Sprite's Keeper

RTT- From "Read" To Toe

I'm all about spreading the linky love. I also encourage comments, especially when leaving them on other blogs. So when I get tripped up while trying to leave a comment on someone's post, whether the page just doesn't let me comment or it fails to register my comment, I get a little disgruntled and a little worried that the blogger will be able to see that I WAS there, but rudely took off without acknowledgement. So, I try to come back to the site later that day to get my comment "read", but often still fail. And then I worry some more that the blogger saw that I was there repeatedly and now thinks that I am stalking her or him. Which I kind of am, but I don't want it to SEEM that way.

I was commenting on The Un Mom about her post relating to oranges and mentioned how I live in Florida within miles of a major orange grove, yet buy my oranges from California and then told her I was going to steal my own comment and post it here. So, here it is. (Just stating the facts, folks.)

On that note, do you ever feel like your comments make better posts than your actual posts do? You'll write a comment that cracks you up and even as you're clicking the "post comment" button, you're wondering if you should copy and paste it elsewhere... like your own site? If I am alone in this, I have a very big burden to shoulder. As well as a big ego.

Why is it that a child, quick as lightning, can race through Target with nary a thought for her mother or an oncoming shopping cart and run circles around the same mother while at checkout become as slow as drying concrete when walking back to their vehicle in the parking lot? While other cars are coming. And the sun is going down. And time is speeding up as the child, in direct contrast, is slowing down. Is there a law of physics I'm missing here?

Even when Grey's Anatomy was good, you know, before it went all "Let's do a story on one of the docs suffering PTSD and strangling the other doctor he's sleeping with while he's having an episode and NOT CALL THE COPS IN TO AT LEAST MAKE A FREAKING CAMEO because losing credibility is much less expensive than paying some actors scale.", yeah, before that, something always bothered me about the show. I just couldn't quite put my finger on it until it was being strangled in Thursday's episode. Christina. By all accounts in the show, Christina is Jewish. That nibbles at my thoughts since names like Christina, Mary, and Teresa (with an "h" or without) rarely ever go to Jewish girls. It's far too indicative of its "Christian" roots. Not complaining. Just doesn't ring true with me. Tis all. (Yes, I know. We did quirks last week. Folks, if I were to leave my quirks out of my blog, there would be no Sprite's Keeper.) (And that would be sad.) (For me.) (Who happens to like run-on sentences and trains of thought that always jump the track.) (And excessive use of parentheses.)

When I was a lowly Criminal Justice student, my friend and I would sit for hours over coffee profiling everyone around us. While you may be judging me for this, and also feeling guilty because you do the same thing (yes you do), we at least had an excuse, homework. Yup, we were told to profile everyone around us and come up with 3 character studies based on random people. Another homework assignment was to commit the perfect crime. On paper, of course. My CJ friend and I would have a blast ripping each other's crime profiles and M.O. to shreds and casting reasonable doubt on the other's alibis. The only thing she was ever able to gut me on was my scene. I never had a good scene to mislead the forensics. Until this weekend. While getting my hair cut, I looked down at the considerable pile of hair forming beneath me and it struck me. There is a PLETHORA of DNA within a small space. It would take forensics MONTHS to comb through and even determine a list of suspects based off of hair and nail clippings alone. I wonder if my teacher would still accept late submissions. And if he'll remember who I am this late in the game. Or even if he's still alive. (He was really old.)

Oy, that last one may be submitted as evidence should I ever truly go off the deep end.

When Sprite was first born, I was one of oh, every other mother in the world who fawned over her newborn's features, from the wisps of downy hair tracking her hairline down to the slender tiny feet with little dots for toes and the...um... oh my, what the hell are those? "Kid has some ragged toenails." I waited the required timeframe before I attacked them with a clipper, but Damn! From the second she left the womb and I caught a look of those gnarly nailbeds, I wanted to ask my OB to cut me open again and make sure she didn't slash me up on the inside. (Makes me think back to those questions I had for the doctor during my prenatal appointments. "Is heartburn supposed to feel this bad?" "Are my feet going to deflate after I give birth?" "Why does it feel like I'm being carved from within?" "Did you check for a switchblade during the last ultrasound?") Her feet have gone from slender and long to Fred Flintstone-esque and her nails look no better. This may be my subconsious reasoning for why I buy her closed-toe shoes.

For more randomness like what you just experienced here, or even better than what you've experienced here, just don't tell me it's better than what you've experienced here for you'll be breaking a very carefully built bubble of happiness that has taken me YEARS to build, although it may be good to burst that bubble since everyone needs a good dose of reality once in a while, but I had some reality just a week ago, so I'm full on that right now, thanks, but if you would like more randomness other than the random lead-in I just subjected you to, click on over to Keely's House of Pain, A.K.A. The Un Mom for laughs. She won't let you down like I did. Just don't tell me I did.

Yes, I'm done.

HASAY: I have GOT to stop people watching in the car.

HASAY: Making lives better one post at a time.

Approaching the light, the cars around me slowed to a stop in typical fashion. Sprite was intent on her video, mollified with her baggie of Kashi Go Lean Crunch to keep her rumbling tummy happy until I could get some dinner into her. (By the way, the Kashi has been intruding on my usual breakfast of oatmeal since the high protein and fiber content was recommended to me a week ago. I'm very impressed with the full feeling I have until 10 AM when I start prowling for a snack. I even packed a baggie for myself for some crunching while I work. Sure, the noise may bother others, but I wear my ear buds for the IPod, so it's not interrupting my work.) I kept an eye on the red while my other eye looked to the right and left of me.

The man in the silver Pacifica to the left of me was talking on his cell phone. Other than the fact that he looked pretty pissed off, nothing interesting going on there.

I peered to the right and saw a woman about my age, sitting behind the wheel of a retro orange VW Bug. Her head was bobbing a bit, probably to the music. I started turning to face front again when a movement caught my interest. Was she chewing something? I watched her a little longer. Yes. It was almost imperceptible, but she was definitely chewing. Not gum chewing, for her jaw wasn't moving that way. Nope, she was eating.

As I watched, she looked around her and then lifted the burrito and took a huge bite. Her shoulders hunched as she did and when the burrito slipped out of view, she sat there, her mouth full, but not moving around the big bite. Slowly, her jaw began to move again.

The light turned and traffic moved again. I forgot about her and kept with the flow of vehicles until we hit the next amber light and slowed to another stop. She ended up to to the right of me again, slightly lagging this time. Her eyes moved around and I quickly looked at Sprite, not wanting to be caught in my obvious spying. After waiting a few beats, I peered back over and caught a glimpse of gordita before it disappeared behind the door's panel.

Chickie was obviously hiding this dinner break since she was going to great lengths not to call attention to herself while she chowed down behind the wheel. But this interested me. Working in a pretty urban city, chances were slim that someone she knew would be sitting idle beside her at all times, so why did she care if the rest of the world happened to notice what she was eating? Sure, she was a bit on the heavy side, heavier than me judging by her full cheeks and soft chin.

Perplexed, I kept staring until she made eye contact with me. Crap! That wasn't supposed to happen. I turned back again to my cover, who was making moo eyes at the DVD player. The car behind me honked and I faced forward again. The pace began to pick up and I stole one more glance at the Bug on my right. Her jaw was rigid now, her face looking directly ahead.

I had obviously caught her in a vulnerable moment. And I remembered when I had had those moments myself. Being heavier, being ashamed of what I was eating when it wasn't the leafy or non-fat version. Feeling like I was being judged by everyone within viewing distance on whatever entered my mouth. Like I was letting the entire restaurant down as a whole when I deigned to order french fries with my meal instead of the day's vegetable since the fried foods were obviously what put me in that spotlight to begin with.

I haven't had that moment in a while, not since I restricted my diet and banned the Bell. (That's right. I haven't eaten a Taco Bell product since giving birth to Sprite. I did it since Taco Bell has always been my fast food weakness, thereby becoming my "gateway drug". So I forbid myself from any South of the Border temptations and haven't looked back. Then I watched an expose on what really went into their food and that kind of sealed the deal.) But the stigma still sticks with me.

I really did feel bad for causing her any embarrassment, but if it's any consolation, my dinner that night was chicken and broccoli. I'm pretty sure she enjoyed her meal more than I enjoyed mine...?

Stats:

John: Even
Me: Up one.

(Replaced the scale. On her way out, the old bitch gave me false hopes of a two pound drop. The new bitch taught me quickly who's in charge and her name is Homedics.)

Spin Cycle: It's That Time Again..

Already, the next Spin is up and it's Ginger's next chapter of the cruise that almost wasn't! Or was it?

Ginger over at When Ginger Snaps... Part IV!

Sher over at It's Sherendipity -Posted Saturday! Updated Sunday! A Quirks Spin!

Pseudo over at Pseudonymous High School Teacher -Updated Sunday!

Joanie over at Joanie's Random Ramblings -Updated Tuesday!

Nothing Fancy over at Nothing Fancy -Updated Tuesday!

Cristopher over at Ca-Joh -Updated Tuesday!

Midlife Mama over at Midlife Musings -Updated Tuesday!

Rikki Carr over at Cowgirls Like Me -Updated Tuesday!    

Camille over at Archives of Our Lives -Updated Wednesday!

Jan over at Jan's Sushi Bar -Updated Wednesday!

Bex over at Adventures of the Grigg Boys -Updated Wednesday!

Laufa over at Morgan Madness -Updated Thursday!

Shangrila over at My Bella Figlia -Updated Thursday!

Cristin over at Tiptoeing Through The Tulips -Updated Thursday!

Jen over at Coconut Belly -Updated Thursday!

Rachel over at the Ramblings of Rachel -Updated Thursday!

Lori over at My Life Interrupted -Updated Thursday!

The South Dakota Cowgirl over at Whoa My Horses -Updated Thursday!

Remember to get those Spins in before time runs out!

In A New England State of Mind

Six and a half years ago, I started working for my current company. In the beginning, I was shipped off for a month of training in 2 week installments to Tampa to learn the ways of my employer. I met Yvonne pretty early on and something clicked. We just caught on.

Now, the fact that Yvonne lived and worked in Indiana and I was a Florida gal didn't mean much. It wasn't an effort to pick up the phone once in a while and chat, and having our jobs in common made for some pretty good topics.

Along the way, our lives changed as time lines dictate, yet we always kept in contact. Then the news came. Yvonne wastransferring down to Florida. To work in my office! I was so stunned by her announcement, I hated to drop my own bomb. I was leaving to move to Ft. Myers since John and I were building a home on the West side of the state. Within a month of my vacating the Ft. Lauderdale office, Yvonne moved down with her husband.

We still kept in contact, having even more in common now that she and I knew so many of the same people.

Then I became pregnant with Sprite. Not long after, she became pregnant with her daughter Addison. Our two were born 3 months apart.

Play dates became cross-county affairs, each side sacrificing 4 hour round trip drive so the girls could play together and we could see each other. We were able to make this work for almost two years, until the economy pulled a one-two punch.

Now Paul, Yvonne, and Addison are moving up to Massachusetts. Today in fact. Realizing we had little time left to see each other, we scrambled to rearrange our schedules and met last weekend for some lunch and a last play date before they left.

 

Yvonne and me at my baby shower. She was five months along, I was eight.

 

The results of that baby shower picture, playing in the sand at Ft. Lauderdale Beach last weekend.

We promised to try to get up to their new area to visit, but my heart breaks in the knowledge that the Recession makes that less of a possibility than we'd like. At least for the next couple of years.

Sorry for making things personal today, but I want to wish a final Bon Voyage to Yvonne and her family as they begin a new life in a beautiful part of the country.

We miss you already.

Spin Cycle: Quirky is as quirky does.

"Did you lock up?"

"Yes, Jen."

"Set the alarm?"

"Yup."

".... And you checked ALL the doors."

"YES."

"Okay."

"Where are you going?"

"To get some water."

"And check on the doors and alarm, which I said I just did."

Every night, this is my ritual. I must be the last one to check on the alarm and all entry points into our home. I have fears of invasions while we sleep. Most people do, which is why they take the time to secure their homes. I tend to think of my own domicile as a fortress. I must be that last soldier to walk the route and confirm we are safe from attack for the night.

I have even gone to lengths where I've pulled John from the middle of battle (meh, he was losing anyway.) in WoW to walk Harry one last time for the night so I can set the alarm, check the doors, and go to bed, no matter how late he intends to stay up playing. Even if I see the door is locked, I will still turn the handle to confirm it won't budge. It's for MY peace of mind, so I can fall asleep with that last item on my list checked off. It bugs him, I know it does. I tell him I know it does. I also tell him I need to do this for myself, not because I don't trust him, but more to shut my irrational side up a little, make the "what-if's" a little less whiny.

Other quirks I am not too ashamed to admit:

-I must begin my workout promptly at 8 PM. If I cannot begin at eight, I will throw a small hissy and then begin at 8:05 PM or 8:10 PM. I don't know why I do this in five minute increments only, but I think it may be related to the fact that I am always checking the clock which sits right beside the tv.

-I must fall asleep watching "Family Guy." John makes sure I set the sleep timer on the remote before he falls asleep since there have been many nights where either he or I have awaken to an infomercial telling me I should quit my job and start flipping real estate part time to make more money. (Do the networks even check the timeliness of some of these ads? I mean, who is flipping property anymore? More people are just flipping nuts..)

-I lift my feet every time I cross over train tracks and whisper a small prayer that the day will go well. (Twice a day in my driving route.) Anyone who knows me personally knows what a realist I am, so this often surprises others (and tickles John) when I try to inconspicuously raise my heels from the floor and become silent for a split second before I rejoin the conversation already in progress.

-I always eat my veggies first before anything else on the plate gets touched. If we're having chicken and broccoli for dinner, the forest of florets will always be first to go. Sprite is the exact opposite of me, but we're working on MY quirks here.

-I am the offspring of two New York born and bred Jews who love cheesecake, and I can't stand the stuff. I hate the taste, the texture, and the cherry glop that typically covers it. It reminds me of flan, which I also don't like per the cheesecake reasons. I don't think this is a quirk, but everyone who finds out I hate cheesecake gives me the same look and quote, "What is wrong with you?"

-I don't have any A's in my name. Neither does John. So I made sure that Sprite would have an A in her name. (This is the only hint you'll ever get from me on her secret identity. Although, if you're on my Facebook friends list, you've seen it time and again. My family and friends have no respect for my devious ways..)

-I grew up obsessed with the number 16, especially with it's square root, 4. I don't know why. I just loved it. I had to count in patterns of four. I counted tiles on the floor in bunches of 4 or 16. I ate cookies in batches of four. If there were only two or three, I halved one or two until they became four. Since then, I have changed to embrace the numbers 3 and 5, again, I don't know why.

-We have two retractable leashes for Harry and Blue. One is blue and one is red. Even though Blue is so aptly named, I will always give her the red leash and the blue one to Harry. Why? Because blue is the more masculine color and Harry is a male. And Blue is a female, so she gets the red. My madness is really quite simple here.

-When I was a kid and would get turned around to play "Pin the tail on the donkey", I always needed to spin myself back around the same number of revolutions, because I wouldn't feel right unless I zeroed out the turns. Imagine an eight-year-old trying to explain this behavior at birthday parties..

I have so many more quirks like making sure each side of my mouth gets equal strokes of the toothbrush, having to take my shower before John takes his, (I HATE stepping on the shower rug when it's wet, yet have no problem with subjecting John to it.) and having the same breakfast every weekday morning, (I am such a creature of habit.) but there's only so many hours in the day..

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I think this week made me a little more confident that I'm not as crazy as I thought I was, or at least I know I'm in good company. And now, the Spins!

D.M. Wright over at D. M. Wright Books

CDB over at Fingers and Paws 

Cristopher over at Ca-Joh 

Ginger over at When Ginger Snaps... -Part III of her saga!

Camille over at Archives of Our Lives 

Heidi over at Heidi's Hole 

Nothing Fancy over at Nothing Fancy 

Jan over at Jan's Sushi Bar 

Midlife Mama over at Midlife Musings -New to the Spin Cycle!

Rkki Carr over at Cowgirls Like Me 

Michele over at It's A Dog's Life 

Casey over at Half As Good As You 

Lori over at My Life Interrupted 

Laufa over at Morgan Madness 

Michelle over at Michelle's Blog 

Wendy over at Among Mad People -New to the Spin Cycle!

Jenni over at Oscarelli 

HeatherPride over at Riding the Short Bus 

Joanie over at Joanie's Random Ramblings 

Pseudo over at Pseudonymous High School Teacher 

Meli over at Meli's Rambling Randomness

Kristina over at Momformation -New to the Spin Cycle!

Rachel over at The Ramblings of Rachel

Sammanthia over at My A Cup Runneth Over

Wicked Step Mom over at Life and Times of a Wicked Step Mom -Updated today! Fresh Spin!

April over at Drawing Closer To Him -Updated today! Fresh Spin!

Bex over at Adventures of the Grigg Boys -Updated today! Fresh Spin!

Rebekah over at Waffles Waffles All Day Long -Updated today! Fresh Spin!

Sandie over at Sandie Simply Says -Updated today! Fresh Spin!

Cristin over at Tiptoeing Through The Tulips -Updated today! Fresh Spin!

Don't forget to swing by the new Spinners and say hello and grab a cup of coffee with the veterans too! Just ask before you raid their cabinets. It's the polite thing to do.

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Next week's assignment: Time.

Lately, it seems like I'm always running out of time, or something is taking too much time when I want to be doing something else. It's time to work, it's time to go home, it's time to put the kid to bed, it's time to go to sleep, it's time to get up, ALREADY?!

What's your take on time? Spin it up! We've got all the time in the world to see what you have to say!

Just make sure you get it in by Friday the 3rd. What do you think we're made of, time?

Time to end this post, huh?

See you next week on the Spin Cycle!

The Age of Mimic

They warned me about this.

Hell, I was even looking forward to it.

Now, I just need to work on controlling my laugh reflex.

Regarding yesterday's episode of Sprite introducing herself to the newest curse word in her vocabulary, we thought if we would just repeatedly promote the bunny as "Hop Hop", she would forget about Bastard.

Well, she did. Until we saw the director of her day care on Monday afternoon.

As soon as she saw the smiling woman, Sprite chirped, "I have bunny! He name Bastard!" She might as well have been announcing the color of her shirt, there was so much pride in her voice.

My cheeks flushed immediately as my mouth tripped over the words to correct, "She means Baxter."

The director's eyes flashed in mirth, as she has a daughter slightly older than Sprite. "I believe you."

And wouldn't you know it, as we walked out to the van, I laughed again, remembering the way she looked when she cursed, the way it sounded, and the surprise of the director not being surprised when she heard it. Sprite of course, had moved on by now, and was already working on her verbal dissertation of "Cookies: Why they are valuable to a growing's toddler's mood", but I had to linger in the moment and try to save as much memory as I could, for this was the only time she'd be able to get away with it.

When my parents were over this last weekend, we sat down to dinner. Of course, the dogs, as usual, started swarming the table looking for handouts, either the accidental or pitying variety. Blue, being the taller of the two dogs, normally flanks Sprite's chair and stands on her hind legs to get closer to her victim, but when company is here, she tends to mind her manners. (Although my mom would disagree. She thinks Blue is constantly out to trip her up when the poor dog is just looking for some love.) 

Sprite, more used to Blue getting in her face, spotted the (surprisingly) innocent beagle walking by and slammed her hand down on the table. "Blue, get down!"

I looked over and didn't see the offender actually offending so I said, "Sprite, stop teasing Blue."

"Blue, get down!" She gave a small cackle as she slammed her hand down again, more for the drama this time.

"You know what she's doing, right?" my dad asked.

"She's baiting Blue."

"No, she's copying you. She's being like her mom."

"Yeah, but Blue didn't do anything to get yelled at."

She didn't have to. Sprite was just supplying the phrase she hears most when she and I sit down to eat every night.

My father takes great pleasure in her verbal gaffs and loves to remind me that the (miniature) audience is listening.

He then recounted a story he's told me before, but it fits this tale, so I'm printing it here.

Back in the late 70's when he was washing our old brown station wagon, (Seriously, the thing was the color of poop. Did anyone have ANY color sense other than orange, poop brown and avocado green? Were the hallucinogenic drugs really that trippy?) my sister and I wanted to play in the car. He let us sit in the driver seat since he had the keys, the car was off, and he was right there.

As he continued washing the car, he began to hear colorful curses. Coming from the car. My 5 year old sister and I (I was either 3 or 4) were sitting in the front bench seat, playing "mommy and daddy driving". If I remember him telling it correctly, I was "driving" and Lee was talking to me and we just tossed curses back and forth to each other. Apparently, when my mom and dad were going somewhere, their bickering registered to the backseat where my cohort in crime and I were taking copious notes for we reminded him that day just how much we did catch of their verbal sparring.

So, yes, Sprite is waist deep in "The Age Of Mimic" and repeating us word for word on a variety of topics from bathroom etiquette to "Jackass!". (Yeah, that one is all me. This is usually what I mutter when some yahoo cuts me off in traffic or just makes a really stupid maneuver. It was even better when her teacher walked over to me at the end of the day recently and told me about Sprite coming up to her and regaling her with "jackass" with a great big smile on her face. I haven't heard it since, so hopefully Bastard will soon joinJackass in the Land of the Forgotten Faux Pas.)

John and I are learning to tamper down our epithets and grateful we haven't hit the next era yet, "The Age of Why."

Technically speaking, all bunnies are bastards.

"Here, Sprite, I got you a bunny!"

John walks over from the register holding the prize while Mom works on securing Sprite into her stroller.

"Bunny rabbit!" Her fingers open and close in classic "Gimme!" fashion as her eyes widen in desire.

John hands over her treasure and she nuzzles its face with her own while her hands carress its back.

"What are you going to name it?" I asked.

"Thanks, Daddy," she mumbles, already bouncing the stuffed brown and white doll up and down on her tray, breathing life into the lovie.

John leans over and looks at the tag attached to the rabbit's ear. "It's name is Baxter."

"I like 'Thanks, Daddy' better," I reply as we leave the store.

"Hop hop hop," Sprite narrates the doll's actions throughout the walk back to the van.

"Is the bunny named Hop Hop?" I ask.

"Yes, Hop Hop," she answers. Done. The rabbit is now bequeathed Hop Hop.

Starting the drive home, I call to Sprite in her car seat, "Sprite, what's the bunny's name?"

"Hop Hop," she smiles, continuing her bunny bouncing.

"His name is Baxter. BAXTER," John adds from the driver's seat.

"Bastard."

My dad dissolves into laughter once he realizes what his granddaughter just said, as I chime in, "Let's stick with Hop Hop."

I will never be able to look at that doll again without thinking the more colorful name.

 

"Hop Hop, I presume?"

Weirdly enough, Sprite's dolls seem to come by their monikers based on conversations between John and myself. When Sprite was still a sedentary speed bump, her grandmother brought her a teddy bear. I asked John what he wanted to call the bear.

Mid-yawn, he answered back, "We'll name it tomorrow. I'm tired."

"You want to name it tomorrow?" (If I ever re-phrase something you say as a question, consider it fair warning.)

"Yes, I don't want to think about this tonight. Tomorrow."

I smiled. "Tomorrow it is."

 

That's right, the bear's name is Tomorrow, has been for two years. After John's initial objections, he's learned to accept the inevitable. He also carefully considers what he says now before he gives me an answer. (Smart man.)

Time for you to step up to the Confessional. What is the most unique name you've given a doll or lovie? Or maybe your own child honored their favorite tag-a-long with a cute title. What is it?

RTT, RTT, What do you see?

Why, oh, why do I try to be a better person and leave less of a carbon footprint by buying the reusable shopping bags only to use them once and leave them in the house where they will be completely useless when I stop at the grocery store on my way home from work? And then I almost feel like I need to buy more reusable bags so I don't default to, gasp!, plastic, but remember at the last moment that we're in a Recession (with a capital R) and if my stupid actions were to be measured at a dollar a pop, I'd be up that creek a whole lot quicker.

People who misuse English bug me. Not if you're trying to use it for slang value or to make a joke, like "wanna" or "gonna", I do it too, so I shouldn't complain. No, it's the people who come up with the wild idea that a word or phrase is a certain way even though the general population knows it is another way, and this person makes it their personal mission to inform everyone within listening distance that they're wrong and this person is right. Classic example: I was talking to a friend back in 2002 about a recent news story concerning 2 boys drowning in a pool. While we were talking about it, she mentioned that they had "drownded". I stopped mid-word and asked her to repeat what she had said. "Drownded." "You mean "drowned'."
"No, 'drownded'."
She explained that the correct spelling of the word is d-r-o-w-n-e-d and the past tense is d-r-o-w-n-d-e-d, so when a person is drowning, they are actually drownding and if they will drown, they will drowned.
I tried to gently break it to her (some snickering may have been involved) that she was wrong, but she rejected my reality (and that of everyone in Webster's World) and went about her word killing ways.
We've lost touch since then, but every time I read or listen to a news story about a water death, I watch or listen VERY CLOSELY to just confirm once more that I'm right. (And I am..)

Last Monday, I noticed a sandwich sitting in the community fridge at work. This sandwich was handsome, lettuce peaking out the side, roast beef curling over itself to promise some satisfactory chewing experiences. I kept an eye of envy on this deli delight every time I reached in to grab my now less appetizing fare. On Tuesday, I opened the fridge to store my lunch bag and saw the same sandwich still sitting in the same spot. I thought to myself, someone really should eat that Wonder of Wonder bread today, otherwise it's just a waste of food. On Wednesday, the same sandwich was sitting in the same spot, the lettuce now wilting, the roast beef taking on that somewhat shiny iridescence of lunch meat allowed to sit for too long as it died a slow cold death squished between two slices of now mushy bread. I sighed in disappointment. I wouldn't have allowed this to happen if you were mine, I vowed silently. Thursday, again, the sandwich sat in the same place, it's position of honor now a shelf of shame. I rolled my eyes in disgust. It's still there? On Friday, I finally usurped the ownership of the meat's murderer and aimed for the trash can to finally give the now decomposing body a final, if not proper, burial.

I can't believe I just used around 200 words to describe how someone left a sandwich in the fridge all week.

I also can't believe that no matter how much I squawk about the conditions of the community fridge, some remnants of 2008 dinners still sit among the fresh foods. Yes, it's that bad. I'm almost afraid the putrid remains of someone's long forgotten Light and Lively -blueberry flavor, of course- will convince the just prepared leftover meatloaf to turn to the dark side and when someone unsuspectingly opens the door one day, the food will revolt and rise up as one big Salmonella monster to defeat us all.

This is why I keep a bottle of Clorox Clean Up at my desk. For monsters, not my OCD.

For some reason, I never seem to bring enough food to last me throughout the work day. So, when I have to ration my pickings out in the morning to leave myself SOMETHING to eat for lunch, I tend to be starving by 10:45 AM. Naturally, when this happens, I must call John to inform him how hungry I am, knowing full well he's buried in his own work issues and cannot drop everything to bring me a cracker RIGHT NOW lest I take the vending machine hostage, and yet still harboring a twinge of resentment when he doesn't drop everything right now to bring me the effing cracker. My scale of reason needs to be calibrated.

 I recently posted my status on Facebook: Jennifer is working on identifying her quirks. This is going to be a long day.. To which my friend Michelle replied," We don't have quirks.. its everyone else that are wack jobs.." I wish that was the case...

Irony is placing a fundraiser box of candy bars going for $1.00 each in close proximity to a vending machine dispensing the same size and type of candy for sixty cents. If you go for the cheaper of the two, are you being economical or uncharitable?

Keeping it real, keeping it random. Check out the other randomizers over at Keely's secret lair, The Un Mom. Best two cents you won't have to spend. No, the best thousand bucks you won't have to spend! (You're not spending it, why not make it a thousand?)

HASAY: Not Quite Up To Scale

Do you want to lose weight the HASAY way? Ask me how!

Or just click here.

I weigh myself every morning. I know I'm not supposed to, but I do. And I bet some of you do too. I don't mourn the numbers when they're stalled, but I do plan revenge on the stats that increase. Stepping on my scale is how that I can best determine the way I eat or exercise as a whole.

To say I've been stalling out is an understatement. If you look in my prior HASAY posts, I've gone up and down by 1 or 2, but all the weeks added up, it's a zero. I haven't lost or gained anything in the amount of time I've been connected to this program. In fact, we can take it back even further. I've been sitting in idle since September.

I can't say I like it much, I can't say I hate it either. I have tried to switch up my exercise routines to allow for more flexibility and interest, and while it has boosted my endurance on the treadmill (I still can't believe I actually can jog for a freaking hour!) and shifted my weight around some in the way I wear my clothes, the scale has refused to budge. I thought it was me.

I know better now. The scale's problem is personal. Oh, yes. I can prove it.

I have a little routine when I weigh myself in the mornings. I have to pee first, I have to be naked, and nothing can enter my mouth until I've gotten my daily number. I even have the wild idea that it will help if I insert my contacts since glasses weigh, what, an ounce? There's an ounce I don't want reflecting on me. ("Um, Jen, have you gained weight?" "No, I'm just wearing glasses. It's optical weight. Here, I'll take them off. Better?") (Please don't tell me I'm overdoing it or weighing myself too much or these little weird conversations I imagine are just further digging my delusional ditch, I know this already.) (And this week's Spin Cycle is about quirks, so there you go.)

Once I step up, I collect the tally and then step off for it to zero out again. Then, I step on again. If the number is the same, I log it mentally and go about my day. If the number is different (which can vary from ounces to a pound or two depending on how I tread), I step up for a third time and go for two out of three.

This last morning though? I got TEN different numbers! What the hell? I had to actually write them down as they happened since the totals varied so much, there was a nine pound difference at one point! I called John in to hop on and see what his total came up as since I knew he weighed himself at the gym and their scale should be calibrated more often. His number came up fine. Not satisfied, I made him try again. The same number.

"Okay, my turn!" I said, and pushed him aside, waiting impatiently for the scale to reset. Once the zero lit up, I stepped on gingerly, trying not to shift my weight. According to the number, I had lost three pounds. Woo hoo! Smiling, I stepped down and hopped on again after it reset. Now, I had gained five.

The scale was screwing with me.

John has promised to buy batteries so we can confirm it's a positive/negative charge thing that is reflecting on my positive/negative weight thing. If it's not, he promised to get me a new scale. (Because this bitch is going down.)

The stats:

John: Down one.

Me: I'm up. I'm down. I'm up. I'm down. I'm down. I'm up... I'm dizzy.

All right, fess up. What's your routine when dealing with the scale? How do you measure up?

Spin Cycle: Quirky? Me?

Lately, the entries for the Spin Cycle have started on a Monday or Tuesday, but Quirks may be the trendsetter, ladies and gentlemen, our first Spin is in!

D.M. Wright over at D. M. Wright Books

CDB over at Fingers and Paws -Updated Monday!

Cristopher over at Ca-Joh -Updated Monday!

Ginger over at When Ginger Snaps... -Updated Monday! Part III of her saga!

Camille over at Archives of Our Lives -Updated Tuesday!

Heidi over at Heidi's Hole -Updated Tuesday!

Nothing Fancy over at Nothing Fancy -Updated Wednesday!

Jan over at Jan's Sushi Bar -Updated Wednesday!

Midlife Mama over at Midlife Musings -Updated Wednesday! New to the Spin Cycle!

Rkki Carr over at Cowgirls Like Me -Updated Wednesday!

Michele over at It's A Dog's Life -Updated Wednesday!

Casey over at Half As Good As You -Updated Thursday!

Lori over at My Life Interrupted -Updated Thursday!

Laufa over at Morgan Madness -Updated Thursday!

Michelle over at Michelle's Blog -Updated Thursday!

Wendy over at Among Mad People -Updated Thursday! New to the Spin Cycle!

Jenni over at Oscarelli -Updated Thursday!

HeatherPride over at Riding the Short Bus -Updated Thursday!

Joanie over at Joanie's Random Ramblings -Updated Thursday!

Pseudo over at Pseudonymous High School Teacher -Updated Thursday!

Meli over at Meli's Rambling Randomness -Updated Thursday!

Kristina over at Momformation -Updated Thursday! New to the Spin Cycle!

Rachel over at The Ramblings of Rachel -Updated Thursday!

Sammanthia over at My A Cup Runneth Over -Updated Thursday!

Do you have quirks? Your loved ones? The guy you work with who has to circle his chair three times before sitting down EVERY TIME he comes back to his desk? (And you hate it SO MUCH even though you watch religiously?) (Yes you do...)

Spin them up by Friday the 27th!