Reeking Realities

Relationships with others are some of the most rewarding experiences we have as humans. Unfortunately, they're also some of the most confusing and painful.

Years ago, I crossed paths with a woman whom we will call Laura. My heart really went out to this lady. She was the mother of a boy about Tobias's age, 7-ish. "Zack", was intelligent and willful and she had the difficult task of raising him alone.

I genuinely wanted to be a help and blessing to this woman so when she suggested we get the boys together I was ready to do so.

It didn't go so well.

I'm not one of those moms who is blind to her own children's faults, always blaming the other kid, but it didn't take long for me to deduce that Zack's presence was hard to enjoy.

Many times I overheard Tobias tell him, "Stop that!", "Don't do that!" "You're gonna hurt it!", etc. (These weren't statements I commonly heard coming out of his room when he was playing with other companions.) Zack's response? Laughter and a continuance of the undesired behavior.

I understand this kid had a difficult row to hoe. His father had expressed no interest in being involved in his life and his mom was trying to figure out how to provide for all of his physical necessities in addition to the emotional and intellectual ones.

If it had just been me having to deal with his less-than-winning personality, I would have stuck it out longer. Being an adult, I can remind myself that hopefully the good from the relationship is outweighing the bad.

But how much should I expect my kids to endure? 

The third or so play date was the final straw. Just before Zack arrived, Tobias informed me that he really didn't like playing with him. Of course I want my kids to learn how to deal with difficult people, but forcing them to play for a few hours with someone who disregards their feelings constantly is above and beyond the call of duty and since my kid was expressly telling me that he'd had enough, I couldn't ignore it.

"Okay," I told him. "Just get through today since he's already on his way and then you won't ever have to play with him again and I'll keep an eye on him to try to keep him in line."

Soon after, Zack arrived.

Tobias told him to stop doing things. Zack laughed. I intervened.

*loop*

*loop again*

Toward the end of Zack's time with us (envision me staring at the oh-so-slow clock), the kids went outside for a while.When they returned, Tobias came in first at a normal speed. A few seconds later, Zack rushed in, laughing. (That should have been my first clue that something bad was afoot.)

Within seconds, I heard a loud noise and Delaney (who was 4 at the time) began bawling.

I rushed into the front entryway to see her grabbing her arm. "What's the matter?"

"He shut the door on me!" she wailed, pointing at a simpering Zack.

Embracing my weeping daughter, I informed Zack that he was not to shut a door if he knew someone was coming in directly behind him. I would have been more upset had I known then what time would tell: later, two long thin bruises, one on either side of Delaney's upper arm, emerged, revealing exactly where the door and its jamb had brutally sandwiched her. He hadn't just shut the door on her. He had slammed it and this wasn't a flimsy inside door; it was a heavy duty front door.

I felt horrible. Her delicate little four-year-old humerus could have snapped between the big solid wooden door and its unrelenting jamb.

Did I hope to be an encouragement to Laura and to provide a fun, safe place for her son, Zack? Absolutely. I genuinely cared about them and wanted to be "Jesus's hands", so to speak, in their lives.

But at what point does reality make that impossible?

I didn't want to plunge my own son into miserable positions in which he grew to hate the very mention of the name "Zack" and I certainly wasn't willing to sacrifice my daughter's physical safety.

A week or so later, Laura stopped by and asked when we could get the boys together.

Now I'm all for fobbing people off when it's the best option, but sometimes being honest and direct is better.

(What? You don't know what fobbing someone off is? Yes, you do.

It's when you answer someone's party invitation with, "Oh, sorry. We're not going to be able to make it." instead of with, "Do we want to come to your party so we can witness you drink way too much and make a complete idiot of yourself in front of everyone present like you did at your last party? I think we'll pass."

See, you've fobbed people off many times.)

Well, I knew that since Zack and Tobias wouldn't be hanging together anymore this was probably a time for straightforwardness even though my knees started knocking as I faced this woman.

As politely and warmly as I could (though I'm sure both were completely lost on her 'cause who wants to hear what I was telling her? It's the stuff of which nightmares are made.), I told her that Zack seemed to have a difficult time knowing when to stop and that he had bruised Delaney through being too rough so the kids weren't going to play together anymore.

That was honestly one of the most difficult statements I've ever made to anyone because I knew it was going to break her heart. But what could I do? Continue to throw my kids under the bus of Zack's disrespectful and somewhat dangerous behavior? No way.

I never mentioned to anyone who knew them what had happened (aside from my husband) although I was tempted to cover my own butt in case she, in her pain and sadness, was telling people tales about me and my kids.I knew that informing others would just throw fuel on a fire that I wished had never started in the first place.

I didn't befriend this woman in order to school her in harsh realities. That's just what reality eventually required of me, much to my dismay.

Not long after that, Laura and Zack moved away. I recently heard from someone the good news that in the last nine years, Zack has grown into a polite young man. Laura probably still feels hurt at the thought of me and my family. That truly saddens me, but I still have a heavy-hearted conviction that I handled the trying situation properly.

While relating to others, we need to accept the fact that sometimes, by doing the right thing, we are going to inadvertently anger or hurt them deeply even though that's the last thing we want. We need to remember that we are going to be misunderstood, misrepresented to third parties and that we can't make everyone happy all the time.

In the words of my dear friend, Shari, "I don't have control over what others think or say about me. I can only control what I do and say."

These facts really stink, but it's better to accept them and move forward knowing that God knows the truth behind what happened and what your intentions were than to flail around trying to create something that can't exist.

Knowing that I am innocent before God (which often requires me to do some serious soul-searching and repenting) is the greatest peace I've found...

...and I'm very pleased to affirm that it's available to everyone. (Romans 5:1)

Yes, I AM a Snob...

...at least I am when it comes to spelling, grammar and punctuation.

I admit that fact with much fear and a bit of trembling because now, of course, any time that any one of you sees an error on my blog you will snicker at my self-righteous failure. But go ahead, snicker away. What's the fun of noticing snobbery if you don't mock it?

However, I feel I must speak up about something since this season is rife with a specific spelling/punctuation error. Perhaps I should have said something before the Christmas cards were sent, but hopefully anyone learning from this post will remember for next year.

The issue at hand is the tricky little act of referring to one's family in the plural form.

Par example:

With much love--the Smiths

or

With much love--the Smith Family

The above signature samples are correct.

If you thumb through that stack of Christmas cards on your kitchen counter, I can pretty much guarantee you'll see multiple examples, like the following, which are incorrect:

With much love--the Smith's (The presence and location of the apostrophe indicate that there is only one Smith and that some object possessed by said-Smith to which you were about to refer has been forgotten.)

and

With much love--the Smiths' (Here at least more than one Smith exists, but there is still a forgotten possession.)

If you're one of those lucky few whose surname ends with an 'S', you have even more things to keep in mind as you sign off. For example, Mrs. Jones would write:

With much love--the Joneses (Yeah, I know it looks a bit odd, but it's correct.)

or

With much love--the Jones Family

Don't let one of those rascally apostrophes sneak in there:  the Jones' 

or even worse:  the Jones'es

Names that end in -ch, x, or z also require an -es for the plural, thus:

the Crouches, the Nixes and the Martinezes are all correct.

I could go on with a few more tips regarding plural possession (such as: "We're going to the Joneses' house." <-----correct because the Joneses possess their house), but I'm sure this is already turning out to be the most boring post I've ever posted. (At least, I hope it is!)

In fact, if you're still reading this, you're probably as much of a grammar/punctuation/spelling freak as I am and therefore didn't learn anything new.

Everyone else is already logging back on to Pinterest.

Happy New Year!!!

All Things Bright and Beautiful

Have you ever had such a positive customer service experience that you wanted to sing a company's praise from the cyber-rooftops? 

 *Ahem*   *mi-mi-mi-mi *

Let me begin this merry tale by saying: I heart gemstone jewelry.

Not the super expensive kind. Personally, I don't want any thing that can fit in my hand but costs more than my monthly house payment. What if I lost it? Yikes!

I don't remember how exactly I stumbled across semiprecious.com  a year or so ago, but I'm glad I did. Their abundant display of handmade pendants, bracelets, rings, etc. makes me drool every time I click on for a visit. Now, whenever Christmas or my birthday or whatever upcoming-Aimee-gets-a-gift-from-Jeff day is rolling around, I go to semi-precious and put a few things on my wishlist.

This week, a bracelet that I ordered arrived in the mail.

Gorgeous, no? Actually it was even prettier "in person" because I could see how skillful the silver work was and how clear the lovely carnelian stones were.

There was only one problem. The gems were considerably more orange than I had expected. Orange is about the worst color for my complexion. I can honestly say that I have never owned a single orange article of clothing in my entire life. So holding the bracelet in my hand, even though I saw how beautiful it was, I knew that since I had nothing to match it with, I'd never wear it.

I felt lame calling the company and telling them this, but I did.

This is where the amazing thing occurred. Laura-of-the-Office took my call and assured me that they wanted me completely satisfied with my purchase, so she'd give me a refund or allow me to exchange it for something else.


I knew what I hoped to exchange it for, having already seen this little beauty:



However, I had bought the first one on sale for a bit less than what the amethyst bracelet cost. I told Laura that I'd be happy to pay the difference, but she brushed that aside.

"'Tis the season," she said.

Well, alrighty then!

This happy little once upon a time isn't the first positive experience I've had with semiprecious.com, just the most surprising.

They have a lot of sales. I'm on their email list so they let me know when prices are coming down. In fact, I don't think I've ever paid full price for anything there.




One example is my purchase of this bit of chalcedonic loveliness:

The original price was $34, but somehow I got it for $13! I swear I did nothing illegal or improper to accomplish this feat of commerce, yet I feel a bit guilty about it, nonetheless.



(Hey, Anup Pandey, if you Googled yourself or your business's name and therefore have stumbled upon this inconsequential little blog o' mine, please enjoy this happy customer shout out. I love your hand crafted jewelry and I genuinely hope your business prospers. This bit of free advertising for you (I think I can guarantee that 4 whole people will read this post--Christy will read it for sure) is not a shameless ploy to get free goods.

However, Anup, if you would like to give me a discount on item # 1039 then I certainly wouldn't mind. It would add a touch of class to my slightly hairy, very unmodel-like wrist.)

Our Sweet Little Debutante

Ever since Bruiser's departure, Duncan has spent a lot of time parked at the back door, staring through the glass at us.

All day long.

Even after I've just taken him for a 3 mile run and fed him breakfast, he'll still just sit there with those dreadfully pleading eyes, his ears perking and head tilting at our every movement.

The poor, manipulative darling is lonely.

It's funny to me that he didn't do this when Bruiser was alive. You'd think his loneliness would have been a factor for years because, frankly,  they never really liked each other that much. I mean, they didn't actually fight. They just sort of...coexisted.

Duncan tried often to engage the old "cur"mudgeon in play, but Bruiser would rather just be left alone, thank you very much. And he clearly resented the little bossy upstart of a puppy's obvious bid at Alphaism, even though he never really exerted any claims of his own.

Anyway, now that his crabby elder is gone, Duncan needs a friend.

(Surely when I hinted a few posts ago that we were considering getting another dog from the shelter, you must have known that the end was nigh for our one-doggedness.)

I figured that during our weekly volunteer time at the shelter, Delaney and I would keep an eye on the dogs that seemed like a possible good fit for our family and (perhaps more importantly) a good fit for this guy:

I knew the qualities I was looking for:

a) It would have to let Duncan be the Alpha (or our backyard would not be a pleasant place) but we wouldn't want it to be too timid either.

b) It couldn't be too small or fragile since it would be an outdoor/garage kind of a pet.

c) We didn't want it to be overly furry because we all have better things to do than sweep up dog hair.

d) It couldn't bark at every gust of wind or bird.

e) It needed to be athletic enough to keep up with Duncan on walks.

f) It needed to be trainable.

And of course it would be nice if:

g) It was soft and sweet.

Keeping all these things in mind, I took note of the available dogs and waited to see if anyone else would swoop in and adopt them. If they did, then great because my main desire is that the homeless doggies get a family.

If they didn't get adopted, then we'd look at them a little closer...

Well, since October, there has been a sweet little girl that fits all of my discerning criteria and as of two weeks ago no one had shown interest in adopting her. It's kind of hard for me to believe considering some of the other dogs that have been flying off the shelves.

She is so precious. She has natural "Cleopatra eyeliner" and very soft fur. She's compliant yet playful. Surprisingly, she has a very low, resonant bark, making Duncan sound like Mike Tyson.

Two Wednesdays ago, we took Duncan down to the shelter to meet her, wondering if they'd get along or not. At first it was as awkward as any blind date is likely to be. She was a bit shy and he was somewhat tense, but within five minutes they seemed at ease in each others' presence. They ran around the play yard and seemed happy enough. Duncan was definitely the dominant one and she seemed fine with that.

One weird thing was that Duncan began drooling profusely and, by the way, it was not normal drool. This stuff was foamy and thick. None of us had ever noticed him doing that before in the two and a half years we've had him, but get him in the presence of a pretty girl and strange things start happening.

Once she passed the vital test of getting along with Duncan, I felt pretty good about bringing her home. The next day, Delaney took some treats and a dog clicker to see how trainable she was. One diced hot dog and several clicks later, she was sitting on command and started lifting her paw when told, "shake". Better and better.

With Jeff's blessing, I signed the papers last week. The shelter held on to her for a few more days in order to spay her.

Yesterday, we brought her home :)

She and Duncan hadn't seen each other since that one time at the shelter. It was so sweet to see her pad right up to him and lick his nose. And yes, he started drooling again.

Last night as I was looking over her papers at the kitchen table, I noticed that her breed had been guessed at as a Labrador/Golden Retriever/Great Dane mix.

Great Dane! I laughed outloud and told Tobias who was nearby.

"Yeah," he said, "but it only shows up in her bark."

*Heh heh heh*

So now, that brings us to the amusing quandary of choosing a name.

While naming a pet, you don't have to be careful and considerate like you do while naming a kid. Feel free to saddle that animal with whatever oddity strikes your fancy because whether you choose "Gladys", "Pepper" or "Emperor Zurg", there won't be any therapy bills. (Unless you're one of those people who visits pet psychics and doses their pooch with Xanex, which I am most definitely NOT.)


My first idea was "Poppy" because a) it's cute b) poppies are one of my favorite flowers and c) she's almost the color of the California state flower.

Jeff would have none of it.

He also nixed my next few ideas: Hattie, Dora or Molly. He said they were all too girly. I reminded him that the dog is female, after all.

He had a suggestion of his own. Since before we were married, he has wanted to get a dog and name it...

"Dog".

Yes, you read that right. (I was glad that when Tobias was born, Jeff didn't suggest that we christen him "Boy".)

I pointed out to him, that in addition to being very dull, his name of choice wasn't technically appropriate since male canines are "dogs" and females are actually called...

...never mind.

So, I went to the internet to search for names that weren't too girly and that hopefully described her in at least some regard.

I wanted the name to pop audibly so that when she heard it, it wouldn't easily mesh with all the other jumbled words falling out of our mouths. (For example, "Sarah" is an audibly subtle name whereas "Bridget" is not.) I mean, it'd be nice if she could discern something as important as her name. See what I mean? ------->



Hmmm...think, think, think.

"Dulcie" means sweet. "Nati" is humble.

No and no.


"Rowan" got me all excited because, meaning "little red one", it describes her perfectly. However...I don't really care for the sound of it.

 "Pyrrha" (Greek for "red") is kind of cool and definitely unique, but it just didn't seem to fit her. "Rorie" means "red" as well, but it's kind of hard to say.


I really loved "Tilda" but Tobias said he would refuse to call her that because he disliked it so much.


Finally, we found something that three of us could appreciate. (Jeff had pretty much given up at that point.)


Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present to you our very own...


dear...

sweet...






                                        Elka

Kisses:



Here's a shot of her "eyeliner":






Welcome to the family, sweet girl!

Us

We usually do a family photo shoot every second Autumn.

Here are some of this year's results.





Here's the "Did we just get caught making out?" shot:



Here the guys are climbing on stuff...again:



This one was taken whilst Tobias was making a smart remark. (Check out the acerbic curve of his ever-lippy mouth.):



And here we are reacting to his snidery:



Although I doubt we'll ever be able to outdo our zombie shot of two years ago (scroll down to the bottom of the linked post to see it), we did pose "Romanian" style. You see, Romanians don't smile for photographs. Yes, I'm serious.



Very serious.   

I must say that the severity of Jeff's face is a bit over the top. The rest of us look simply modern-day-Romanian whereas Jeff looks positively communistic.

We also took a number of other shots which I shan't be sharing online. If you really want to see those photographic evidences of our boorishness, feel free to ask next time you come over to our house, but I wouldn't dare post them since they're perfect fodder for websites such as awkwardfamilyphotos.com . (If you've never been there, check it out. It's kind of like PeopleOfWalmart.com, but with more of a homey, warm, how-in-the-world-did-I-end-up-in-this-family sort of a feel.)

One includes me grossly amused by something. Apparently, when I'm  moved to hilarity, my throat has to swell to twice its normal size in order to allow passage to my hearty guffaws. It's not pretty. In fact, it makes me want to never laugh in public again.

Another one was the result of our fabulous photog, Veronica, continuously telling Jeff that he needed to actually smile instead of look constipated. Thus, we decided to actually take a shot wherein we all exhibited our best my-gut-is-presently-granite look. Again, not pretty.

In a couple of pics, the width of my hips is especially appalling, so those are no-shows, obviously.

Halfway through the shoot, Jeff caught sight of a couple of trashcans and had an epiphany. Thus was born the final photo which I will not launch into cyberspace. It involves Delaney and I standing beside the guys who are both thigh-high in their very own metal trash can.

After us ladies moved out of the way there commenced, of course, a game of bumper trashcans, the evidence of which I will post:

Yay!!!!!!

Guess who has a home!!!

THIS guy ----->


(I love his floppy lips. :) Oh, and look at how dinky my hand looks on his neck. He is truly an awesome creature.)









Last week, we learned that Moses had just had his troublesome bits removed in preparation for his departure from the shelter. We could tell he didn't feel quite right. He just sort of stood next to us in his kennel, leaning his boulder-sized head against us. That's what having parts removed will do to you for a day or two. So, he won't be siring any little Leviathans or teensy Goliaths in the future, but...


...Moses has a family! Woo hoo!

(I hope they have a big shovel.)


*deep sigh of contentment*

My Little Pony

Okay, so it's not my little pony...

...but it could be yours!

That's right, this huge hunk of equine beauty is available for adoption.

What's that, you say? It's a dog? Oh, I see that you are right...sort of.

Meet Moses:

Isn't he gorgeous?

He has a very sweet disposition and the entire time we were with him, he didn't try to eat us once!

Is it his name that keeps you from wanting him? You can always change it.

If you'd like, you can rename him "Seabiscuit":



 Or you can call him "Fezzik":

Even "AT-AT" will suffice:

I won't guilt you too much though, because I'm certainly not volunteering my backyard for his minefield. I heart Moses, but alas...he is too much dog for a 5'4" girl like me.

Don't think you can handle him either?

How about this sweet girl with whom Delaney is cuddling?

She has the softest fur and such pretty eyes.

Or how about this little dumpling?

I was near her for quite a while and she didn't yip once. Honestly.

For the last couple of months, Delaney and I have been volunteering at the local animal shelter. While there, we go into the kennels and pet the dogs, just trying to show them some affection. Then, the better behaved ones, we take for short walks around the grounds. We leave reeking of dog and checking our shoes for poo, but somehow happy, too.
 
Like much of life, it's a very bittersweet experience. There are so many homeless dogs.

It's difficult. Some days we leave without having walked all the pups we wanted to walk, but I have to keep reminding myself that it's better to do some good than no good.

Better some than none...better some than none...

A bit of news cheered us last Thursday. Several of the dogs we've come to know have been adopted in the last two weeks.

In fact, we walked this very gentle girl...


...and shortly after we returned her to her kennel, she was taken out and put in the back of a van to go to her new home! This was especially sweet news because when we had taken her to the play yard, all she wanted was to be petted. Some dogs run around investigating, but she planted herself right next to us and nudged our hands with her nose if we stopped. Now she has someone to rub behind her ears daily. :)


















Another dog, Buddy, was adopted a couple of weeks ago. (I wondered if he'd ever make it out of the shelter since he was less attractive than many of the dogs there.) Well, the director informed us that he now has a home for life because shortly after arriving at his new home, he encountered an intruder who was trying to enter the house through the bathroom window. The valiant Buddy bit the guy.

Go, Buddy!

So there are happy stories, but I'm especially concerned for Moses. I mean, look at him!



Most people who mosey down to the shelter to pick out a dog are going to think like me and realize that he's just a bit more dog than they're willing to sign up for.

Hey Christy--How does Macy feel about fellows who are tall, dark and handsome? (Just kidding! Please still be my friend.)

Delaney and I took pity on the poor dear and did dare to take him out on a walk. The leash we attached was merely a token of what activity we were attempting since it did us no good. A slight lurch forward almost resulted in a trip to the ER to fix my face. A guy who works there saw me, resisted the urge to laugh out loud and  proceeded to show us how to complete the job without injury. In order to do so we had to flank him and grab his collar. Sadly, we have no photographic record of this feat since all of our hands were a bit preoccupied.

The next day, we took Jeff to see Moses.

Jeff was actually capable of walking him without help and without grasping his collar.

Go, Jeff!

Since Bruiser's passing we have enjoyed the benefits of having only one dog to tend to, but some of us are thinking along the lines of getting Duncan a companion. Probably at some point in the near future, some especially precious pup will worm its way into our hearts, keeping us awake at night with memories of its pleading eyes.

Stay tuned...

White Girls Can't Stir-Fry

I LOVE good Asian food.

I'm not talking about the kind that is served at a place like this:



(I don't want to bite into an egg roll and see bavarian cream ooze out, nor do I want rainbow sprinkles floating in my wonton soup.)






  I'm also not speaking of truly authentic Asian food such as these "1000 year old" eggs:










Nor this plate of duck tongue:










No thanks. Just give me a bowl of rice or noodles with some nicely seasoned meat and a fresh veggie or two.

Not being able to afford to eat out at PF Chang's and Pei Wei's several times a week, I have experimented a bit with various recipes with very little good fortune.

Available at local markets are ingredients necessary for Asian delights like these noodles:




Unfortunately, there are no instructions as to how to cook them.

Or if there are, I can't read them.








 I think that bottom line in Vietnamese says, "Ha ha ha, just go to the restaurant already!"

I've purchased and prepared many different types of Asian noodles over the years and they just don't turn out right. Some batches have been okay and others have been downright nasty.

I've found there's one product I can always count on:


Now these are instructions I can read:

Actually, I haven't read them in years, but if I ever forget how to boil noodles for three minutes and then drain them, I'll know exactly where to look.

Yes, I realize that these things are virtually void of nutrition, but so is a big bowl of white rice that I could serve instead.

Isn't the main nutritional horror about these orange packets actually the little silver packet hidden inside?


That's where all the sodium, mysterious chemicals and most of the fat is contained, right? So if I use only one silver packet for every four packets of noodles then I'm not technically poisoning my family, right?



AND...if I pile a bunch of lean meat and fresh vegetables on top...

 ...then I'm kinda, sorta nourishing my loved ones, right?

Right?!?!

Yes, I realize that I began this post with the words, "I LOVE good Asian food" and I'm ending it with a confession about how I dish out ramen to the innocents in my care.

Feeling better about yourself yet?

Abrasive Advertisements

As I was jogging through the neighborhood this morning, I kept seeing these slats of wood blighting people's driveways. Upon closer examination, I saw that they were, in fact, advertisements for a company selling shutters, blinds and shades.


Apparently, some guy was in his workshop, staring at the heap of refuse that he was about to throw in the dumpster out back when a revelation hit.

"I know!!! I'm gonna paste my phone number onto all these useless scraps and litter the neighborhood!"

Great idea, fella.

Some other genius (of a tree-trimming sort) canvases my street a couple of times a year with little baggies full of pebbles and a business card.

Honestly, do these people think that as we're leaning over, cleaning up our previously tidy front yards, we're thinking, "Oh, I'll be sure to give these guys a call." ???

Here's an idea: Keep your window treatment waste and ziplock o' rocks to yourselves.

Don't you understand that if you want to increase your patronage, you shouldn't start by annoying potential customers? I haven't got an M.B.A., but that makes sense to me.

Who among us hasn't started our car and begun to exit a parking lot before noticing a flyer stuffed under our wiper blade?


You know that you're the one who'll get a ticket for littering if it flies off, so you have to stop your car, put on the e-brake, take off your seat belt and retrieve the stupid thing.

Which of us hasn't stumbled to our front door, arms overflowing with grocery bags, mail and a set of keys only to be greeted by one of these, dangling from our doorknob:


Now, in our complete vexation, we have to figure out how to detach it while unlocking our door and not dropping the watermelon we are precariously balancing between our shoulder and chin.

It's spilling out of our mailboxes, too. I can't count how many envelopes I get each week from Citibank and Chase, pathetically begging me to get one of their credit cards. One day, we literally received four solicitations from Chase Bank alone. (Go chase someone else, would you?) I've never stepped inside a bank run by either of these institutions and every unwanted envelope that emerges from my mailbox with their name on it convinces me further that I never will.

Probably the latest development in pestering commercialism is taking place on the Internet. Sometimes I'll be minding my own business lulled into a photon-induced stupor, staring at the screen when it's suddenly commandeered by some unknown evil force. The news article I was just reading is completely obscured by an ad for a mobile phone company. I guess they figure that since I waste so much time on the Net that I won't mind if they waste some for me.

Wrong!

Traditional TV commercials are a bit of a novelty to my family since at home we watch shows exclusively on the Internet or through Netflix. Therefore, when we are in a motel, we actually do watch the commercials, familiarizing ourselves with some present day Americana.

(The following isn't so much irritating advertising as it is just plain weird.) On a recent trip, we saw an advertisement for a hybrid car. The ad was progressive in nature so throughout the TV show's commercial breaks we saw the evolution of the car owner's experience. You see, he stopped at a gas station to use the restroom, but multiple people proceeded to badger him over his car. It culminated with the gas station attendant informing him that he could not use the toilet unless he purchased some gas.

Hmmm...Did the ad execs think we were going to watch that and say, "So if I buy this car, then I'll experience harrassment and wet underpants? I'll take two!"

Whatever...

Here's my advice to businesses: If you want a loyal clientele, then offer good products at good prices and LEAVE US ALONE!

Now, Now, Don't Panic

Jeff and I took a little field trip to the ER on Monday.

For the past couple of weeks he has had a sense of pressure on his chest, as if it was being sat on by one of these:

Well, by Monday, he was feeling as if he was being sat upon by someone more like this:

Therefore, he was finally willing to call our doctor. (WHY are men so obstinate when it comes to seeing the doctor???) Jeff was told to go directly to the emergency room.

He checked in at the front desk and was called back right away. (I've always heard that if you want fast service at the ER that you ought to complain of chest pain. Well, them liars were right.)

Within the first 15 minutes of being there, Jeff had been x-rayed, EKGed, had his blood drawn for a battery of tests and was tethered to a bed by multiple apparati. He had a pulse reader on his right ring finger, his left arm was encircled by a blood pressure cuff (which inflated occasionally, seemingly at its own whim), multiple electrode leads were stuck to his chest and an oxygen tube was simultaneously wrapped around his head and stuck up his nose. (That last one was his favorite.)

Oh, and of course let's not forget the fashionable hospital gown. When he decided to go use the restroom, (no, he wasn't catheterized) we undid all of his medical bindings and I tried to tie up the back of his gown. Unfortunately, it was missing a tie on one side. :)

This was the most disclosing photograph he'd allow me to take:


Not that I blame him, really.

Within a few hours, the doctor came to tell us that all of the tests had come back normal and that the pain might be due to a viral infection. So we removed his fetters one last time and left.

Jeff took another day off of work today and is feeling much better this evening.

However, he was so put off by the entire rigmarole (you know, the whole process they put him through in order to determine if they should intervene to keep him from dying or not) that he has resolved not to say anything next time he feels a heaviness on his chest, even if he feels like this poor fellow in orange:








Ughhhh! Men...