Craiglist. "You can't really see this stripper's face in the pictures. But from what I can see, I think he's a ginger."

Today's quote of the day is, not about unpaid tuition, life-sized Mick Jagger dolls or sketchy red headed guys (you're welcome), and it's not even from campus. It comes from the comments on The Bloggess's ( post today. Comment number 40 from a commenter named Rachel made me laugh out loud. And gave away the fact I should be working harder. And is darn good advice.

"Rachel June 12, 2013 at 10:43 am

You should always use your assets. Also your breastsets.

Anyway, Lean In seems to be about how to get ahead if you are already way ahead of most people and have fistfulls of cash with which to pay people to do the things that might prevent you from getting the farthest ahead in business.
Rachel recently posted..Trigger Warning: Sum of my ExperienceMy Profile"

So here's to feminism. To using our assests, our breastsets and occasionally our actual skillsets.

Monday, June 10, 2013

Why I Don't Have Children Reason #1103

Why I Don't Have Children Reason #1103: They are tiny psychopaths. 

In line to check out at Sam's Club today, the lady in front of me had a cart full of food and four-year-old. She unloaded sugary cereal, fruit, candy, yogurt, frozen pizza, frozen corndogs and pre-formed hamburger patties. Suddenly the kid went from happy-go-lucky-cutest-darned-kid-ever to evil-only-found-in-Stephen-King-novels. He was screaming and kicking and crying. He probably would have been cussing if he had known any bad words. (If he had shut up for a second, he could have learned some from me.)

Anyway, his mom was justifiably concerned about the sudden change and asked what was wrong. You know what he said/screamed?

"I don't want hamburgers!"

That's right, he pitched a wall-eyed hissy fit over hamburger patties.

You parents reading this are probably thinking, "Well, he's just at that age."

I was thinking, "Thank goodness he didn't see the broccoli."

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Lesson Learned, Now Pass The Wine

You know that saying about learning something new everyday? Well, I truly do learn something new everyday...usually in the most inconvenient, painful, expensive or embarrassing way possible.

Today's lesson, you wonder? Today's lesson is: When you start a book club, don't choose a book you've already read for the first meeting, because when you try to read it again, you don't really have proper motivation to stick with it. This lesson learned falls under the "embarrassing" category.  See, "Shanna" is great. But I already know how it ends, so I'm having a hard time turning off the hunks on SYFY network to get back to it. Not finishing the book I picked is embarrassing. At least to me...It ranks up there with toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe or broccoli in my teeth.

That doesn't mean I'm not excited about the first meeting of The Red Light Literary Society. I can barely wait to sit and discuss the book with friends. And now I'm really looking forward to see just what the next person chooses so I can read something new and exciting. And it's been a really long week, so I'm looking forward to the wine. True story.

Who knows what I will learn tomorrow. I'm sure it will be something awful like some previous lessons learned, such as if you decide to bleach spots out of your carpet, don't let yourself get interrupted after applying the bleach and then get busy and forget to come back to the bleached areas.  Or that arguing with an idiot just makes you look like a bigger idiot. Or that cellphones and ketchup don't mix.

This is the bleach lesson. To me it looks like a bouquet of flowers.

See, it TOTALLY looks like a bouquet of flowers.

I always have my fingers crossed for the chance to learn a cool life lesson, like how to lick my own elbow (try it, it's impossible). Or that giving really feels better than receiving (a lesson I have to re-learn occasionally). Or what it feels like to win the lottery. Yeah, definitely that one.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Just Call Me Einstein

There’s a quote about relativity attributed to Albert Einstein (who knows if he really said it or not) that goes, “When you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour. That's relativity.”

I guess relativity is on my mind today. First thing this morning, the local weather guy warned us that it’s going to be 103 degrees in Lubbock today. My reaction was, “Hot, but doable here in Lubbock. That 103 in, say, Houston with their humidity would kill me.” That’s relativity.

And then there’s my progress on my LOW SUGAR VEGETARIAN DIET and the corresponding change in my weight. In the last week, I’ve had meat exactly once. That doesn't make me a pure, 100% vegetarian, but before that, I would have had meat with every meal. That’s relativity.

And of course there is the fact that when I last went to the doc and got the orders for a LOW SUGAR VEGETARIAN DIET, on his office scale I weighed X. (Like I’m going to publish what I weigh on the internet.) This morning, I dusted off my home scale that I haven’t used since the batteries died months ago. According to my scale, I now weigh X-16. Yeah, somehow I doubt that I have really lost 16 pounds in 12 days. But I’m pretty sure I’ve lost something. (I’m seriously considering stopping by his office after work, just to weigh and figure out the variance between scales.) Regardless of which scale I use though, I feel better than I did 12 days ago. That’s relativity. 

Anyway…time, weather, weight. It’s all relative. Just call me Einstein.