The diet fads are out of control. No carbs and the South Beach diets, people freaking out about what they eat. Where did we lose sight of simply eating in moderation? Oh, I know! Eating in moderation will only maintain a healthy weight, not allow for your hip bones to poke out above the top of your jeans. I am afraid to sit down and really figure out when the last time I was even aware that I had hip bones was. I am sure it wasn’t from them stylishly dancing around above the waist of my pants, but instead from bumping one into the counter top as I was washing a mirror.These people panick in the grocery store, grabbing at you desperately if they can’t find the edamame, or if the shelf is bare of low-carb tortillas. Their eyes are wild, as though they needed these items for their preparation for the coming of the End of Days. When you’ve calmly walked them to their items, they let out deep sighs of relief, and thank you profusely. Hey, no problem, but the real stuff actually has taste, you know.The other day this woman comes running up to me in a breathless panic, almost shouting at me about being out of her favorite soy milk.Upon realizing she was right, I offered a substitution. That was a big mistake. Didn’t I know that this brand was much healthier? Had no preservatives and came from a sterile farm on the outskirts of Scotland? I’m sure! She began, then, to ramble on to me about how we need to be oh so aware of what we put into our bodies, they are temples. I was barely listening to her near hysterical speech about the world’s general health as I was taking in the ironies of what she was saying. Breast implants bobbin’ as she spoke, bottle blond hair *how could she ever think she could pass off that shade of blond as real?*, collagen injections in her lips *you could still see the small puncture wounds around her mouth*, and so much botox you couldn’t tell what emotions were running through her. She stood before me, the epitome of self enhancement through chemical warfare, angry with me and my insesitivity because I couldn’t produce her favorite soy milk right there in the aisle, did I actually expected her to drink normal milk on her cereal in the morning?!Am I missing something?

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The diet fads are out of control. No carbs and the South Beach diets, people freaking out about what they eat. Where did we lose sight of simply eating in moderation? Oh, I know! Eating in moderation will only maintain a healthy weight, not allow for your hip bones to poke out above the top of your jeans. I am afraid to sit down and really figure out when the last time I was even aware that I had hip bones was. I am sure it wasn’t from them stylishly dancing around above the waist of my pants, but instead from bumping one into the counter top as I was washing a mirror.These people panick in the grocery store, grabbing at you desperately if they can’t find the edamame, or if the shelf is bare of low-carb tortillas. Their eyes are wild, as though they needed these items for their preparation for the coming of the End of Days. When you’ve calmly walked them to their items, they let out deep sighs of relief, and thank you profusely. Hey, no problem, but the real stuff actually has taste, you know.The other day this woman comes running up to me in a breathless panic, almost shouting at me about being out of her favorite soy milk.Upon realizing she was right, I offered a substitution. That was a big mistake. Didn’t I know that this brand was much healthier? Had no preservatives and came from a sterile farm on the outskirts of Scotland? I’m sure! She began, then, to ramble on to me about how we need to be oh so aware of what we put into our bodies, they are temples. I was barely listening to her near hysterical speech about the world’s general health as I was taking in the ironies of what she was saying. Breast implants bobbin’ as she spoke, bottle blond hair *how could she ever think she could pass off that shade of blond as real?*, collagen injections in her lips *you could still see the small puncture wounds around her mouth*, and so much botox you couldn’t tell what emotions were running through her. She stood before me, the epitome of self enhancement through chemical warfare, angry with me and my insesitivity because I couldn’t produce her favorite soy milk right there in the aisle, did I actually expected her to drink normal milk on her cereal in the morning?!Am I missing something?

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I am not sure where it comes from, misconception that a day off literally means, a day off. I don’t usually get those. My “days off” are usually spent cleaning house, doing laundry, and whatever other mundane and tedious chore I don’t have time to get to any longer now that I am not a stay at home mom. Now that I do work full time, one would think that I would relish time home spent with my children. Baking cookies, finger painting, playing dress up and football in the front yard. The sad truth of the matter is, most “days off” are spent hollering for rooms to be picked up, shoo-ing children out of my “just cleaned” house, scooting them with arm fulls of clean laundry to be placed “just so” in their drawers and closets, then pushing them on to the showers so that they may get in bed in time. Today, however, I decided to stop that madness. My four year old and I spent four hours this morning and early afternoon *before the yard turned into an oven* working in the garden. We kept our hands busy and our mouths flappin’ the whole time. A junior gossip session in the front yard minus the perm smell. It is amazing. We think we are teaching them. We think that we know it all. In all actuality, they are teaching us just as much. Today she taught me to stop and appreciate. We watched a bug. A tiny water beetle as it passed through the garden, over a rock, beneath the lavender. Her face would light up as she spoke, weaving an intricate tale, full of vivid detail mind you, of where that beetle was going with that food. I watched her for a moment, and she was truly enjoying this adventure. I wondered, where was it in life that I misplaced that ability? To find true joy in something so simplistic or so basic?The world is in a constant state of “hurry up and wait”. People drive 50 miles an hour just so they can be first in line at the red light. People tap their feet and sigh big impatient heaves in the checkout lane if an elderly woman takes a minute or two to get her check filled out because the arthritis in her hands makes them shaky. There isn’t any patience for gratification anymore. We live in an instant gratification society where everything, simply EVERYTHING must be instantaneous or it must not be worth it. Speed diets, speed shopping, speedy internet....... If you’re constantly moving so fast from one thing to another, how can you sit back and enjoy simple things.If you sit back and watch the grass grow, you’ll be amazed at what the four year old next to you can point out, and truly enjoy.I am glad the house is still dirty. I am glad the clothes are not folded. I am glad there are muddy dog’s prints on my white burber carpet, too. Why? Because we laughed hard today, we moved slow and watched the beetles. Because it was funny when the dog ran in, slid on the tile and flew across the living room floor. Most of all, when I said good night to my four year old, she thanked me for playing in the mud with her all day today. 

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I am not sure where it comes from, misconception that a day off literally means, a day off. I don’t usually get those. My “days off” are usually spent cleaning house, doing laundry, and whatever other mundane and tedious chore I don’t have time to get to any longer now that I am not a stay at home mom. Now that I do work full time, one would think that I would relish time home spent with my children. Baking cookies, finger painting, playing dress up and football in the front yard. The sad truth of the matter is, most “days off” are spent hollering for rooms to be picked up, shoo-ing children out of my “just cleaned” house, scooting them with arm fulls of clean laundry to be placed “just so” in their drawers and closets, then pushing them on to the showers so that they may get in bed in time. Today, however, I decided to stop that madness. My four year old and I spent four hours this morning and early afternoon *before the yard turned into an oven* working in the garden. We kept our hands busy and our mouths flappin’ the whole time. A junior gossip session in the front yard minus the perm smell. It is amazing. We think we are teaching them. We think that we know it all. In all actuality, they are teaching us just as much. Today she taught me to stop and appreciate. We watched a bug. A tiny water beetle as it passed through the garden, over a rock, beneath the lavender. Her face would light up as she spoke, weaving an intricate tale, full of vivid detail mind you, of where that beetle was going with that food. I watched her for a moment, and she was truly enjoying this adventure. I wondered, where was it in life that I misplaced that ability? To find true joy in something so simplistic or so basic?The world is in a constant state of “hurry up and wait”. People drive 50 miles an hour just so they can be first in line at the red light. People tap their feet and sigh big impatient heaves in the checkout lane if an elderly woman takes a minute or two to get her check filled out because the arthritis in her hands makes them shaky. There isn’t any patience for gratification anymore. We live in an instant gratification society where everything, simply EVERYTHING must be instantaneous or it must not be worth it. Speed diets, speed shopping, speedy internet....... If you’re constantly moving so fast from one thing to another, how can you sit back and enjoy simple things.If you sit back and watch the grass grow, you’ll be amazed at what the four year old next to you can point out, and truly enjoy.I am glad the house is still dirty. I am glad the clothes are not folded. I am glad there are muddy dog’s prints on my white burber carpet, too. Why? Because we laughed hard today, we moved slow and watched the beetles. Because it was funny when the dog ran in, slid on the tile and flew across the living room floor. Most of all, when I said good night to my four year old, she thanked me for playing in the mud with her all day today. 

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Off kilter, off beat, slightly off humor. I am just off. House cleaning awaits me, the four year old is polluting the air with nail polish stink, and I sit here dizzy. Have you ever sat and breathed nail polish for two hours? It almost gets you high… High with a headache.You might be wondering, why have I decided to start a blog? I’ve been a “puter geek” so to speak for 8 years, built numerous web sites, poetry sites, and generally goofed around. Suddenly, I found myself among the working. Forging forth into the harsh cold world of time clocks and over time. Profession of choice, you ask? Customer Service/ Grocery Management. Yes, I am short a few brain cells. Specifically, I find myself brown nosing in Scottsdale. Aka, snotts-dale.I saw my first “blog” about two years ago. Didn’t pay much attention. Here lately, the more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that not only would a blog help save my sanity because I can vent the frustrations brought about by snotts-dalites, but I think the general viewing public would benefit from the stories of daily life within retail in snotts-dale.Basically, ya’ll are saving my sanity. For my children’s sakes if nothing more.I call these irritants of retail in snotts-dale my “sunburns”.I need relief.Ya’ll are my ointment.

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Off kilter, off beat, slightly off humor. I am just off. House cleaning awaits me, the four year old is polluting the air with nail polish stink, and I sit here dizzy. Have you ever sat and breathed nail polish for two hours? It almost gets you high… High with a headache.You might be wondering, why have I decided to start a blog? I’ve been a “puter geek” so to speak for 8 years, built numerous web sites, poetry sites, and generally goofed around. Suddenly, I found myself among the working. Forging forth into the harsh cold world of time clocks and over time. Profession of choice, you ask? Customer Service/ Grocery Management. Yes, I am short a few brain cells. Specifically, I find myself brown nosing in Scottsdale. Aka, snotts-dale.I saw my first “blog” about two years ago. Didn’t pay much attention. Here lately, the more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that not only would a blog help save my sanity because I can vent the frustrations brought about by snotts-dalites, but I think the general viewing public would benefit from the stories of daily life within retail in snotts-dale.Basically, ya’ll are saving my sanity. For my children’s sakes if nothing more.I call these irritants of retail in snotts-dale my “sunburns”.I need relief.Ya’ll are my ointment.

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This is the last pageThis is the last songListen carefullyDon’t take it all wrong.I’ve written before my loveAnd I will write some moreAs for you and this wretched painIt’s time to close this door.Goodnight my love,Sleep tight my sweetLet the bedbugs biteLet them ravage and feedTill your soul remainsJust a gnarled empty coreSo you cannot hurt me anymoreGoodnight…This is the endThe last line of this ol’ fairytaleOf damsel in distressThe prince a typical maleWho left her heart to bleedWho let the flowers dieAfter giving me your seedAnd so I whisper in the night………Goodnight my love,Sleep tight my sweetLet the bedbugs biteLet them ravage and feedTill your soul remainsJust a gnarled empty coreSo you cannot hurt me anymoreGoodnight…

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This is the last pageThis is the last songListen carefullyDon’t take it all wrong.I’ve written before my loveAnd I will write some moreAs for you and this wretched painIt’s time to close this door.Goodnight my love,Sleep tight my sweetLet the bedbugs biteLet them ravage and feedTill your soul remainsJust a gnarled empty coreSo you cannot hurt me anymoreGoodnight…This is the endThe last line of this ol’ fairytaleOf damsel in distressThe prince a typical maleWho left her heart to bleedWho let the flowers dieAfter giving me your seedAnd so I whisper in the night………Goodnight my love,Sleep tight my sweetLet the bedbugs biteLet them ravage and feedTill your soul remainsJust a gnarled empty coreSo you cannot hurt me anymoreGoodnight…

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I am trying to talk myself into starting the house cleaning. I find myself dancing around the living room. The front window is open, the folks across the street are calling the men in white coats to come and fetch me as we speak. Is 10 am too early for a beer? What do you think? Should I seek AA meetings if I would like to drink a beer right now on my only day off this week? I feel that self help groups have taken over thinking for ourselves. Everyone needs to seek “help” or “talk to someone”. The problem I see with this stuff is that you are no longer thinking for yourself. These folks tell you what you should think, do, how you should act, what is appropriate. How do they know? Do they take “Appropriate and acceptable behavior for society” classes? How was it that we were raised and turned out ok? I never wore a helmet on my bike or skates. I left the house Saturday mornings (to avoid helping clean house!) at 7 am and didn’t show back up until the street lights were on! And, if I didn’t show up when the street lights came on, wow girlfriend, did I have a sore ass the next day! And guess what? I never once called CPS on my parents! Abuse to me was being starved and having bones broken. An ass whoopin’ was punishment for disobeying! Seat belts? Hell no. I rode upside down, on my head, in the car for a year. This was during the Mork and Mindy phase of my life. I also drank milk with my index finger.Parents come through the store, and their children today are wearing helmets, strapped in cheesy seatbelts of the kiddie carts, and screaming “I HATE YOU” because Mom said “NO” to the bubble gum. Soon the entire display ends up on the floor due to temperamental children, and the mother’s reaction just floors me! Have you any clue what she does??  She actually looks the child in the face and says quietly “Now, Timmy, that wasn’t very nice. Please stop behaving like that.” My mother would have excused herself, taken my hand and led, no drug me across the floor screaming, to the ladies room where she would proceed to yank my pants to my ankles, baring my tender ass, and whooped me till I couldn’t sit! I never would have knocked over the displays of candy again! Today, however, we call that child abuse. And we wonder what’s gone wrong with our youth. What would happen if some of these parents quit going to self help groups to figure out how to handle their children, and instead sat down with their great-grandparents and asked them? We’d have a lot more productive, responsible, and respectful youths today and fewer rich shrinks!

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I am trying to talk myself into starting the house cleaning. I find myself dancing around the living room. The front window is open, the folks across the street are calling the men in white coats to come and fetch me as we speak. Is 10 am too early for a beer? What do you think? Should I seek AA meetings if I would like to drink a beer right now on my only day off this week? I feel that self help groups have taken over thinking for ourselves. Everyone needs to seek “help” or “talk to someone”. The problem I see with this stuff is that you are no longer thinking for yourself. These folks tell you what you should think, do, how you should act, what is appropriate. How do they know? Do they take “Appropriate and acceptable behavior for society” classes? How was it that we were raised and turned out ok? I never wore a helmet on my bike or skates. I left the house Saturday mornings (to avoid helping clean house!) at 7 am and didn’t show back up until the street lights were on! And, if I didn’t show up when the street lights came on, wow girlfriend, did I have a sore ass the next day! And guess what? I never once called CPS on my parents! Abuse to me was being starved and having bones broken. An ass whoopin’ was punishment for disobeying! Seat belts? Hell no. I rode upside down, on my head, in the car for a year. This was during the Mork and Mindy phase of my life. I also drank milk with my index finger.Parents come through the store, and their children today are wearing helmets, strapped in cheesy seatbelts of the kiddie carts, and screaming “I HATE YOU” because Mom said “NO” to the bubble gum. Soon the entire display ends up on the floor due to temperamental children, and the mother’s reaction just floors me! Have you any clue what she does??  She actually looks the child in the face and says quietly “Now, Timmy, that wasn’t very nice. Please stop behaving like that.” My mother would have excused herself, taken my hand and led, no drug me across the floor screaming, to the ladies room where she would proceed to yank my pants to my ankles, baring my tender ass, and whooped me till I couldn’t sit! I never would have knocked over the displays of candy again! Today, however, we call that child abuse. And we wonder what’s gone wrong with our youth. What would happen if some of these parents quit going to self help groups to figure out how to handle their children, and instead sat down with their great-grandparents and asked them? We’d have a lot more productive, responsible, and respectful youths today and fewer rich shrinks!

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