I made these tonight and they are de-lish. I promise to have something witty and poignant for the next post. I figure, though, that every once in a while I'll post a tasty recipe and maybe if I do it often enough, Meryl Streep and Amy Adams will make a movie about me. So, here's the first:
S'Mores Cookie Bars
1 stick (or 1/2 cup) of butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup graham cracker crumbs (I actually probably used a little over a cup)
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
4 HERSHEY's Milk Chocolate bars
1 thingy of Marshmallow creme
Directions:
1. Beat butter and sugar until fluffy. Add the egg and vanilla, beat savagely. In another bowl, stir the flour, graham cracker crumbs, salt and baking soda. Add to the flour mixture and beat it until it begs for mercy. Press half of the dough into a greased/buttered 8x8 baking dish.
2. Arrange the Hershey bars on top of the dough (you'll need to break some of 'em to make 'em fit). Spread the marshmallow creme on top of the chocolate bars. This is the hard part because the candy bars want to stick to the spoon or whatever you're using to spread the seemingly un-spreadable marshmallow creme. Also, the marshmallow creme will somehow find it's way to things and objects you never knew it ever even made contact with. As I type this, it's on my wrist and on the recipe itself. I'm sure next time I use the computer, it'll be stuck all over the monitor...but I digress. Spread the remaining dough on top of the marshmallow creme and press it to form a layer of sticky, doughy goodness.
3. Bake at 350 for about 30 minutes or until lightly browned. The dough itself is kind of a light brown color, so you may not notice when it is lightly browned. Just leave it in until you get scared that you may be burning it. If it is really brown, you've ruined it. Nice going.
4. Let it cool and then cut it into bars. It may be so enticing that you eat it straight out of the dish. It's up to you. Just remember that if you put your entire face into the dish, you're going to get marshmallow creme all over your face and in your hair and then onto your brush and your pillow and so on.
5. Act coy when people tell you how wonderful they are. Hide your face in your hands and blush as though you are embarrassed by the praise being heaped upon you even though you are secretly relishing it. Tell them that it's really nothing and it took you no time at all. Tell them you just threw a bunch of items from your pantry together and voila! Tell them they are so easy to make that even they can do it. But, if they suck, for God's sake don't tell them I gave you the recipe.
Enjoy!
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Helpful Parenting Advice
Prior to having children, I was every other mother's worst nightmare: I was a childless, judgemental know-it-all who freely dispensed advice to people who actually had children. If I wasn't giving out helpful advice I was shooting dirty looks to parents whose children were ruining my food shopping experience by running wild in the grocery store. If my sister's kids were acting up and she was beyond frustrated, I would simply tell her how the situation should be handled. I'm sure she was most appreciative of such wisdom. Free advice at the ready from someone with absolutely no experience in child-rearing - who wouldn't want that?!
In the almost four years that have passed since I became a mom, I have wondered exactly how many times I should apologize to my sister and others for being so completely ignorant and insensitive. (If you add in all of the other stupid stuff I've done, the answer would be, I'd have to do it 24 times a day for the rest of my life.) Something happened to me today that reminded me just how annoying I must have been to other mothers around me for all of those years. Here's the story:
We are having a photographer come to our house Friday morning to do a photo shoot of our family. Because of that, I had the girls at our salon this morning to get Kate's hair cut and my eyebrows yanked out in a desperate bid to be attractive by Friday. When we arrived, Mike was there in Ms. Stacey's seat getting his hair trimmed (took about 6.5 seconds). With the girls in tow, I breezed past the sign at the front of the establishment that reads: For the safety and comfort of our guests, please stay in the waiting area until your stylist can see you.
I plopped down in the empty chair next to Ms. Stacey with Meg in my lap and Kate scaling my leg to try and grab a spot next to Meg. We chatted with everyone - stylists and patrons - for a minute or two when Meg decided she had had enough of me and kicked and wriggled her way off of my lap and onto the floor. People were telling us how cute the girls are (which is so true) and how much fun they must be (sometimes that's true). They remarked about how similar they look (also true) and how sweet they were (not at all true).
Kate was being very coy and kept burying her face into my chest every time some spoke to her or even looked her way. She's very bashful just like I was at her age. Meg, on the other hand, was performing. She was dancing around for everyone; smiling sweetly and waving at everyone in the room. People would compliment her and she would tilt her head and say. "Kank Yew!" to which everyone would reply "Awwwwww".
I am always filled with such pride every time someone compliments my girls. They do have sweet dispositions. They are adorable. They are both very silly and very funny. Who wouldn't be proud? Of course, it never dawns on me how many times I've said these things to other parents just to be nice. It did dawn on me today, however, after one stylist said, "Maggie, could you pick her up? I don't want someone to trip over her."
What?!! Trip over her cuteness? Trip over her blonde, bouncing curls? Trip over her huge personality? You don't mean she's in your way, do you? But...But... She's Meg. She's not that nasty kid in WalMart with no shoes and Kool Aid all over her fat, filthy face. She's too cute to be in someone's way. She's too sweet to be...gasp!...annoying.
How did I miss this? I am always very tuned into the needs and feelings of others, particularly when it comes to the volume of my kids' voices and their heightened energy level. I always wondered how parents could be so oblivious to the fact that their child was misbehaving - could it be that they viewed it as "cute" behavior and assumed others thought it was as precious as they did? Or was I right all along and they truly are just all terrible parents and this was just a rare occurrence for me? I'm just sure it's the latter.
I grabbed Meg up into my arms, embarrassed, and apologized profusely. I noticed that there was not one, "Oh, that's okay" in the crowd. We walked over to the waiting area with Kate following close behind. I was acutely aware of both girls' behavior for the rest of our time there and I have to say, they were pretty well-behaved. Kate sat very still while Ms. Stacey trimmed her hair and even gave her a sweet, sincere "thank you". I apologized again as I paid for her services with Kate standing next to me and Meg zipping in and out of the "tunnel" of my legs. I pondered this important lesson that I was fortunate enough to learn. I decided to never again purport to be a better or more considerate mother than others and I would certainly be smart enough going forward to keep my opinions to myself.
On the way home, we had to make a quick trip into WalMart. We were in line behind this woman whose two kids were SCREAMING and demanding that she buy them some "Bubba" Gum (we live in Lookout Valley where this is the common pronunciation). As I looked at this harried woman, I felt her pain and I thought to myself, Someone should really tell her to shut those kids up.
In the almost four years that have passed since I became a mom, I have wondered exactly how many times I should apologize to my sister and others for being so completely ignorant and insensitive. (If you add in all of the other stupid stuff I've done, the answer would be, I'd have to do it 24 times a day for the rest of my life.) Something happened to me today that reminded me just how annoying I must have been to other mothers around me for all of those years. Here's the story:
We are having a photographer come to our house Friday morning to do a photo shoot of our family. Because of that, I had the girls at our salon this morning to get Kate's hair cut and my eyebrows yanked out in a desperate bid to be attractive by Friday. When we arrived, Mike was there in Ms. Stacey's seat getting his hair trimmed (took about 6.5 seconds). With the girls in tow, I breezed past the sign at the front of the establishment that reads: For the safety and comfort of our guests, please stay in the waiting area until your stylist can see you.
I plopped down in the empty chair next to Ms. Stacey with Meg in my lap and Kate scaling my leg to try and grab a spot next to Meg. We chatted with everyone - stylists and patrons - for a minute or two when Meg decided she had had enough of me and kicked and wriggled her way off of my lap and onto the floor. People were telling us how cute the girls are (which is so true) and how much fun they must be (sometimes that's true). They remarked about how similar they look (also true) and how sweet they were (not at all true).
Kate was being very coy and kept burying her face into my chest every time some spoke to her or even looked her way. She's very bashful just like I was at her age. Meg, on the other hand, was performing. She was dancing around for everyone; smiling sweetly and waving at everyone in the room. People would compliment her and she would tilt her head and say. "Kank Yew!" to which everyone would reply "Awwwwww".
I am always filled with such pride every time someone compliments my girls. They do have sweet dispositions. They are adorable. They are both very silly and very funny. Who wouldn't be proud? Of course, it never dawns on me how many times I've said these things to other parents just to be nice. It did dawn on me today, however, after one stylist said, "Maggie, could you pick her up? I don't want someone to trip over her."
What?!! Trip over her cuteness? Trip over her blonde, bouncing curls? Trip over her huge personality? You don't mean she's in your way, do you? But...But... She's Meg. She's not that nasty kid in WalMart with no shoes and Kool Aid all over her fat, filthy face. She's too cute to be in someone's way. She's too sweet to be...gasp!...annoying.
How did I miss this? I am always very tuned into the needs and feelings of others, particularly when it comes to the volume of my kids' voices and their heightened energy level. I always wondered how parents could be so oblivious to the fact that their child was misbehaving - could it be that they viewed it as "cute" behavior and assumed others thought it was as precious as they did? Or was I right all along and they truly are just all terrible parents and this was just a rare occurrence for me? I'm just sure it's the latter.
I grabbed Meg up into my arms, embarrassed, and apologized profusely. I noticed that there was not one, "Oh, that's okay" in the crowd. We walked over to the waiting area with Kate following close behind. I was acutely aware of both girls' behavior for the rest of our time there and I have to say, they were pretty well-behaved. Kate sat very still while Ms. Stacey trimmed her hair and even gave her a sweet, sincere "thank you". I apologized again as I paid for her services with Kate standing next to me and Meg zipping in and out of the "tunnel" of my legs. I pondered this important lesson that I was fortunate enough to learn. I decided to never again purport to be a better or more considerate mother than others and I would certainly be smart enough going forward to keep my opinions to myself.
On the way home, we had to make a quick trip into WalMart. We were in line behind this woman whose two kids were SCREAMING and demanding that she buy them some "Bubba" Gum (we live in Lookout Valley where this is the common pronunciation). As I looked at this harried woman, I felt her pain and I thought to myself, Someone should really tell her to shut those kids up.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Post With The Most
Well, I was wide awake last night at 2:00 a.m. so I did what any other normal person would do. I "Googled" myself.
I started with my current last name. My Facebook page came up. Okay, harmless. It also turns out that I am a flutist in Missouri (I'm not. Some other, better Maggie McCallie is.). Pretty impressive. Also, interestingly, I was married to Alexander McCallie in Scotland in 1746. Cool! Then I searched under my maiden name. My Facebook page came up again as did several links to information from my time working in Student Affairs at MTSU (Go Blue Raiders!).
One entry that came up under my maiden name was something that I had hoped over time would be eternally lost in the myriad of sites out there in Webland. Something that has plagued me in the 11 years that have passed since it occurred. Something that to this day causes me a great deal of personal shame and regret. It requires explaining so here goes:
I was living in Knoxville in graduate school (Go Vols!) at the time and I had my first laptop in order to type and print papers and projects. I was just becoming aware of this new phenomenon called "the internet". (It wasn't exactly new at the time; it was simply something I had resisted becoming acquainted with because I thought it was just a trend.) A neighbor I had a crush on that never amounted to a darn thing helped me create a username and password in AOL. He told me I would need a username that was unique to me but that also didn't have too much personal information in it. He worked in a security business so he tried to steer me away from having my first and last name present in my email address. So, I did what any other normal person would do. I created a username that paid homage to my dog. Clearly I didn't have a lot going on in my life since that's the best I could come up with.
At any rate, my username was the catchy, maggiejrt@aol.com - the "JRT" stood for Jack Russell Terrier. As I began to navigate my way through this "internet", I did what any other normal person would do. I looked up dirty stuff. At the time, I kept hearing about all of these porn sites and I just couldn't imagine that there were pictures of that kind of thing on display for people to see. Once I was able to see that, in fact, there were millions upon millions of sex sites out there in cyberspace, I began searching for things I was actually interested in. I went to my undergraduate university's website (War Eagle!). I looked up celebrities I liked as well as lyrics to songs I couldn't figure out on my own. Then I did what any other normal person would do. I visited Jack Russell Terrier sites. (I think I may be starting to understand why nothing ever happened with my cute neighbor.)
Yes, on nights and not surprisingly weekends, I had puh-lenty of time to search several pictures of all kinds of Jack Russells. Short ones. Tall ones. Some with floppy ears. Some with pointy ears that stood straight up. Some with smooth coats. Some with rough coats. Some with smooth coats AND floppy ears, etc...
So apparently (well, not "apparently" - it is time-stamped for all the world to see) one Thursday evening in June 1998, I was just chillin' at my pad, kickin' it on a JRT site when I did what any other normal person would do. I decided to "Sign the Guestbook". Why I felt compelled to do this, I will never know. What I do know is that in a state of complete loss of my mental faculties, I wrote the following:
Your website is great! My JRT, Dudley, and I enjoy looking at all of the cute photos of other great JRTs.
And of course, in order to make it completely discernable that is was in fact Maggie Prugh of Birmingham, Alabama (even though I was in Knoxville at the time) that wrote this, I signed my name to it.
I am picturing this lonely, single girl with her dog in her lap spending hours upon hours crying and scouring the internet for the best pictures of dogs while never leaving the comfort of her pajamas. In reality that wasn't exactly the case. I was single, yes. I did have a dog. And I was going to dog-related websites. All of that is true. But I wasn't as much of a loser as the post would suggest. But of course, there was no guestbook to sign at an "I Promise I Am Not a Total Loser.com" site.
So what image do you think this conjures up for previous boyfriends? Certainly not one of "the one that got away". No, this post screams of "Thank God I dumped her"!!! What would this post leave enemies from high school and sorority days to assume? "She is the failure I always knew she would be". And you know they've Googled me. I've Googled them, so I know they've Googled me. That's what losers do.
So, every once in a while I will search for my name in hopes that this site has been shut down or removed so I can go on and live a peaceful - and very full, despite what the post would suggest - life. And every time I am disappointed to see not only the link, but my actual post come up in the results of my search. You may be asking yourself how full my life could be given that I continue to Google myself and have searched for former boyfriends. I don't think I'll address that question. Let's just move on.
So how did I combat this and ensure that my privacy is protected and that I don't post anything stupid out there in cyberspace again? I did what any other normal person would do. I started a blog.
I started with my current last name. My Facebook page came up. Okay, harmless. It also turns out that I am a flutist in Missouri (I'm not. Some other, better Maggie McCallie is.). Pretty impressive. Also, interestingly, I was married to Alexander McCallie in Scotland in 1746. Cool! Then I searched under my maiden name. My Facebook page came up again as did several links to information from my time working in Student Affairs at MTSU (Go Blue Raiders!).
One entry that came up under my maiden name was something that I had hoped over time would be eternally lost in the myriad of sites out there in Webland. Something that has plagued me in the 11 years that have passed since it occurred. Something that to this day causes me a great deal of personal shame and regret. It requires explaining so here goes:
I was living in Knoxville in graduate school (Go Vols!) at the time and I had my first laptop in order to type and print papers and projects. I was just becoming aware of this new phenomenon called "the internet". (It wasn't exactly new at the time; it was simply something I had resisted becoming acquainted with because I thought it was just a trend.) A neighbor I had a crush on that never amounted to a darn thing helped me create a username and password in AOL. He told me I would need a username that was unique to me but that also didn't have too much personal information in it. He worked in a security business so he tried to steer me away from having my first and last name present in my email address. So, I did what any other normal person would do. I created a username that paid homage to my dog. Clearly I didn't have a lot going on in my life since that's the best I could come up with.
At any rate, my username was the catchy, maggiejrt@aol.com - the "JRT" stood for Jack Russell Terrier. As I began to navigate my way through this "internet", I did what any other normal person would do. I looked up dirty stuff. At the time, I kept hearing about all of these porn sites and I just couldn't imagine that there were pictures of that kind of thing on display for people to see. Once I was able to see that, in fact, there were millions upon millions of sex sites out there in cyberspace, I began searching for things I was actually interested in. I went to my undergraduate university's website (War Eagle!). I looked up celebrities I liked as well as lyrics to songs I couldn't figure out on my own. Then I did what any other normal person would do. I visited Jack Russell Terrier sites. (I think I may be starting to understand why nothing ever happened with my cute neighbor.)
Yes, on nights and not surprisingly weekends, I had puh-lenty of time to search several pictures of all kinds of Jack Russells. Short ones. Tall ones. Some with floppy ears. Some with pointy ears that stood straight up. Some with smooth coats. Some with rough coats. Some with smooth coats AND floppy ears, etc...
So apparently (well, not "apparently" - it is time-stamped for all the world to see) one Thursday evening in June 1998, I was just chillin' at my pad, kickin' it on a JRT site when I did what any other normal person would do. I decided to "Sign the Guestbook". Why I felt compelled to do this, I will never know. What I do know is that in a state of complete loss of my mental faculties, I wrote the following:
Your website is great! My JRT, Dudley, and I enjoy looking at all of the cute photos of other great JRTs.
And of course, in order to make it completely discernable that is was in fact Maggie Prugh of Birmingham, Alabama (even though I was in Knoxville at the time) that wrote this, I signed my name to it.
I am picturing this lonely, single girl with her dog in her lap spending hours upon hours crying and scouring the internet for the best pictures of dogs while never leaving the comfort of her pajamas. In reality that wasn't exactly the case. I was single, yes. I did have a dog. And I was going to dog-related websites. All of that is true. But I wasn't as much of a loser as the post would suggest. But of course, there was no guestbook to sign at an "I Promise I Am Not a Total Loser.com" site.
So what image do you think this conjures up for previous boyfriends? Certainly not one of "the one that got away". No, this post screams of "Thank God I dumped her"!!! What would this post leave enemies from high school and sorority days to assume? "She is the failure I always knew she would be". And you know they've Googled me. I've Googled them, so I know they've Googled me. That's what losers do.
So, every once in a while I will search for my name in hopes that this site has been shut down or removed so I can go on and live a peaceful - and very full, despite what the post would suggest - life. And every time I am disappointed to see not only the link, but my actual post come up in the results of my search. You may be asking yourself how full my life could be given that I continue to Google myself and have searched for former boyfriends. I don't think I'll address that question. Let's just move on.
So how did I combat this and ensure that my privacy is protected and that I don't post anything stupid out there in cyberspace again? I did what any other normal person would do. I started a blog.
Monday, October 26, 2009
New Diet Plan
I’m going to lose 10-15 pounds. But THIS time, I’m not going to put them somewhere where I can find them. I should at least make them difficult to find even if I do ultimately remember where I put them.
This weight gain is ridiculous. I’ve been telling people that I need to lose ten pounds even though secretly, I only thought I needed to lose about five. Then, I went for my yearly physical and it turns out that ten pounds is a little conservative and really I need to lose about 15 pounds in order to not be the amorphous mass I have become over time.
What has happened to my metabolism? Could it be that my clothes are all shrinking in the dryer or at the cleaners? That happens, you know. This most recent weight gain certainly couldn’t have anything to do with my eating habits. Let’s see:
Breakfast –
Most days, nothing or finishing of the girls’ food. Some days I’ll east a cup of yogurt or cottage cheese and a piece of fruit. Not too bad. Then the problem must be…
Lunch –
On the days I stay home, I’ll have a sandwich and chips. Or, if we are out and about, I’ll grab something from McDonalds or maybe we’ll hit the Pizza Hut buffet. Hmmm.
On the days I work, I usually begin emailing coworkers around 9:15 inquiring about the day’s lunch plans. I can suffer through a few rejections and not get discouraged. I am on a mission. When I do find someone who’ll eat with me (I realize this is making me sound like a loser, but a lot of times, my friends bring their own lunches because they are trying to eat healthily), it’s usually a Mexican restaurant (at least once a week) or we will go to a “Meat and Three” where I’ll usually get a big salad. Harmless right? Did I mention the contents of my salad are unrecognizable due to the amount of ranch dressing I have drowned them in? Uh oh. I think I see how this all could be happening. Then there’s…
Dinner –
Wait! I forgot my snack on the days that I’m home! Around 3:00, I usually sit on the couch and inhale a bag (a big one) of whatever chips I have in the house. I always have an impressive assortment, so on any given day it could be Funyuns, Doritos (nacho and cool ranch), chili cheese Fritos, sour cream and onion, or some combination of these. Okay, so…
Dinner –
If Mike is out of town, we hit the McDonald’s, Sonic, or Krystal. Certainly not because I want it. My kids like this kind of stuff. I would much prefer a big plate of vegetables… If Mike is not traveling, sometimes we hit the McDonald’s, Sonic, uh-oh. I’m sensing a pattern. But some nights, I’ll pick up a pizza. For the kids. They love it. I only tolerate it. Or, we’ll go to Waffle House. Again, for the kids.
On the rare occasion I am driven to cook, I’ll fix chicken and veggies (something none of us wants to eat) or spaghetti and salad, tacos, or something else that is quick and easy.
Looking over the list of what we eat, it does look pretty bad, but here is how I rationalize it. My kids are horrible eaters. The doctors have kind of given me license to give them fatty foods (in addition to healthy foods) in order to get some calories in them. So, cheese eggs from Waffle House aren’t as horrible as they sound (translation – please don’t think I am the world’s worst mother). Also, I have Jessica Seinfeld’s book that teaches you how to slide puréed vegetables and fruits into foods kids will eat. I do this with a lot of the things I cook. But, make no mistake. I have to hide healthy things in foods for myself as much as for my children.
I just don’t like a lot of things that are good for me. I love fried foods. I love chips and sweets. I love burgers and pizza. Tacos and meatballs. Bacon and sausage. All of it. And when I eat, I am operating under the assumption that this could be my last meal and I deserve to enjoy it. (If I keep eating this way, it very well could be my last meal on any given day.) What I need to do is to change my mindset about food. Do I have to scarf down every meal because it is so yummy that I can’t get enough? Or, should I start looking at food as fuel and eat things that are healthy for me and reserve the “bad” foods for a few times a week when I will see them as treats? Obviously, I should choose the latter. But really, dogs get treats. Am I a dog? No, I am not. I am a person who is 15 pounds overweight. Damnit!
So, how will I lose this weight? I’ve already established that my eating habits could use some cleaning up. I have begun exercising again. And by that I mean I’ve gotten on the treadmill twice in the past week. But that’s something, right? Gotta start somewhere.
Last week, one of my coworkers returned to work after tending to her sick child who had a stomach bug. Her child lost five pounds in one week because the horrible thing. Everyone around me was saying things like, “Poor thing”, “Sounds awful”, and “Bless her heart”. I was thinking, “Would it be weird if I asked if I could lick the inside of her mouth?” You know, just to kind of jump-start the process.
I guess I’ll have to do what every doctor, nutritionalist, and the like suggests – eat less junk, eat more good stuff, and exercise. That just sounds like a lot of work. I think I’ll just sit on the couch and eat Doritos. Anyone have the stomach flu around here? If so, can I borrow your toothbrush?
This weight gain is ridiculous. I’ve been telling people that I need to lose ten pounds even though secretly, I only thought I needed to lose about five. Then, I went for my yearly physical and it turns out that ten pounds is a little conservative and really I need to lose about 15 pounds in order to not be the amorphous mass I have become over time.
What has happened to my metabolism? Could it be that my clothes are all shrinking in the dryer or at the cleaners? That happens, you know. This most recent weight gain certainly couldn’t have anything to do with my eating habits. Let’s see:
Breakfast –
Most days, nothing or finishing of the girls’ food. Some days I’ll east a cup of yogurt or cottage cheese and a piece of fruit. Not too bad. Then the problem must be…
Lunch –
On the days I stay home, I’ll have a sandwich and chips. Or, if we are out and about, I’ll grab something from McDonalds or maybe we’ll hit the Pizza Hut buffet. Hmmm.
On the days I work, I usually begin emailing coworkers around 9:15 inquiring about the day’s lunch plans. I can suffer through a few rejections and not get discouraged. I am on a mission. When I do find someone who’ll eat with me (I realize this is making me sound like a loser, but a lot of times, my friends bring their own lunches because they are trying to eat healthily), it’s usually a Mexican restaurant (at least once a week) or we will go to a “Meat and Three” where I’ll usually get a big salad. Harmless right? Did I mention the contents of my salad are unrecognizable due to the amount of ranch dressing I have drowned them in? Uh oh. I think I see how this all could be happening. Then there’s…
Dinner –
Wait! I forgot my snack on the days that I’m home! Around 3:00, I usually sit on the couch and inhale a bag (a big one) of whatever chips I have in the house. I always have an impressive assortment, so on any given day it could be Funyuns, Doritos (nacho and cool ranch), chili cheese Fritos, sour cream and onion, or some combination of these. Okay, so…
Dinner –
If Mike is out of town, we hit the McDonald’s, Sonic, or Krystal. Certainly not because I want it. My kids like this kind of stuff. I would much prefer a big plate of vegetables… If Mike is not traveling, sometimes we hit the McDonald’s, Sonic, uh-oh. I’m sensing a pattern. But some nights, I’ll pick up a pizza. For the kids. They love it. I only tolerate it. Or, we’ll go to Waffle House. Again, for the kids.
On the rare occasion I am driven to cook, I’ll fix chicken and veggies (something none of us wants to eat) or spaghetti and salad, tacos, or something else that is quick and easy.
Looking over the list of what we eat, it does look pretty bad, but here is how I rationalize it. My kids are horrible eaters. The doctors have kind of given me license to give them fatty foods (in addition to healthy foods) in order to get some calories in them. So, cheese eggs from Waffle House aren’t as horrible as they sound (translation – please don’t think I am the world’s worst mother). Also, I have Jessica Seinfeld’s book that teaches you how to slide puréed vegetables and fruits into foods kids will eat. I do this with a lot of the things I cook. But, make no mistake. I have to hide healthy things in foods for myself as much as for my children.
I just don’t like a lot of things that are good for me. I love fried foods. I love chips and sweets. I love burgers and pizza. Tacos and meatballs. Bacon and sausage. All of it. And when I eat, I am operating under the assumption that this could be my last meal and I deserve to enjoy it. (If I keep eating this way, it very well could be my last meal on any given day.) What I need to do is to change my mindset about food. Do I have to scarf down every meal because it is so yummy that I can’t get enough? Or, should I start looking at food as fuel and eat things that are healthy for me and reserve the “bad” foods for a few times a week when I will see them as treats? Obviously, I should choose the latter. But really, dogs get treats. Am I a dog? No, I am not. I am a person who is 15 pounds overweight. Damnit!
So, how will I lose this weight? I’ve already established that my eating habits could use some cleaning up. I have begun exercising again. And by that I mean I’ve gotten on the treadmill twice in the past week. But that’s something, right? Gotta start somewhere.
Last week, one of my coworkers returned to work after tending to her sick child who had a stomach bug. Her child lost five pounds in one week because the horrible thing. Everyone around me was saying things like, “Poor thing”, “Sounds awful”, and “Bless her heart”. I was thinking, “Would it be weird if I asked if I could lick the inside of her mouth?” You know, just to kind of jump-start the process.
I guess I’ll have to do what every doctor, nutritionalist, and the like suggests – eat less junk, eat more good stuff, and exercise. That just sounds like a lot of work. I think I’ll just sit on the couch and eat Doritos. Anyone have the stomach flu around here? If so, can I borrow your toothbrush?
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Happiness Is Wanting What You Get
It occurred to me last night as I was filling my coffee maker with coffee beans to grind for this morning’s fuel, how WONDERFUL coffee smells. I was also struck by the resulting letdown that is one’s very first sip of coffee. That horribly bitter taste is truly one of life’s little disappointments. How does something that smells so intoxicating turn into something so …well, disappointing?
It is wrong. Just wrong. And there are several other things both trivial and significant that you learn over time are not what you expected them to be. First-time sex comes to mind (not that I would know about that – just in case my dad is reading…). Your first sip of wine – blechhh! (Your 1052nd sip? MMMMMMMMM!) Discovering in your mid-twenties while trying to squeeze into a pair of previously loose-fitting jeans that your once robust metabolism is falling victim to the ravages of time. Getting your first “real world” job and seeing how the leaders actually conduct themselves. The inevitable pattern in your life of friendship erosion; losing commonalities with friends you always thought you’d be tight with. Yes, sadly, life is full of little disappointments along the way.
I can recall feeling at many stages of my life that things could be good IF/WHEN… fill in the blank. I will be happy WHEN I go to college; I will be satisfied IF I find a good boyfriend; I will be so much happier WHEN I no longer have this boyfriend; and on and on. So, at what stage do you say, “Things are just as I want them”? My grandmother had a sign hanging in her kitchen that read. “Happiness is wanting what you get”. As a kid, I argued with her: “No, happiness is getting what you want”. At that time, the concept was a bit too much for me to grasp.
Over time, thankfully, I have realized that happiness truly is wanting what you get. In most cases, you’re going to get whatever you’re going to get (It is what it is - ugh…). But what we would be better off focusing on is whether we are happy with whatever it is we get. If we are, that’s great. We are ahead of the curve. If we are not, then it is up to us to change our reality.
So, how do you avoid always feeling like things aren’t as good as you’d wished they would be? Well, one way is to change the things that we are not happy we have gotten. I recommend this one although it may be a long process. Another option that may require less energy (which is often the road I take) is to focus on life’s little pleasures. And there are many.
Finding money in your jeans pocket you didn’t know was there. Seeing yours or your spouse’s traits come out in your children. Taking an afternoon nap. Having someone confide in you thereby giving you an opportunity to help them in some way. Becoming friends with your parents and grandparents as you age. Having a really good hair day (maybe one day I’ll know the feeling of this one). This list can go on and on – hopefully longer than the list of disappointments.
Now, I am a natural pessimist. What’s with this uplifting post? Well, in the past few weeks, I’ve really become more aware of the passage of time and how quickly my girls are growing and changing. I spend a lot of time wishing they were a little older so I don’t have to do as much “work”. It’s like I don’t want to make time for them sometimes. But I have recently had some really good conversations with Kate. She makes me laugh so hard with the ridiculous things she says. And Meg is exceedingly happy and is always so excited to see me. She gives me these big bear hugs we call a “tight squeeze”. One day – probably sooner rather than later (but certainly sooner than I will want it to be) they won’t have time for me. And I will be forced to wonder why I didn’t take advantage of the pleasure of enjoying them now and in these moments.
So I am making a conscious effort to take pleasure in what I have right now. As it turns out, I have wanted a vast majority of the things that I’ve gotten. For that I am humbled and thankful. So, the next time I am faced with some kind of a disappointment or reality I wish wasn’t mine, I will try and choose my response and be grateful for what I have in this moment. That’s really all we have anyway.
It is wrong. Just wrong. And there are several other things both trivial and significant that you learn over time are not what you expected them to be. First-time sex comes to mind (not that I would know about that – just in case my dad is reading…). Your first sip of wine – blechhh! (Your 1052nd sip? MMMMMMMMM!) Discovering in your mid-twenties while trying to squeeze into a pair of previously loose-fitting jeans that your once robust metabolism is falling victim to the ravages of time. Getting your first “real world” job and seeing how the leaders actually conduct themselves. The inevitable pattern in your life of friendship erosion; losing commonalities with friends you always thought you’d be tight with. Yes, sadly, life is full of little disappointments along the way.
I can recall feeling at many stages of my life that things could be good IF/WHEN… fill in the blank. I will be happy WHEN I go to college; I will be satisfied IF I find a good boyfriend; I will be so much happier WHEN I no longer have this boyfriend; and on and on. So, at what stage do you say, “Things are just as I want them”? My grandmother had a sign hanging in her kitchen that read. “Happiness is wanting what you get”. As a kid, I argued with her: “No, happiness is getting what you want”. At that time, the concept was a bit too much for me to grasp.
Over time, thankfully, I have realized that happiness truly is wanting what you get. In most cases, you’re going to get whatever you’re going to get (It is what it is - ugh…). But what we would be better off focusing on is whether we are happy with whatever it is we get. If we are, that’s great. We are ahead of the curve. If we are not, then it is up to us to change our reality.
So, how do you avoid always feeling like things aren’t as good as you’d wished they would be? Well, one way is to change the things that we are not happy we have gotten. I recommend this one although it may be a long process. Another option that may require less energy (which is often the road I take) is to focus on life’s little pleasures. And there are many.
Finding money in your jeans pocket you didn’t know was there. Seeing yours or your spouse’s traits come out in your children. Taking an afternoon nap. Having someone confide in you thereby giving you an opportunity to help them in some way. Becoming friends with your parents and grandparents as you age. Having a really good hair day (maybe one day I’ll know the feeling of this one). This list can go on and on – hopefully longer than the list of disappointments.
Now, I am a natural pessimist. What’s with this uplifting post? Well, in the past few weeks, I’ve really become more aware of the passage of time and how quickly my girls are growing and changing. I spend a lot of time wishing they were a little older so I don’t have to do as much “work”. It’s like I don’t want to make time for them sometimes. But I have recently had some really good conversations with Kate. She makes me laugh so hard with the ridiculous things she says. And Meg is exceedingly happy and is always so excited to see me. She gives me these big bear hugs we call a “tight squeeze”. One day – probably sooner rather than later (but certainly sooner than I will want it to be) they won’t have time for me. And I will be forced to wonder why I didn’t take advantage of the pleasure of enjoying them now and in these moments.
So I am making a conscious effort to take pleasure in what I have right now. As it turns out, I have wanted a vast majority of the things that I’ve gotten. For that I am humbled and thankful. So, the next time I am faced with some kind of a disappointment or reality I wish wasn’t mine, I will try and choose my response and be grateful for what I have in this moment. That’s really all we have anyway.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
My Deflated Ego
Before I got married, I was single for several years and completely self-reliant. If the trash needed taking out, I’d take it out. If a picture needed hanging, I’d hang it. If a bug was in the house and needed squishing, I’d squish it. Then I got married and I lost some of that. Why should I take out the trash when Mike is so good at it? Why should I hang a picture that will likely be hung off-center when Mike has a leveler that can aid in hanging it perfectly straight and centered? Is that a bug?!!! AAAAGGGGHHH!!! HEY, MIKE? CAN YOU COME HERE?
I have to say, I kind of miss that self-reliance I used to enjoy. Over time, I think I have lost some of the ability to take care of things. I don’t ever do anything related to home improvement or car maintenance or anything like that anymore. It probably sounds strange that I would be lamenting the days of toilet-plunging, but I just miss being capable of depending on myself to get things taken care of.
A good example of late is when an indication light in my car came on. I had no idea what it was indicating – I even referred to the Owner’s Guide to try and figure out what it was. I never found it and the car seemed to be running well, so naturally I ignored it. About a week and a half later, Mike mentioned to me that my back tire pressure was low and that he had fixed it. I looked at the dashboard and sure enough, the indicator light was off. Problem solved. I asked which tire it was that was low and he pointed to the back tires and said, “See?”. I, of course, didn’t see. They both looked the same to me.
So, over the course of the last few weeks, this light has kept coming on sporadically and Mike has magically made it disappear. Today, however, Mike was out of town. This was MY chance to take of it MYself. So, on the way to take Kate to her gym class, I happily pulled into the local gas station. I was now going to prove to myself that I could once again be self-sufficient.
My first annoyance was the banged-up truck and trailer that had pulled up and parked right in front of the air machine. The grizzly, hippy-looking guy saw me pull in behind him to wait my turn, acknowledged me, and then waltzed inside the gas station. So, this guy saw me… he just didn’t care that I needed what he was parked in front of. Grrrr…
So, I waited for a few minutes until I realized that he was in absolutely no hurry to get out of there and subsequently get the heck out of my way. So, I decided that I could probably just pull around and back in front of the machine to get my air. So, I angrily pulled over where I needed to be and noticed that there was a passenger in the car! At some point, this frumpy, groovy-looking girl could have moved the car since it was clearly blocking my path. But, no, she was too clueless – lost in a cloud of cigarette (or some other type of) smoke.
So, I shot her a dirty look and went about dramatically removing the air hose from its post and squatting next to my back tires – a move choreographed to excess just to drive home the point that they were still IN MY WAY. I had never filled my tires with air before, but I looked like I knew what I was doing. I had the pressure gauge in my hand (at least, I think that’s what it’s called) and when I inserted it into the back left tire, it popped out to about 15 whatevers. Seems like I remembered that tires should be at 30 whatevers, so I pushed the hose onto the thingy on the tire (this is all mechanic-speak for you lay people). I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen. Was I supposed to squeeze the handle to make the air shoot into the tire? It made sense to do so, so that’s what I did. I had considered calling Mike for assistance, but this was my task to accomplish on my own. I held the hose steady for a little bit but the hissing sound kind of made it appear that I was actually losing air instead of filling the tire. I wasn’t at all sure I was accomplishing anything, but I removed the hose and put the pressure gauge back into the tire. This time it looked like it was just a hair lower than the last time, so I clearly wasn’t using the gauge right. I put the hose back onto the tire for a little while longer just for good measure and then went to the back right tire (since I had never really been able to discern which tire was leaking) to repeat these steps.
The right tire seemed to be in better shape because this time the pressure gauge popped out to between 20 and 25 whatevers. I pressed the hose into the tire for a little bit and decided that I needed to go back around to the left tire. If the right tire was between 20 and 25 whatevers, then the left one was too low. Keep in mind, the grungy couple hauling the trailer was still parked in the same place while I was doing all of this bending, stooping and squatting. I was still shooting them exasperated looks whenever possible, of course, and was prancing around this air hose like I knew what I was doing (which I did not).
So, I filled the left tire again briefly and decided to drive over to the pump for some fuel. While I’m pumping the gas, I check out the back tires. They both now seemed noticeably low to me. Maybe it was because I now comparing them to the look of the front tires. I was being more deliberate about how I was looking at this since it was now my project and my first step in reclaiming my self-reliance. Nevertheless, I decided once the tank was full, to go back over to the air hose. By this time, the inconsiderate couple had decided to leave – presumably to go get in someone else’s way.
Once back at the hose, I again got out of the car and went around to the back left tire. I didn’t take the pressure gauge with me this time. I figured I just needed to keep the hose to the tire for a longer period of time. But now it was appearing that this tire was actually losing air. It was now clearly lower than it had been when I had started all of this nonsense. What was I doing wrong? Did I mention that it was drizzling the whole time I was squatting down next to my tires? Why was I doing this?
I went around again to the back right tire and the same thing happened! I was growing more frustrated by the minute. Then I turned to replace the hose and something caught my eye. A small coin slot (as opposed to the big one I was displaying every time I squatted next to my car). A coin slot that indicated that it was 75 cents in order to use the air hose.
Imagine my embarrassment (I’m thinking of that hippy couple watching me) when I realized what I had just spent the better part of 20 minutes doing. I wasn’t pumping up the tires at all. This whole time I had actually been deflating my two back tires by plugging an empty air hose up to them. After fishing around in my wallet to find three quarters, I was able to pump up the tires and we were on our way to the gym. My ego was still somewhere on the ground by the air hose.
Well, that was my heroic story of trying to become more capable of fending for myself as I so often did in my single days. My recommendation to my married (or otherwise non-single) friends out there is to find ways to take care of yourselves even if your significant other could do it for you. Save yourself from waking up one day to realize that you are incapable of carrying out life’s simple little tasks anymore. That realization can really let the air out of your tires. So to speak.
I have to say, I kind of miss that self-reliance I used to enjoy. Over time, I think I have lost some of the ability to take care of things. I don’t ever do anything related to home improvement or car maintenance or anything like that anymore. It probably sounds strange that I would be lamenting the days of toilet-plunging, but I just miss being capable of depending on myself to get things taken care of.
A good example of late is when an indication light in my car came on. I had no idea what it was indicating – I even referred to the Owner’s Guide to try and figure out what it was. I never found it and the car seemed to be running well, so naturally I ignored it. About a week and a half later, Mike mentioned to me that my back tire pressure was low and that he had fixed it. I looked at the dashboard and sure enough, the indicator light was off. Problem solved. I asked which tire it was that was low and he pointed to the back tires and said, “See?”. I, of course, didn’t see. They both looked the same to me.
So, over the course of the last few weeks, this light has kept coming on sporadically and Mike has magically made it disappear. Today, however, Mike was out of town. This was MY chance to take of it MYself. So, on the way to take Kate to her gym class, I happily pulled into the local gas station. I was now going to prove to myself that I could once again be self-sufficient.
My first annoyance was the banged-up truck and trailer that had pulled up and parked right in front of the air machine. The grizzly, hippy-looking guy saw me pull in behind him to wait my turn, acknowledged me, and then waltzed inside the gas station. So, this guy saw me… he just didn’t care that I needed what he was parked in front of. Grrrr…
So, I waited for a few minutes until I realized that he was in absolutely no hurry to get out of there and subsequently get the heck out of my way. So, I decided that I could probably just pull around and back in front of the machine to get my air. So, I angrily pulled over where I needed to be and noticed that there was a passenger in the car! At some point, this frumpy, groovy-looking girl could have moved the car since it was clearly blocking my path. But, no, she was too clueless – lost in a cloud of cigarette (or some other type of) smoke.
So, I shot her a dirty look and went about dramatically removing the air hose from its post and squatting next to my back tires – a move choreographed to excess just to drive home the point that they were still IN MY WAY. I had never filled my tires with air before, but I looked like I knew what I was doing. I had the pressure gauge in my hand (at least, I think that’s what it’s called) and when I inserted it into the back left tire, it popped out to about 15 whatevers. Seems like I remembered that tires should be at 30 whatevers, so I pushed the hose onto the thingy on the tire (this is all mechanic-speak for you lay people). I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen. Was I supposed to squeeze the handle to make the air shoot into the tire? It made sense to do so, so that’s what I did. I had considered calling Mike for assistance, but this was my task to accomplish on my own. I held the hose steady for a little bit but the hissing sound kind of made it appear that I was actually losing air instead of filling the tire. I wasn’t at all sure I was accomplishing anything, but I removed the hose and put the pressure gauge back into the tire. This time it looked like it was just a hair lower than the last time, so I clearly wasn’t using the gauge right. I put the hose back onto the tire for a little while longer just for good measure and then went to the back right tire (since I had never really been able to discern which tire was leaking) to repeat these steps.
The right tire seemed to be in better shape because this time the pressure gauge popped out to between 20 and 25 whatevers. I pressed the hose into the tire for a little bit and decided that I needed to go back around to the left tire. If the right tire was between 20 and 25 whatevers, then the left one was too low. Keep in mind, the grungy couple hauling the trailer was still parked in the same place while I was doing all of this bending, stooping and squatting. I was still shooting them exasperated looks whenever possible, of course, and was prancing around this air hose like I knew what I was doing (which I did not).
So, I filled the left tire again briefly and decided to drive over to the pump for some fuel. While I’m pumping the gas, I check out the back tires. They both now seemed noticeably low to me. Maybe it was because I now comparing them to the look of the front tires. I was being more deliberate about how I was looking at this since it was now my project and my first step in reclaiming my self-reliance. Nevertheless, I decided once the tank was full, to go back over to the air hose. By this time, the inconsiderate couple had decided to leave – presumably to go get in someone else’s way.
Once back at the hose, I again got out of the car and went around to the back left tire. I didn’t take the pressure gauge with me this time. I figured I just needed to keep the hose to the tire for a longer period of time. But now it was appearing that this tire was actually losing air. It was now clearly lower than it had been when I had started all of this nonsense. What was I doing wrong? Did I mention that it was drizzling the whole time I was squatting down next to my tires? Why was I doing this?
I went around again to the back right tire and the same thing happened! I was growing more frustrated by the minute. Then I turned to replace the hose and something caught my eye. A small coin slot (as opposed to the big one I was displaying every time I squatted next to my car). A coin slot that indicated that it was 75 cents in order to use the air hose.
Imagine my embarrassment (I’m thinking of that hippy couple watching me) when I realized what I had just spent the better part of 20 minutes doing. I wasn’t pumping up the tires at all. This whole time I had actually been deflating my two back tires by plugging an empty air hose up to them. After fishing around in my wallet to find three quarters, I was able to pump up the tires and we were on our way to the gym. My ego was still somewhere on the ground by the air hose.
Well, that was my heroic story of trying to become more capable of fending for myself as I so often did in my single days. My recommendation to my married (or otherwise non-single) friends out there is to find ways to take care of yourselves even if your significant other could do it for you. Save yourself from waking up one day to realize that you are incapable of carrying out life’s simple little tasks anymore. That realization can really let the air out of your tires. So to speak.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
BREAKING NEWS!!
Well, I am hopeful that you are all finally getting back to your routines after last weekend's nuptials of Khloe Kardashian and Lamar Odom. I am soooo tired – still recovering from trying to care. What? You hadn’t heard? Where have you been? It’s been plastered all over the news. On the cover of every tabloid. The sole reason for E! Entertainment to exist…
I have just two questions about this wedding:
1. Who are these people?
&
2. Why should I care?
Okay, Lamar is in the NBA. I get why people know and perhaps care who he is. But Khloe Kardashian?!! Who is she? There are three Kardashian sisters if I’m not mistaken. Which one is she? Is she the one who was dating Reggie Bush? Is she the pregnant one? Is she the one whose hair is now lighter than it’s been in recent months? Who are these people?! And why must I constantly be accosted with information about them?
You know, after 9/11 happened, I thought, Now maybe our country can begin to focus on what’s important instead of on Britney Spears. At that time, Britney was everywhere and the paparazzi were following her every move. I remember thinking that the media was trying so hard to turn her into this manufactured star in the hopes we could one day compare her to a tragic legend like Marilyn Monroe. Then 9/11 happened and we began to think a little more seriously about what mattered to us as people and as a society.
But, here we are, eight years later and little has changed. And the worst part about it? Khloe makes me actually care about Britney! At least Britney can sing (okay, let's just say she's a singer). Khloe is a “reality” “star”. She’s not a singer. Not a dancer. Not a writer. Not an actress. Her father defended OJ Simpson. Her step-father is Bruce Jenner. But what has she done? What does she bring to the table? What does she contribute to the greater good? Now we are turning people with nothing to offer the world into these media darlings (hello, Paris Hilton!) and we have once again lost our way in determining what is important and what should be talked about.
Now any of you who know me, know that I love TV, movies, and discussing the Hollywood gossip and latest celebrity deaths. So maybe all of this is odd coming from me. I’m just so disappointed in my good friend, E! When E! was first launched, I’ll never forget it. It was as though my mothership had landed. Here was a network who would be devoted solely to famous people who made good TV shows, movies and music. Sure, it would highlight popular culture and not necessarily intellectual culture. It was like a Biography channel about slightly less interesting people than you’d find on A&E. It would be there simply to give you a little more background on celebrities you liked. What it does today is make stars of people who have no discernable talent other than maybe failing to wear underpants publicly.
I never watch E! anymore because they focus mostly on “young Hollywood” many of whom I’ve never heard of. They also have these ridiculous and trashy “reality” shows. Again, they are trying to make someone who isn’t seem interesting. Since they are telling me that these are the people I should care about or look to to set my standards, then they (E!) are dead to me. Even though I’ve sworn off E!, I still occasionally visit eonline.com for the latest entertainment headlines. But last weekend, it seemed like every hour they were posting some new BREAKING!!!! information about this wedding. First they showed us an invitation to the event which was later proven to be a fake/decoy. Then, by the grace of God, we were about to see the actual invitation. I was so relieved to be able to see the actual font that was chosen. It was as though I was able to be a part of their very special day.
I was also wondering how Lamar would celebrate on the night of his bachelor party. Where would he go? Who would accompany him? Would he do something foolish that would put a damper on the wedding itself (Mario Lopez-style)? Luckily, E! was able to provide me with updates. He ultimately chose something low-key. Whew! Marriage saved!
It was all so ridiculous and completely inconsequential in my life and in any normal person’s life other than the Kardashian and Odom families. A simple headline would have been more than sufficient. This couple shouldn’t be famous enough to even warrant that, but I would have been fine with it getting a mention. But E! lost their minds. Even CNN reported it!! Ugh! Is this the best we have to talk about? Apparently it’s the best I have to talk about…
I have just two questions about this wedding:
1. Who are these people?
&
2. Why should I care?
Okay, Lamar is in the NBA. I get why people know and perhaps care who he is. But Khloe Kardashian?!! Who is she? There are three Kardashian sisters if I’m not mistaken. Which one is she? Is she the one who was dating Reggie Bush? Is she the pregnant one? Is she the one whose hair is now lighter than it’s been in recent months? Who are these people?! And why must I constantly be accosted with information about them?
You know, after 9/11 happened, I thought, Now maybe our country can begin to focus on what’s important instead of on Britney Spears. At that time, Britney was everywhere and the paparazzi were following her every move. I remember thinking that the media was trying so hard to turn her into this manufactured star in the hopes we could one day compare her to a tragic legend like Marilyn Monroe. Then 9/11 happened and we began to think a little more seriously about what mattered to us as people and as a society.
But, here we are, eight years later and little has changed. And the worst part about it? Khloe makes me actually care about Britney! At least Britney can sing (okay, let's just say she's a singer). Khloe is a “reality” “star”. She’s not a singer. Not a dancer. Not a writer. Not an actress. Her father defended OJ Simpson. Her step-father is Bruce Jenner. But what has she done? What does she bring to the table? What does she contribute to the greater good? Now we are turning people with nothing to offer the world into these media darlings (hello, Paris Hilton!) and we have once again lost our way in determining what is important and what should be talked about.
Now any of you who know me, know that I love TV, movies, and discussing the Hollywood gossip and latest celebrity deaths. So maybe all of this is odd coming from me. I’m just so disappointed in my good friend, E! When E! was first launched, I’ll never forget it. It was as though my mothership had landed. Here was a network who would be devoted solely to famous people who made good TV shows, movies and music. Sure, it would highlight popular culture and not necessarily intellectual culture. It was like a Biography channel about slightly less interesting people than you’d find on A&E. It would be there simply to give you a little more background on celebrities you liked. What it does today is make stars of people who have no discernable talent other than maybe failing to wear underpants publicly.
I never watch E! anymore because they focus mostly on “young Hollywood” many of whom I’ve never heard of. They also have these ridiculous and trashy “reality” shows. Again, they are trying to make someone who isn’t seem interesting. Since they are telling me that these are the people I should care about or look to to set my standards, then they (E!) are dead to me. Even though I’ve sworn off E!, I still occasionally visit eonline.com for the latest entertainment headlines. But last weekend, it seemed like every hour they were posting some new BREAKING!!!! information about this wedding. First they showed us an invitation to the event which was later proven to be a fake/decoy. Then, by the grace of God, we were about to see the actual invitation. I was so relieved to be able to see the actual font that was chosen. It was as though I was able to be a part of their very special day.
I was also wondering how Lamar would celebrate on the night of his bachelor party. Where would he go? Who would accompany him? Would he do something foolish that would put a damper on the wedding itself (Mario Lopez-style)? Luckily, E! was able to provide me with updates. He ultimately chose something low-key. Whew! Marriage saved!
It was all so ridiculous and completely inconsequential in my life and in any normal person’s life other than the Kardashian and Odom families. A simple headline would have been more than sufficient. This couple shouldn’t be famous enough to even warrant that, but I would have been fine with it getting a mention. But E! lost their minds. Even CNN reported it!! Ugh! Is this the best we have to talk about? Apparently it’s the best I have to talk about…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)