Entries Tagged 'World Domination in Everyday Life' ↓

I was raised in a Protestant family. My dad is a minister (I’d say was, since he’s since retired, but it just sounds wrong to talk about your thriving parent in the past tense) but we were a pretty moderate family, religion-wise.

As a result, I’ve never really thought about Lent. Molly’s post, Sugar on My Tongue describes Lent as a challenge that helps her think about what she takes for granted in life, rather than an act of religious devotion.

I can respect that, and prefer that attitude to people who loudly proclaim what they’re giving up, just to seem godly. (You are not godly, you Pharisees.)

But since I’ve already given up tea, excessive sweets, excessive carbs, alcohol (not a huge loss, since I don’t really like it anyway), deli meats, pants that button, and comfortable sleeping positions for the duration of this pregnancy, I don’t really feel like giving up anything else.

So, just for fun, I’m going to completely misconstrue the idea of Lent this year, and give up a bunch of things that I don’t want anyway.

It’s sort of like when your kid sister comes up to you with the box of Good ‘n Plenty candies from her Halloween sack and says sweetly, “I want to share,” when you know good and well the little punk likes Snickers better anyway.

These are the things I am giving up for Lent.

1. Snow. I don’t want anymore. Stop storming immediately.
2. Negative feedback. Stop criticizing me. I get to be right for 40 days.
3. Keeping the aphids off my plants. Breed, you evil suckers, I’ll get you when the weather’s warm and I can spray you outside.
4. Carpal tunnel. I will now type for 20 hours straight without fear.
5. Empty cardboard food containers. When I am done with your contents, please disappear.
6. Accidental mouse clicks that delete my content and make me start over. I will give these up for life.
7. Burlap. It’s going to be difficult, but I will try to survive without it.

What is something that you would LIKE to give up for Lent? Or, if you have a lower tolerance for blasphemy and sacrilege and prefer to do things correctly, what is something that you actually are giving up for Lent?

Image credit: candy and pharisees

The first thing we noticed when we walked into our apartment was that the freezer door was open.

Neither of us had actually eaten anything from the freezer this morning, but since it was unlikely our cats had learned to levitate while we were out, we assumed that it must not have been tightly latched when we left for work. Sometimes closing the fridge can make the freezer door pop open, if you hit it at just the right angle.

Now, I’ve had food poisoning (from chicken, who deserve to be plucked and eaten forevermore just for this audacity), and I am not willing to risk that again. We salvaged what we could, and threw the rest of our freezer food away. A fair amount of money, right when we’ve been trying to cut back and save up for the baby and our down payment fund. Ho hum.

I was too tired to really get upset over this, and ironically, we’d just been talking about needing to clean out the freezer while we were driving home. Having all your food defrosted and bacteria-filled and also covered with the juice from a leaky popsicle can really motivate you to clean up.

Jon, good sport that he is, took the trash down our three flights of stairs and out to the dumpster. I cleaned out the freezer, and used the opportunity to wash all our freezer compartments and clean out our ice bucket.

The silver lining? Our freezer is immaculately clean right now. Also, we will have room for all the food I’m planning to start stocking us up on this weekend, since it’s been more difficult to cook when I get home. I’m a little bummed that I can’t have a Skinny Cow for dessert now, because they got desecrated by bacon drippings, but now I have an excuse to eat cereal, which I’ve been craving lately anyway.

So, the bottom line is, if you want to motivate yourself to clean your freezer, leave the freezer door open and go to work for the day. It’s a little inefficient, and I’m not even going to think about the energy wasted, but unless you want to die of salmonella, you’ll sure clean up fast.

What depressing events have you turned into positive situations lately? Also, do you actually believe in salmonella, or do you think it’s one of those things people hype up when it’s not really an every day risk, like shark attacks or terrorism?

Guest post graciously contributed by Jon Heller.

I’ll never forget the day when I stepped in to a Panera for the first time. Actually, that’s a lie. But it seemed like a grand way to start a post like this so I thought, hey, why not.

So I don’t remember the day Panera opened in my hometown of Shaker Heights, Ohio, but I remember countless trips there as a teenager. It was, until recently, one of my absolute favorite take-out places, for two reasons: First, it offers healthy options, which is something rare when it comes to take-out food.

Now don’t get me wrong – I realize that not everything at Panera is healthy. In fact, I nearly shunned the place permanently when I found out my favorite sandwich, the Sierra Turkey, has more fat and calories than two Big Mac’s.

I felt hurt. As if Panera, with it’s “Ooh look as us we’re so fresh and healthy!” demeanor, was actually loading their innocent looking turkey sandwiches with … actually, I still have no idea what makes those things so unhealthy.

But I got over it. In fact, I carry around a wallet-sized printout of their nutrition menu. No joke.

There are several other healthy options on the menu, especially if you get only half a sandwich, for which they provide the convenient “you pick two” option. And it’s that other option on the “you pick two” combination that forever indebted me to Panera: Their French Onion Soup (capitalized and bolded because it’s just that amazing).

It is glorious. I have been to France, okay? I had their “French” onion soup, and I’ll tell you, those French have a thing or two to learn about French onion soup from a little bread company based out of Richmond Heights, Missouri.

Leanne, who worked for Panera briefly during one summer (and for which I will always look at her with awe for, being at the heart of such a delicious beast from 9-5), once told me that the soup is shipped in these huge bags from their processing plant.

Now I have to admit, a “bag of soup” is kind of an odd concept – it doesn’t exactly scream freshness – but I sometimes have fantasies of sneaking into the back room and grabbing a bunch of bags of their soup and making a break for it. Like those old black and white bank heist films where the robber is running away with bags of money over his shoulder, except in my case, it would be bags of French onion soup. Sometimes in these fantasies the cops end up shooting me as a I run away, which makes for an awesome scene in which me and my bags of soup are riddled by bullets (in slow motion of course), beef broth spraying all over the place, before I finally fall down to the pavement, cradling the empty bags.

Sorry. Sometimes I get a little carried away thinking about food.

Alas, this has all come to an end, for two main reasons. The first is that, apparently, assembling the various sandwich, soup, and salad combinations for customers has proven too difficult a task for your average worker. I do feel bad for anyone currently stuck in a food service job, but it’s nice when you pay $8 for a sandwich to, you know, get what you paid for.

Unfortunately, this seems to be an unreasonable expectation for my local Panera in Danvers, MA. In fact, I can’t remember the last time they got my order right.

Still, I didn’t want to let this stop me. So a few nights ago, Leanne and I drove ten minutes further to the next closest Panera. I order one of my standards (chicken salad, a surprisingly healthy option, and of course my dear French onion soup), and am surprised to see my soup in a new, smaller container. Thinking this is a mistake (the container is roughly the same size cup you would get ketchup in at a restaurant), I go back to the counter and ask them. It turns out, this is the new container for soup when you order a “you pick two”.

Oh, Panera. You horrible, horrible monsters. You’ve gone and ruined my most precious of all meals. Charge me another dollar, or two, or three, but how could you give me less of something that brings me such happiness, such bliss?

Thus ends a decade long relationship between one man and a restaurant. I’ll miss that warm beef broth. The hints of thyme. The asiago flavored bread crumbs. And my favorite, that wonderful surprise when you lift your spoon up from the bottom of the cup and watch as a spoonful of melted cheese breaks the surface.

A small part of me has died today.

Image credit: McDonalds and Eating Bender

Last night, I dreamed I was trapped in a house with two friends. The house was full of traps we had to avoid and monsters that would kill us. Towards the end, we had to place one of four books face-down on a screen. If we chose the wrong one, the screen would turn into a camera, and all the monsters in the house would know where we were.

After one botched attempt, we chose the right book, and the screen opened, revealing a slide to safety. Unfortunately, after dashing out of the house, my friends got angry and started trying to break off parts of the entryway. They got too close, the door slammed, and they were trapped, killed and eaten.

I ran away, only to discover that the entire world had been taken over by monsters and vampires and it was hopeless.

What is up with that? Why don’t I dream about the collapse of our economy, or about any of the horrific news items on CNN? Contrary to popular belief, I am not actually six. (You tell people you like ponies and unicorns and they label you a first grader for life.)

Does anyone else still have monster dreams? I get attacked by vampires, possessed acquaintances, psycho killers and monsters in my dreams pretty frequently. The other night I had a flying dream, but I spend the whole time trying to fly away from this vengeance-crazed man who kept stabbing at me with razors.

I’m almost never myself in dreams, but no matter who you are, it’s still not pleasant to be chased and mutilated. I read Jane Austen and end up dreaming the zombie version. Do you remember your dreams? What weird things do you dream about?

A thoroughly wonderful and charming friend of mine, Paul, introduced me to a new saying, which I am going to share with you.

“The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.”

Once you get over the macabre mental image (snap!), you realize this makes more sense than shock value. I spent the first 24 years of my life trying to be the early bird, jumping through countless hoops to benefit anyone who asked. Early Bird Heller shows up and gets it done!

I was cleaning out the baby’s room (I’m not nesting per se – Jon bought me a bunch of gigantic Tupperware on the condition I would clean up my art supplies) and I found a hefty binder entitled The Master Plan. This was not a joke. It contained resumes, contact lists, information about management consulting as a career and recommendations, schedules and applications for 5 major business schools.

I created that tome prior to working at my last job, where I learned that being the early bird may SOUND good, but all you actually get is a worm. Far better to hang around a bit and wait for the cheese.

Nowadays, I still jump through hoops, but I like to check and make sure there isn’t a better method of transportation. Also, I like to confirm whatever I’m jumping towards will be beneficial before I make the leap. Taking that extra moment to assess the situation helps to focus my efforts and reduces wasted energy.

In short, being the early bird is okay, but being the second mouse is better. Learning from the mistakes of others so as not to repeat them is never a bad thing. Not that I really enjoy eating on the bodies of my dead comrades, but you know, cheese beats worm or decapitation anytime.

Cartoon credit: Savage Chickens

Caveat Emptor

In honor of Valentines Day, I’m going to post some nice things about Jon. I figure he’s got to deal with 363 days of attitude (I’m pretty nice to him on his birthday as well) and he deserves some recognition.

If you can’t deal with the soppy romance stuff, here is a nice video for you to watch while the rest of us have a moment:

If you can’t view the video, please click through to the blog.

He’s Pretty Essential

Jon and I have known each other for 8 years this February. We got married 4 1/2 years ago, and I can remember grinning my face off at the altar, feeling completely delighted that I’d get to hang out with Jon for the rest of my life.

He’s a lot like oxygen – you don’t notice how great it is, until you put a plastic bag over your head to see what life is like without it. If you’re curious, go ahead and try it – I recommend bags from a museum gift shop. They are nice and sturdy, and should get the point across fairly quickly.

Oh, You Clever Fellow, You

Jon’s smart without being arrogant about it. I like that he can teach me things, and that when anything electronic around our house breaks, he can usually fix it. Our cable router routinely tries to take days off, and not only does he know how to test it to find out the problem, he also has wired our house up in a frightening fashion, so I can log into the internet from any room. Even the balcony. Even, for the love of god, the bathroom. I know, because in order to ensure the accuracy of this blog post, I just checked.

We Laugh About Bad Things

The first time Jon and I bonded, it was over an extremely politically incorrect SNL skit based on It’s A Wonderful Life. Pretty much, Old Man Potter gets beat down. Everyone else in the room was dead silent, totally aghast that SNL would go so far as to club a handicapped man repeatedly. I love Jon’s sense of humor, which is quirky and witty and more than a little off-kilter. I say this as a compliment, because humor-wise, most people have no idea where I’m coming from half the time, but Jon always gets it.

What? An Entire Culture Based on Bread and Cheese?

Jon has introduced me to all sorts of great things. Prior to meeting him, I didn’t eat Mexican food, onions or fresh Parmesan cheese. I didn’t play video games and thought cell phones and credit cards were the devil. I ended up learning HTML because of him, and this morning he spent a good hour and a half helping me to debug my perl code. I’ve learned how to communicate better (i.e. hiding in a box is not the best way to express dissatisfaction with the world) and I no longer have to label all my computer plugs with masking tape explaining how to reassemble them.

He’s Got Your Back

Finally (because this post is getting pretty lengthy and I’m going to have to put another exploding bear video in, just for some variety), Jon is discerning when it comes to choosing friends and loved ones, but once he does, he will modify his behavior to make these people happy. He will make decisions based on making things easier for those he cares about, and will do just about anything for them.

If you are seeking to get on this very elite list, I would recommend plying Jon with excellent meals, asking him intelligent computer questions and bonding over independent rock bands. It’s okay to forget about holidays and anniversaries, but the birthday is a must – you are in deep trouble if you forget the birthday.

And Now, It’s Your Turn

So, that’s a wrap – those of you with bags over your head should remove them, and anyone watching a loop of the video above can stop now. And don’t get any ideas. Put the plush toy and the shotgun down. That is not the answer.

For those of you who made it all the way through the post, thanks for reading, and please post a comment about what makes your loved one, man crush, spouse or harem great.

I don’t have a problem with protesters. Sure, I get irritated when they block off my parking lot and have to walk over snow banks, but I always figure they have a good reason for being there, and if no one questioned the status quo, nothing would ever change.

Unfortunately, yesterday I ran into the worst protesters ever. They looked organized, and the police were hanging out with them, so they must have had a permit, or whatever you need these days to protest.

But their signs were completely unreadable. They were about the size of 2 regular sheets of paper taped together and they had far too many words. Consequently, the text was pretty small and therefore impossible to read.

Now, these people were on the side of a main road, with 4 lanes across and no room for pedestrians. This road has highway ramps. Their main target had to be people in the vehicles driving by them.

That’s a distance of what, 3 to 10 feet, depending on the lane you were in. The speed limit is about 30mph. What were they thinking? No one could tell what they were protesting. They were in front of a construction site for the new hospital, but were they protesting the hospital? The parking? The choice of construction company?

Epic fail. Get bigger signs, and then I might respect your cause. Until then, I can’t, because I can’t tell what your cause is. As it is, you’re just wasting time and valuable sticks (for your sign posts) that could be used as war pikes.

Also, when I went back after work to take pictures, you had already gone home. I guess that’s okay, because it was 9 hours later, but my pictures are sure not going to be as interesting now. You even took down your giant inflatable rat.