My friend Marty got a new(er) car. It's purty, and it's fancy. It has cool interior lights that glow in different colors when you press a button and a TV screen you can talk to. I got to ride in it last night when we were on our way to someplace across the state line that neither of us was familiar with. We were armed with Betty's (that's her car's name) information kiosk, two iPhones with all of the latest Apple has to offer for navigation and direction, and the address of the place. We were set, right? Wrong.
Everything was cool until we were about five miles from our destination. Up until then we were on familiar highways. Now comes the part where we need some direction from somewhere. We try talking to Betty first. Betty is calm and soothing and a good listener. Right up to the part where she tells us the address doesn't exist. Now mind you, we are trying to find the First Baptist Church of a sizable town, not an illegal cockfight.
Everybody knows that the First Baptist Church of pretty much any town is usually bigger than city hall. Baptists know how to build a church, Honey. The higher the steeple, the closer to God. No drinking, no dancing, but they've got parking for 5000 and a sanctuary with ceiling lights you need a crane to change the bulbs in. Don't tell me the address doesn't exist, Betty.
We move on to the maps app on my iPhone 5. I can't figure out how to start routing us from our "current location" to the church because I don't KNOW what our current location is. I don't think telling it "on 350 Hwy between KFC and the Easy Breezy car wash" is going to fly. Isn't that what satellites are for, for crying out loud? YOU tell ME what our current location is.
Next I try talking to Siri. If you read my blog, you know how I feel about Siri. If you don't, and you don't care to read up, Siri doesn't get me. And I don't like Siri. The Bible teaches us to love everyone, but Siri isn't a person, so in my opinion, I can think unkind thoughts about her and keep my salvation.
Siri is at first confused by my overly-complicated command of "navigation to First Baptist Church of (city's name)" Can you smell the sarcasm here? She comes up with some instructions for knitting a sock monkey, but not directions to the church. I simplify the command. She then comes up with the names of 44 churches in the area, one of them being our destination. She says to "tap the right location". I tap. And tap again. Harder. TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP Nothing.
Knowing that touch phones are sensitives little wussies and don't like cold fingers, I stick my fingers between my warm butt cheek and the heated seat for a few seconds. Tap. TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP Nothing. I have my friend try. Tap. TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP Nothing. Siri is such a b.....ig waste of time.
I hearken back to my Android phone days and open Google maps. Google has NEVAH let me down. I type in our destination, Google springs to life, finds our current location (PTL!) and immediately sets us on our way. Two blocks later, we are faced with a one way bridge with big signs saying "Do Not Enter".
At this point, if I were driving, I would have made sure I didn't see any cars on approach, said a prayer, and floored it across that bridge. I can see on the map that this road leads directly to the church, so I'm not going to let a little thing like one-way traffic stop me. But I'm not driving, and my friend has owned Betty for all of about two hours, so she opts to go around the bridge. Wimp.
We are now in a desolate part of town full of warehouses, barbed wire fences and bad lighting. I'm pretty sure this is where the torture scenes of the movie Reservoir Dogs were filmed. However, Google faithfully leads us out of the Tarentino district and back onto the main road. A few miles later, it tells us we have "arrived" at our destination. Which is a field. No steeple, no cross, no Baptists. Just grass and tumbleweeds. Dang, Google. You let me down, and I am broken hearted.
I try and save some face for Google by telling my friend that Google is so advanced that this is probably the "future home of the First Baptist Church" and that they just haven't broken ground yet. She's not buying it. I tried.
We drive a little further down and do a u-turn, and BAM! Appearing to us suddenly out of the fog and confusion is (cue the "Hallelujah Chorus") the First Baptist Church in all of its steepled, four story glory!! We are giddy, we are celebrating, we are woo-hooing, we going to a funeral visitation at a Baptist church, so we'd better simmer the heck down and rein it in.
After all of that, we decide it confirms what we already knew. For women over forty, sometimes a lot of technie bells and whistles is just a big colossal waste of time. Nothing beats a simple approach, like pulling over at the Phillips 66 and asking the counter dude where the biggest church in town is. In our high-tech world, sometimes we forget that. So Siri can shove it, and Betty can keep her information kiosk. But I still think her color changing cup holders are pretty cool.
Sparkly Kisses,
D
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Monday, January 21, 2013
My Thoughts on: The HH's Fashion Sense
I love my Handsome Husband dearly and more deeply every year we are married. But anyone who's been married a while knows that loving your spouse certainly doesn't mean loving everything about them. One of the things I can't affectionately embrace is the HH's fashion sense. Or complete lack thereof.
Now before you go defending him, let me first tell you that I was the clear victim of a bait and switch. When we first started dating a dozen or so years ago, he was the most dapper dude you would ever want to see. Custom fit suits, designer sweaters and jeans, hair perfectly coiffed, the guy was a walking Kenneth Cole catalogue. He was even known to pop into a nail salon for a manly-cure every now and again. A true metrosexual, and I was head over heels for such a suave presentation in such a young man.
But apparently when he said, "I do" to me two years later, he said, "I do NOT know how to dress myself anymore" to the rest of the world. Don't get me wrong, thanks to my shopping prowess, he still has a very nice wardrobe. His challenge lies in shoving aside the clothes in the closet that are best suited for things like working on cars and impersonating the homeless and getting TO the dapperware. Or in combining items from the dapperware collection so that he comes across as looking stylish and well put together and not like he got dressed in the dark.
Trust me when I tell you that the HH does NOT see the problem. He seemingly lacks a fundamental understanding that very few husband do have and that all wives definitely have that when a man walks out into the world wearing a wedding ring, he and his clothing are no longer a reflection on just himself.
It doesn't matter if his wife actually signed off on his wardrobe choice that day or not, every woman and gay man he comes into contact with asks themselves, "Why in the name of sweet baby Moses did his wife let him out of the house dressed like that?" Now please note that this observation is made solely by those two groups.
If you asked a straight man to tell you what the HH was wearing, he would say "clothes". Ask for more details, and he may add "a hat" or "tennis shoes". Guys just do not give a rip what other guys are wearing. When it comes to what impact their clothing will have on others, single men dress for single women. Single women dress for single men. Married women dress for other women, and married men dress in what their wife laid out on the bed.
I try and pick my battles. If we are headed to the Mayor's Christmas party for example, you had better believe I am picking out his clothes from his tie all the way down to his underwear. And yes, our outfits will be color-coordinated. Not so much so that we look like we are back up singers in the Neil Diamond tribute show in Branson, but just so that what we are wearing isn't on opposite sides of the color wheel.
If we are headed, say, to the ball fields or the swimming pool, he is given latitude to come up with his own ensemble. But if he opts for a ball cap that looks and smells like he wiped his hands on it after he finished cleaning a fish, or white calf-length socks and rubber clogs with his swimsuit (true story), not only will I walk ten paces ahead of him from the car to the venue and back, but I will be struck with a sudden case of marital amnesia if he tries to talk to me while we are there.
I definitely get that while the clothes do make the man on the outside, they really have nothing to do with the more important things like his heart and his character. I am grateful to love and be loved every day by my HH, even if impeccable taste to him is more about Guy Fieri than Guy Laroche.
So if you know him and see him out and about and in something that is less than fashionable, realize that behind the man is a woman who does what she can each day to resurrect his love and passion for his former fashion conscious side, while counting her blessings at the same time that after so many years, his love and passion for her remains. He may be at times a candidate for the show "What NOT to Wear", but he's MY fashion misfit, and I wouldn't trade him in for a more stylish model any day.
Sparkly Kisses,
D
Now before you go defending him, let me first tell you that I was the clear victim of a bait and switch. When we first started dating a dozen or so years ago, he was the most dapper dude you would ever want to see. Custom fit suits, designer sweaters and jeans, hair perfectly coiffed, the guy was a walking Kenneth Cole catalogue. He was even known to pop into a nail salon for a manly-cure every now and again. A true metrosexual, and I was head over heels for such a suave presentation in such a young man.
But apparently when he said, "I do" to me two years later, he said, "I do NOT know how to dress myself anymore" to the rest of the world. Don't get me wrong, thanks to my shopping prowess, he still has a very nice wardrobe. His challenge lies in shoving aside the clothes in the closet that are best suited for things like working on cars and impersonating the homeless and getting TO the dapperware. Or in combining items from the dapperware collection so that he comes across as looking stylish and well put together and not like he got dressed in the dark.
Trust me when I tell you that the HH does NOT see the problem. He seemingly lacks a fundamental understanding that very few husband do have and that all wives definitely have that when a man walks out into the world wearing a wedding ring, he and his clothing are no longer a reflection on just himself.
It doesn't matter if his wife actually signed off on his wardrobe choice that day or not, every woman and gay man he comes into contact with asks themselves, "Why in the name of sweet baby Moses did his wife let him out of the house dressed like that?" Now please note that this observation is made solely by those two groups.
If you asked a straight man to tell you what the HH was wearing, he would say "clothes". Ask for more details, and he may add "a hat" or "tennis shoes". Guys just do not give a rip what other guys are wearing. When it comes to what impact their clothing will have on others, single men dress for single women. Single women dress for single men. Married women dress for other women, and married men dress in what their wife laid out on the bed.
I try and pick my battles. If we are headed to the Mayor's Christmas party for example, you had better believe I am picking out his clothes from his tie all the way down to his underwear. And yes, our outfits will be color-coordinated. Not so much so that we look like we are back up singers in the Neil Diamond tribute show in Branson, but just so that what we are wearing isn't on opposite sides of the color wheel.
If we are headed, say, to the ball fields or the swimming pool, he is given latitude to come up with his own ensemble. But if he opts for a ball cap that looks and smells like he wiped his hands on it after he finished cleaning a fish, or white calf-length socks and rubber clogs with his swimsuit (true story), not only will I walk ten paces ahead of him from the car to the venue and back, but I will be struck with a sudden case of marital amnesia if he tries to talk to me while we are there.
I definitely get that while the clothes do make the man on the outside, they really have nothing to do with the more important things like his heart and his character. I am grateful to love and be loved every day by my HH, even if impeccable taste to him is more about Guy Fieri than Guy Laroche.
So if you know him and see him out and about and in something that is less than fashionable, realize that behind the man is a woman who does what she can each day to resurrect his love and passion for his former fashion conscious side, while counting her blessings at the same time that after so many years, his love and passion for her remains. He may be at times a candidate for the show "What NOT to Wear", but he's MY fashion misfit, and I wouldn't trade him in for a more stylish model any day.
Sparkly Kisses,
D
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
My Thoughts on: Field Trips
I loved field trips as a kid. Who didn't, right? You got out of class, out of the school, onto a bus and off on an exciting adventure. Didn't matter where you went. The whole world took on a new perspective. Look, we're on the highway! Hey, there's a cat! Whoa, I'm not wearing a seat belt!
I have never understood the lack of safety restraints in school buses, even when I was a kid. In third grade, I went so far as to write the then newly-elected President Reagan (shut up) asking him why there weren't any seat belts on them. Six weeks later I got an official "pat on the head" form letter from The White House thanking me for writing. Enclosed with it was some literature about coping with childhood fears about nuclear war. Uhhhh, thanks Ronnie. Good to know your staff was in touch with the youth of America.
Now I'm a mom, and I get a different perspective of field trips as a chaperone. Don't get me wrong, I looooove having these experiences with my kids and making memories out of them. I am also very blessed to be a SAHM so I can go on the field trips. If there is a sign up sent home, I am all over it, and woo hoo, let's go!
When you and the other chaperones arrive for the pre-field trip ops meeting with the teacher, you're usually given a list with a group of kids that you are assigned to herd, uh, lead. As the PTA prez at my kids' school, I have come to know the other kiddos in each of their respective grades pretty darn well. Most of the other PTA moms know them too. We listen to the teacher's spiel, and as soon as her back is turned, we get down to comparing groups. Sometimes this leads to negotiations as intense and shrewd as those of Arab traders. Example:
"Look, I cannot handle having Johnny Smith in my group. When we went on the theater field trip, he kept taking old gum from under the seats and chewing it. Seriously grossed me out. If you will take him, I'll take Tommy Thompson from yours. I know he gets carsick and threw up on you on the bus last time"
"Okay, I will trade you Tommy for Johnny but raise you Susie Simmons. She talks in-cess-ant-ly, and I ended up with a migraine on the pumpkin patch field trip"
"Aw, sheesh. Alright, I will take Susie. But you're emptying the recycle bin in the staff lounge for a month"
"Deal"
*fist bump*
Since I know the kids well and the teacher knows this, I usually end up with a couple of the more "behaviorally challenged" kids in my group. But no problem, it's cool. I am here to help! I put on my super hero cloak of optimism and start out by high five-ing my kiddos and letting them pick out a kick butt name for our group, like "The Cheetahs" and give themselves all awesome nicknames. This shows them I am WAY more fun and hip than the other chaperones, and hey, aren't you glad you're in my group? Cuz I'm sure glad you're in mine! Woo hoo!
Yeah okay, fantasy, meet reality. By the end of the field trip, I'm so sick of saying things like, "Cheetahs, hands at your sides!", "Indiana Jones, eyes on me!", "Black Knight, the sign says 'Restricted Area' for a reason!" x 200 that I voluntarily take a vow of silence for the rest of the day.
Plus I have a pounding headache from trying to keep four kids who all want to go in four separate directions together for three hours. Seriously, take a box of four cats, dump them out in the middle of Grand Central Station, and then try and keep track of all of them. This is what chaperoning four eight-year-old boys at a museum is like.
Public school teachers are the most underpaid group of people in the history of civilization since the Jews built the Pyramids in Egypt. After three hours of field trip mania, I am ready to treat all the chaperones to a liquid lunch at the local bar. (I don't because: a) I'm not much of a drinker, and b) I'm too cheap. But still, you get my point.)
While we chaperones can sprint from the bus as soon as it hits the curb at school and into the nearest sound deprivation chamber, the teachers still have half a day of instruction to complete. They have to take twenty plus over-stimulated kids into the classroom and get them to FOCUS and LEARN. Wow. That's amazing. I can barely get the Boy Child to FOCUS and LEARN for fifteen minutes worth of homework each night. And he usually ends up not speaking to me, and I usually end up looking like this:
That would be why I don't home school and why I will tell any legislator who will give me fifteen seconds of their time that spending for public education and educators' salaries needs to be increased exponentially. But that's another whole other blog post!
The bottom line is that I love my kids to death, and I really am very enamored of their fellow students as well. Every field trip is an adventure, and my kids and I are making memories to last for their life time. As one of my Cheetahs said to me on the last field trip, "You always come with us. You are always here at school. Why do you do that?" I told him it's because, for me, the whole reason why I became a mom was not to have my child say, "I wish you were there", but instead to say, "I'm so glad you were with me".
I know every parent can't be there for everything their child wants them to, but I will move mountains to try to be there for mine. If it's important to them, it's important to me. Some day they will have their own kids, and I hope they move mountains to be there for theirs as well. By then I will have been officially retired for many years from cat herding duty, er, field trip chaperoning, and enjoying the fruits of my labor by being the kookiest granny ever to my grandbabies. Just you wait! ;-)
Sparkly Kisses,
D
I have never understood the lack of safety restraints in school buses, even when I was a kid. In third grade, I went so far as to write the then newly-elected President Reagan (shut up) asking him why there weren't any seat belts on them. Six weeks later I got an official "pat on the head" form letter from The White House thanking me for writing. Enclosed with it was some literature about coping with childhood fears about nuclear war. Uhhhh, thanks Ronnie. Good to know your staff was in touch with the youth of America.
Now I'm a mom, and I get a different perspective of field trips as a chaperone. Don't get me wrong, I looooove having these experiences with my kids and making memories out of them. I am also very blessed to be a SAHM so I can go on the field trips. If there is a sign up sent home, I am all over it, and woo hoo, let's go!
When you and the other chaperones arrive for the pre-field trip ops meeting with the teacher, you're usually given a list with a group of kids that you are assigned to herd, uh, lead. As the PTA prez at my kids' school, I have come to know the other kiddos in each of their respective grades pretty darn well. Most of the other PTA moms know them too. We listen to the teacher's spiel, and as soon as her back is turned, we get down to comparing groups. Sometimes this leads to negotiations as intense and shrewd as those of Arab traders. Example:
"Look, I cannot handle having Johnny Smith in my group. When we went on the theater field trip, he kept taking old gum from under the seats and chewing it. Seriously grossed me out. If you will take him, I'll take Tommy Thompson from yours. I know he gets carsick and threw up on you on the bus last time"
"Okay, I will trade you Tommy for Johnny but raise you Susie Simmons. She talks in-cess-ant-ly, and I ended up with a migraine on the pumpkin patch field trip"
"Aw, sheesh. Alright, I will take Susie. But you're emptying the recycle bin in the staff lounge for a month"
"Deal"
*fist bump*
Since I know the kids well and the teacher knows this, I usually end up with a couple of the more "behaviorally challenged" kids in my group. But no problem, it's cool. I am here to help! I put on my super hero cloak of optimism and start out by high five-ing my kiddos and letting them pick out a kick butt name for our group, like "The Cheetahs" and give themselves all awesome nicknames. This shows them I am WAY more fun and hip than the other chaperones, and hey, aren't you glad you're in my group? Cuz I'm sure glad you're in mine! Woo hoo!
Yeah okay, fantasy, meet reality. By the end of the field trip, I'm so sick of saying things like, "Cheetahs, hands at your sides!", "Indiana Jones, eyes on me!", "Black Knight, the sign says 'Restricted Area' for a reason!" x 200 that I voluntarily take a vow of silence for the rest of the day.
Plus I have a pounding headache from trying to keep four kids who all want to go in four separate directions together for three hours. Seriously, take a box of four cats, dump them out in the middle of Grand Central Station, and then try and keep track of all of them. This is what chaperoning four eight-year-old boys at a museum is like.
Public school teachers are the most underpaid group of people in the history of civilization since the Jews built the Pyramids in Egypt. After three hours of field trip mania, I am ready to treat all the chaperones to a liquid lunch at the local bar. (I don't because: a) I'm not much of a drinker, and b) I'm too cheap. But still, you get my point.)
While we chaperones can sprint from the bus as soon as it hits the curb at school and into the nearest sound deprivation chamber, the teachers still have half a day of instruction to complete. They have to take twenty plus over-stimulated kids into the classroom and get them to FOCUS and LEARN. Wow. That's amazing. I can barely get the Boy Child to FOCUS and LEARN for fifteen minutes worth of homework each night. And he usually ends up not speaking to me, and I usually end up looking like this:
That would be why I don't home school and why I will tell any legislator who will give me fifteen seconds of their time that spending for public education and educators' salaries needs to be increased exponentially. But that's another whole other blog post!
The bottom line is that I love my kids to death, and I really am very enamored of their fellow students as well. Every field trip is an adventure, and my kids and I are making memories to last for their life time. As one of my Cheetahs said to me on the last field trip, "You always come with us. You are always here at school. Why do you do that?" I told him it's because, for me, the whole reason why I became a mom was not to have my child say, "I wish you were there", but instead to say, "I'm so glad you were with me".
I know every parent can't be there for everything their child wants them to, but I will move mountains to try to be there for mine. If it's important to them, it's important to me. Some day they will have their own kids, and I hope they move mountains to be there for theirs as well. By then I will have been officially retired for many years from cat herding duty, er, field trip chaperoning, and enjoying the fruits of my labor by being the kookiest granny ever to my grandbabies. Just you wait! ;-)
Sparkly Kisses,
D
Friday, January 11, 2013
My Thoughts on: Siri
I am new to the iPhone world. I was a die hard Droid girl for years, but when the new model came out, and it was about the same size as the Girl Child's Kindle, I thought it may be time to explore other options. After about two months of back and forth on different phones (I take my phone purchases VERY seriously), I decided to go ahead and finally, FINALLY drink the Apple-flavored Kool-Aid.
Let me just stop and point out that the Fall of Man back in the day was caused by an apple. Now Applephiles, stand down! I'm not calling either of those Mac dudes the anti-Christ or anything. But given the fact that when that sweet day of Rapture finally comes, 84% the world will likely be clutching an Apple product in their humbled hands, I'm just saying, it's quite a coincidence that the Beginning and the End have that particular piece of fruit in common. Mmmm hmmm. You can talk amongst yourselves about that one when you're done reading my post.
So when I got my iPhone, like most of you, I didn't download the 572 page instruction manual. Instead, I just poked at the phone, bugged my friends who already have iPhones and Googled and muddled my way through the set up and features. That's how I met Siri.
If you're among the 16% of the people in the world who don't own some sort of handheld Apple product, according to the manufacturer, Siri is supposed to be the magical person with all of the answers who manages your life. Now according to MY manufacturer, that person is my Heavenly Father, and it becomes apparent very quickly that Siri falls even more woefully short than the rest of us when compared to the Almighty.
We'll start with the fact that, despite sounding like a woman, Siri is actually a man. How do I know this? Ask "her" the question, "Where is the closest shoe store to me?", and "she" responds with the name of a orthopedic shoe store and asks you if you want "her" to "search the web" for more places. Really, why bother? I will pull on a pair of wool socks, slip into my Birkenstocks, throw my rain bonnet and Feen-A-Mint into my pocketbook and walk around until I find another one.
And I love how Siri "personalizes" your experience by throwing in your name at the end of whatever "she" says. If "she" knew me at all, "she" would, never, ever, EVAH put "orthopedic", "shoes" and "Deborah" in the same sentence. *full body shudder*
Yes, I get the fact that even I will someday get old and frail, and walking around in 5" heels will put me at serious risk for a broken hip. That's what my blinged out Jazzy will be for Honey!! I may not be able to stand in my stilletos when I'm eighty, but I sure can ride around in them. *sparkle snap*
On the other hand, if I ask Siri, "When is the next men's basketball game for Harvard University?", not only does "she" pop right back up with the answer, it's in a cool little graphic with stats and a direct link to more information. Woman, my behind.
Moving on to Siri's abilities to transpose what I say to her(him) into a text or an email. Let me preface this by saying that I am not a drinker, and I am from the midwestern United States. Therefore, I am not slurring my words or hacking up the English language by speaking it with an indecipherable accent. Bonus for Siri; I am even an Articulate Enunciator. (I really should add that to my Facebook profile information.)
Given all of this, "she" can still take a sentence as simple as "Please pick up a gallon of 2% milk on your way home" and translate it into "Please muck up the salon to do person melts in our gay home". While I do rock at "Mad Gabs", the recipient of my text or email may not possess the same skill set as I.
I could go on, and no, Siri doesn't get it wrong ALL of the time I deal with her(him), but s(he)'s consistently inconsistent enough of the time to drive me nuts. I will use this feature of my phone only when I'm feeling especially patient and calm (which is pretty much limited to the first hour after I come out of savasana at the end of a yoga practice), and the rest of the time, I will go back to my pre-Kool-Aid days of actually typing stuff out while looking it up online. I guess it still beats the olden days of phone books and card catalogues.
Sparkly Kisses,
D
Let me just stop and point out that the Fall of Man back in the day was caused by an apple. Now Applephiles, stand down! I'm not calling either of those Mac dudes the anti-Christ or anything. But given the fact that when that sweet day of Rapture finally comes, 84% the world will likely be clutching an Apple product in their humbled hands, I'm just saying, it's quite a coincidence that the Beginning and the End have that particular piece of fruit in common. Mmmm hmmm. You can talk amongst yourselves about that one when you're done reading my post.
So when I got my iPhone, like most of you, I didn't download the 572 page instruction manual. Instead, I just poked at the phone, bugged my friends who already have iPhones and Googled and muddled my way through the set up and features. That's how I met Siri.
If you're among the 16% of the people in the world who don't own some sort of handheld Apple product, according to the manufacturer, Siri is supposed to be the magical person with all of the answers who manages your life. Now according to MY manufacturer, that person is my Heavenly Father, and it becomes apparent very quickly that Siri falls even more woefully short than the rest of us when compared to the Almighty.
We'll start with the fact that, despite sounding like a woman, Siri is actually a man. How do I know this? Ask "her" the question, "Where is the closest shoe store to me?", and "she" responds with the name of a orthopedic shoe store and asks you if you want "her" to "search the web" for more places. Really, why bother? I will pull on a pair of wool socks, slip into my Birkenstocks, throw my rain bonnet and Feen-A-Mint into my pocketbook and walk around until I find another one.
And I love how Siri "personalizes" your experience by throwing in your name at the end of whatever "she" says. If "she" knew me at all, "she" would, never, ever, EVAH put "orthopedic", "shoes" and "Deborah" in the same sentence. *full body shudder*
Yes, I get the fact that even I will someday get old and frail, and walking around in 5" heels will put me at serious risk for a broken hip. That's what my blinged out Jazzy will be for Honey!! I may not be able to stand in my stilletos when I'm eighty, but I sure can ride around in them. *sparkle snap*
On the other hand, if I ask Siri, "When is the next men's basketball game for Harvard University?", not only does "she" pop right back up with the answer, it's in a cool little graphic with stats and a direct link to more information. Woman, my behind.
Moving on to Siri's abilities to transpose what I say to her(him) into a text or an email. Let me preface this by saying that I am not a drinker, and I am from the midwestern United States. Therefore, I am not slurring my words or hacking up the English language by speaking it with an indecipherable accent. Bonus for Siri; I am even an Articulate Enunciator. (I really should add that to my Facebook profile information.)
Given all of this, "she" can still take a sentence as simple as "Please pick up a gallon of 2% milk on your way home" and translate it into "Please muck up the salon to do person melts in our gay home". While I do rock at "Mad Gabs", the recipient of my text or email may not possess the same skill set as I.
I could go on, and no, Siri doesn't get it wrong ALL of the time I deal with her(him), but s(he)'s consistently inconsistent enough of the time to drive me nuts. I will use this feature of my phone only when I'm feeling especially patient and calm (which is pretty much limited to the first hour after I come out of savasana at the end of a yoga practice), and the rest of the time, I will go back to my pre-Kool-Aid days of actually typing stuff out while looking it up online. I guess it still beats the olden days of phone books and card catalogues.
Sparkly Kisses,
D
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
My Thoughts on: Being a "Supportive", Not a "Stepford" Wife
If you read my blogs posts regularly, you know I'm pretty enamored of my Handsome Husband. Are there times when he does (or doesn't do) stuff that seriously tempts me to freak the freak out? Certainement. But when you look at the overall picture, after thirteen years together, he still makes me want to bust into Mary Wells's classic, "My Guy".
Why did I reference a song that's almost fifty years old instead of something more contemporary? It's because to some of you, my views on what being a supportive wife means may be as out-of-date as you think that song is. I am an Ephesians 5:22 girl. For those of you not familiar with the verse, here it is in The Message translation, along with the two verses following it.
"Wives, understand and support your husbands in ways that show your support for Christ. The husband provides leadership to his wife the way Christ does to his church, not by domineering, but by cherishing. So just as the church submits to Christ as he exercises such leadership, wives should likewise submit to their husbands."
Right now, the fellas are probably thinking that all sounds pretty good. Those of you ladies who maybe haven't done much Bible studying, please, stick with me here! These instructions are not for you to be a robot moving thoughtlessly through life doing your husband's bidding.
It speaks of a partnership and an equal commitment to trust each other and God completely. If we are in a marriage where one person is giving as much of themselves as the other person is, a perfect balance can be achieved. Both spouses are mindfully doing what they can to better the life of the other person.
A husband who looks at his wife with the same kind of love and tenderness as Christ does the church is always putting her needs ahead of his own. It delights him to see her happy. He doesn't look to dominate her, but to protect her and put himself between her and anything that could harm her or cause her pain.
When you have a husband who does this, giving him all your support and devotion is easy. You know he makes faith-based decisions as to what is best for your family. He does seek you out for counsel and advice, and your input and your feelings are very important to him. But you know that he seeks God first and foremost, and also, that God has never, ever let your family down.
As long as He is leading your husband's heart, following behind is never an issue. In fact, you are glad to be in that position when faced with the world's adversity. God is triumphantly leading the charge, and your husband is following in His footsteps while leading, shielding and protecting you and your children.
I spent a great deal of my early life feeling abandoned and alone. I desperately wanted God to feel real to me, but I really wasn't actively seeking Him. I also wanted someone in my life who would love me not for what I gave them, but because they cherished who I was inside. Someone that I could lean against when the world came at me, and they would always be at my side.
My husband and I came together not for all the right reasons or in the best of circumstances, but very much unbeknownst to us, God had a plan. It wasn't a five-year plan, or a ten-year plan, but one for a lifetime. We haven't always been consistent, but He has. We haven't always put our marriage first, but He has. We haven't always had all the answers, but He has.
We have come so far with God's favor and blessing and with a LOT of hard work and perseverance. I think back to the man my husband was on our wedding day and the man he is today, and I am amazed and humbled and blessed by who God has transformed him into being. He is my partner and someone I can't imagine doing one day of my life without.
I support him not because God tells me I should, but because it is completely consistent with who we have become. My husband cherishes me, which compels me to follow him, which makes him cherish me more, and on it goes. The ebb and flow becomes as natural as breathing and as perfect as anything that is ordained by God.
We are human, and we do fall short, but we know one thing we will never do in our marriage is fail. We have faced and overcome so many things in the past that would easily shatter a relationship that is not based upon a strong faith in God and in each other. I am blessed every day to be loved and led in my life by this man. I'm even more blessed that God loved me enough to lead me to my husband and to the beautifully simple and precious life we now share.
Sparkly Kisses,
D
Why did I reference a song that's almost fifty years old instead of something more contemporary? It's because to some of you, my views on what being a supportive wife means may be as out-of-date as you think that song is. I am an Ephesians 5:22 girl. For those of you not familiar with the verse, here it is in The Message translation, along with the two verses following it.
"Wives, understand and support your husbands in ways that show your support for Christ. The husband provides leadership to his wife the way Christ does to his church, not by domineering, but by cherishing. So just as the church submits to Christ as he exercises such leadership, wives should likewise submit to their husbands."
Right now, the fellas are probably thinking that all sounds pretty good. Those of you ladies who maybe haven't done much Bible studying, please, stick with me here! These instructions are not for you to be a robot moving thoughtlessly through life doing your husband's bidding.
It speaks of a partnership and an equal commitment to trust each other and God completely. If we are in a marriage where one person is giving as much of themselves as the other person is, a perfect balance can be achieved. Both spouses are mindfully doing what they can to better the life of the other person.
A husband who looks at his wife with the same kind of love and tenderness as Christ does the church is always putting her needs ahead of his own. It delights him to see her happy. He doesn't look to dominate her, but to protect her and put himself between her and anything that could harm her or cause her pain.
When you have a husband who does this, giving him all your support and devotion is easy. You know he makes faith-based decisions as to what is best for your family. He does seek you out for counsel and advice, and your input and your feelings are very important to him. But you know that he seeks God first and foremost, and also, that God has never, ever let your family down.
As long as He is leading your husband's heart, following behind is never an issue. In fact, you are glad to be in that position when faced with the world's adversity. God is triumphantly leading the charge, and your husband is following in His footsteps while leading, shielding and protecting you and your children.
I spent a great deal of my early life feeling abandoned and alone. I desperately wanted God to feel real to me, but I really wasn't actively seeking Him. I also wanted someone in my life who would love me not for what I gave them, but because they cherished who I was inside. Someone that I could lean against when the world came at me, and they would always be at my side.
My husband and I came together not for all the right reasons or in the best of circumstances, but very much unbeknownst to us, God had a plan. It wasn't a five-year plan, or a ten-year plan, but one for a lifetime. We haven't always been consistent, but He has. We haven't always put our marriage first, but He has. We haven't always had all the answers, but He has.
We have come so far with God's favor and blessing and with a LOT of hard work and perseverance. I think back to the man my husband was on our wedding day and the man he is today, and I am amazed and humbled and blessed by who God has transformed him into being. He is my partner and someone I can't imagine doing one day of my life without.
I support him not because God tells me I should, but because it is completely consistent with who we have become. My husband cherishes me, which compels me to follow him, which makes him cherish me more, and on it goes. The ebb and flow becomes as natural as breathing and as perfect as anything that is ordained by God.
We are human, and we do fall short, but we know one thing we will never do in our marriage is fail. We have faced and overcome so many things in the past that would easily shatter a relationship that is not based upon a strong faith in God and in each other. I am blessed every day to be loved and led in my life by this man. I'm even more blessed that God loved me enough to lead me to my husband and to the beautifully simple and precious life we now share.
Sparkly Kisses,
D
Monday, January 7, 2013
My Thoughts on: Being a Drug Idiot
Unfortunately for some people, they are drug addicts. I myself am a confessed Drug Idiot. My friend Cori shares this condition with me. Drug Idiots are people who are so inexperienced with drug culture and vernacular that whenever anyone references terms for drugs or drug use, we are left as puzzled and out of place as Martha Stewart at a Pantera concert.
Our friend Julie teaches at the local "alternative" high school, and she tries her best to keep Cori and me hip on terms like "chief a fat blunt" and "boot the gong". (I admit, I Googled "marijuana slang" for the second one. The first one is the only one Julie has taught us that I could remember so far. However, I also admit that I don't remember EXACTLY what it means.)
You may be asking yourself why a couple of suburban housewives like Cori and me need to know this stuff anyway. If we couldn't get the drug lingo down in college, why would we need the information now? The answer is because we are parents of kids who will eventually be exposed to drugs.
Now please, if you don't think marijuana is a drug, save your time, and don't send me a Power Point of your argument. I live in Kansas, and possessing it is still illegal here, and I hope it always will be. Also, unless you are smoking it under doctor's orders to relieve the pain from the side effects of your cancer treatment, you aren't going to convince me that one good thing ever came into your life from using it or any other illegal drug.
When it comes to our kids and drugs, ignorance is most certainly NOT bliss. Not knowing what is out there and available to our children in today's world, how it is referred to, and how it is obtained is just plain dumb. The ostrich in the sand routine was okay when your toddler was having a meltdown, and you couldn't reason with them. Taking the same path of silence and withholding attention when it comes to who and what is trying to ruin the health and the lives of our teens and even pre-teens is not.
It's our responsibility as caring and concerned parents to take the time to become familiar with what temptations our kids could be facing in a short time. The first time I was offered drugs as a kid was in 7th grade. SEVENTH GRADE. Some of you may fault the fact that I went to a public school made up mainly of students whose parents had a working-class background and not a private/Christian one located amid a cluster of tony subdivisions. Brother/Sister, please! Don't make the mistake of assuming that sex, drugs and rock n' roll are only a part of secular/public schools in the hood or schools located less than a dozen miles from it. Surely, you're not that naive.
I think the key to our kids making the right decisions as teens starts with first educating ourselves as to what's out there. Learn about what they are faced with. Talk to your pre-teens about drugs, and along with cautioning them against their use of them, sympathize with them as to what kind of pressures may be placed on them to experiment with them. They need to know that we feel compassion for them and that they can come to us anytime they feel pressured or have questions.
I could write a whole other blog entry on what I think are the keys to keeping a close relationship with your kids and the long-term benefits that has for them (and us) as pre-teens, teens and adults. Suffice it for now to say that the more they feel that you "get it" and get them, the more likely they are to open up to you about anything.
Another point is that I need to pay closer attention to Julie's lessons on "Drug Culture for Dummies". (Hey, Jules, there's a book idea for you right there! I won't take any royalties for it. Just give me a shout out on the dedication page. Muah!) I want to understand what my kids will be facing so that they never, ever end up in her class.
She's an awesome teacher, and it takes an exceptionally special heart to teach day in and day out in an alternative school. But I would rather have my kids come first to their dad and mom who are in the know about drugs and alcohol, and for them to find understanding about what they are going through as teens so that, unlike Julie's students, they hopefully make the right choices.
So if you hear me talking about a "clam bake" and wonder wassup with that since I live in a land-locked state, maybe you'd best pick up a copy of Julie's book and get a little more informed there as well, Jack. That way, when the appropriate time comes, you can educate your kids about drugs and not the other way around. I think we can agree that's one curve we all want to be ahead of and not behind.
Sparkly Kisses,
D
Our friend Julie teaches at the local "alternative" high school, and she tries her best to keep Cori and me hip on terms like "chief a fat blunt" and "boot the gong". (I admit, I Googled "marijuana slang" for the second one. The first one is the only one Julie has taught us that I could remember so far. However, I also admit that I don't remember EXACTLY what it means.)
You may be asking yourself why a couple of suburban housewives like Cori and me need to know this stuff anyway. If we couldn't get the drug lingo down in college, why would we need the information now? The answer is because we are parents of kids who will eventually be exposed to drugs.
Now please, if you don't think marijuana is a drug, save your time, and don't send me a Power Point of your argument. I live in Kansas, and possessing it is still illegal here, and I hope it always will be. Also, unless you are smoking it under doctor's orders to relieve the pain from the side effects of your cancer treatment, you aren't going to convince me that one good thing ever came into your life from using it or any other illegal drug.
When it comes to our kids and drugs, ignorance is most certainly NOT bliss. Not knowing what is out there and available to our children in today's world, how it is referred to, and how it is obtained is just plain dumb. The ostrich in the sand routine was okay when your toddler was having a meltdown, and you couldn't reason with them. Taking the same path of silence and withholding attention when it comes to who and what is trying to ruin the health and the lives of our teens and even pre-teens is not.
It's our responsibility as caring and concerned parents to take the time to become familiar with what temptations our kids could be facing in a short time. The first time I was offered drugs as a kid was in 7th grade. SEVENTH GRADE. Some of you may fault the fact that I went to a public school made up mainly of students whose parents had a working-class background and not a private/Christian one located amid a cluster of tony subdivisions. Brother/Sister, please! Don't make the mistake of assuming that sex, drugs and rock n' roll are only a part of secular/public schools in the hood or schools located less than a dozen miles from it. Surely, you're not that naive.
I think the key to our kids making the right decisions as teens starts with first educating ourselves as to what's out there. Learn about what they are faced with. Talk to your pre-teens about drugs, and along with cautioning them against their use of them, sympathize with them as to what kind of pressures may be placed on them to experiment with them. They need to know that we feel compassion for them and that they can come to us anytime they feel pressured or have questions.
I could write a whole other blog entry on what I think are the keys to keeping a close relationship with your kids and the long-term benefits that has for them (and us) as pre-teens, teens and adults. Suffice it for now to say that the more they feel that you "get it" and get them, the more likely they are to open up to you about anything.
Another point is that I need to pay closer attention to Julie's lessons on "Drug Culture for Dummies". (Hey, Jules, there's a book idea for you right there! I won't take any royalties for it. Just give me a shout out on the dedication page. Muah!) I want to understand what my kids will be facing so that they never, ever end up in her class.
She's an awesome teacher, and it takes an exceptionally special heart to teach day in and day out in an alternative school. But I would rather have my kids come first to their dad and mom who are in the know about drugs and alcohol, and for them to find understanding about what they are going through as teens so that, unlike Julie's students, they hopefully make the right choices.
So if you hear me talking about a "clam bake" and wonder wassup with that since I live in a land-locked state, maybe you'd best pick up a copy of Julie's book and get a little more informed there as well, Jack. That way, when the appropriate time comes, you can educate your kids about drugs and not the other way around. I think we can agree that's one curve we all want to be ahead of and not behind.
Sparkly Kisses,
D
Saturday, January 5, 2013
My Thoughts on: Aldi
I looooooove me some Aldi. Since Aldi is a worldwide company, I assume my readers in Germany and Poland (and how cool is it that PB&J has an international "following"!) have heard of it, as well as those of you in 'Merica. If not, do a little research on their website's home page, and then come back and rejoin the group.
Aldi is an experience for all five senses. Let's start with the parking lot. I am blessed with a nice car. It's not nice in the sense that it's something you would play for in the Bonus Round of "Wheel of Fortune", but it's nice in the sense that it's pretty, has lots of great bells and whistles, and it replaced my dinged up, generic mommyvan that I had and hated for years. Suffice it to say that I love my car even more than I love Aldi.
So, consequently, the best place to park it is nowhere near other cars. Let's just say that the general clientele at Aldi doesn't have the same pride of ownership in their vehicles that I do in mine, and I have seen more than one of them swing their car door open with all the force of a bank robber busting into a vault. Also, given the fact that I also once witnessed (at ten o'clock in the morning, mind you) a guy slam a beer, set the bottle down on the asphalt and drive away, I'd prefer to park in the back forty and get some cardio in while power walking to the front doors.
Let's move along lest I scare off the newbies before we're even inside. Before you go in, you'll need to grab two things from your car, namely, some "green" bags and a quarter. To save on costs, Aldi doesn't give you anything to bag your groceries. You can buy bags from them, and occasionally you can rummage a box or two to put your goods in, but these are a hot commodity, and some arm wrestling may be required to win the rights to one.
The quarter is for a deposit on a shopping cart. Some of you are saying "wha....?" to that, but again, Aldi does it to cut costs. They are shrewdly taking advantage of the fact that most of us that shop there are serious cheapskates, and we will return our cart to the secured row of them next to the front door in order to get our whole twenty-five cents back. This prevents the carts from being left in the parking lot, and if the customers logically treat the carts the same way they treat their cars, doing so could lead to some serious profit loss for the company.
Now if you're smart, when you pull in, you're looking for someone who is unloading their cart. You give them a quarter, and you take theirs, thus avoiding the whole extraction of a cart from the tandem lock system, which worked well in theory and design at the assembly plant, but at the store itself, notsomuch. At last, you're ready to head in.
Navigating the aisles will require some skill. You will encounter middle-of-the-aisle parkers and screaming children running amok and ducking and dodging through the carts. Don't be intimidated. Move forward in a slow but deliberate way. Come armed with three weapons to battle the Parkers and the Screamers. First, try a smile. If that doesn't work, try an "Excuse me".
As a last resort, try a "befuddled bump". This is done by staring off to the side at the items on the shelf while gently, but firmly, bumping their cart/child out of the way. Then when they turn to you in shock and surprise, you look startled and unsure yourself as to what happened, apologize sincerely, and move along what is now a clear path. Genius.
This may seem like a lot of trouble to some of you. Believe me when I tell you that Aldi's prices and the cool stuff you find there make it totally worth it! And I'll bet that a lot of you Trader Joe's freaks didn't know that Aldi owns TJ's. Mmmm, hmmm. You can find a lot of the same types of foods at Aldi that you find at TJ's, and they are even cheaper!
I think Aldi keeps that information on the DL because most of the people who shop TJ's wouldn't want to mix it up with us Aldi regulars. That's okay. You can keep your Two Buck Chuck, and we'll keep our two buck milk. Greasers will still be Greasers, and Socs will still be Socs, and if you see us in the hall at school or someplace, and you don't say hi, we know it's not personal.(That's "The Outsiders" for those of you who didn't get the reference. "Let's do it for Johnny, man!" Ahhh, great book, great movie.)
Before you check out, be sure to hit the "last chance" bin. This is where my BFF Clarence (see earlier blog post) hangs out. It is a veritable potpourri of everything from bread mix to pajamas to car mats. This stuff is even cheaper than the regular cheap Aldi prices. I have come home with everything from this fabulous area from Andes mint chocolate chips for thirty cents a bag to a new large stainless steel crock pot for ten bucks.
When you hit the check out lane, you have to shake off your euphoria from the bin bargains you scored and focus. The check out is run with all the speed and precision of the assembly line at a Toyota plant. Remove your items from the cart as quickly as possible. Aldi cashiers don't mess around. (It's my theory that each of them is made to drink a "5 Hour Energy" and eat a jar of marshmallow fluff thirty minutes before their shift starts.) Then move your cart rapidly to the end of the conveyor so that they can pull it into place to catch your items. They zip your items across the scanner so fast, it's invisible to the naked eye. Don't be distracted by it!
If you're paying by debit card (it and cash are the only forms of payment accepted), swipe your card right away, otherwise the cashier will already be done scanning all your stuff and barking, "Do you want cash back?" at you. If you hesitate again, (s)he will jerk your card away from you, swipe it, tell you to enter your PIN, and complete your transaction for you. (I've never been guilty of this, but I've seen this done, and it's not pretty. The person walks away in shame with a scarlet "A" of a different kind on their forehead.) Then roll your cart away promptly to the counter for bagging your groceries, take care of business, and head for the back forty and the car.
The roller coaster of emotions and diorama of experiences may leave you in need of a post-Aldi nap, but the whole trip is so worth it. If you are an Aldi lover like me, you whole-heartedly agree. If you just don't get it, that's okay too. Aldi may not be for everyone, but this chica just can't get enough of the place.
Sparkly Kisses,
D
Aldi is an experience for all five senses. Let's start with the parking lot. I am blessed with a nice car. It's not nice in the sense that it's something you would play for in the Bonus Round of "Wheel of Fortune", but it's nice in the sense that it's pretty, has lots of great bells and whistles, and it replaced my dinged up, generic mommyvan that I had and hated for years. Suffice it to say that I love my car even more than I love Aldi.
So, consequently, the best place to park it is nowhere near other cars. Let's just say that the general clientele at Aldi doesn't have the same pride of ownership in their vehicles that I do in mine, and I have seen more than one of them swing their car door open with all the force of a bank robber busting into a vault. Also, given the fact that I also once witnessed (at ten o'clock in the morning, mind you) a guy slam a beer, set the bottle down on the asphalt and drive away, I'd prefer to park in the back forty and get some cardio in while power walking to the front doors.
Let's move along lest I scare off the newbies before we're even inside. Before you go in, you'll need to grab two things from your car, namely, some "green" bags and a quarter. To save on costs, Aldi doesn't give you anything to bag your groceries. You can buy bags from them, and occasionally you can rummage a box or two to put your goods in, but these are a hot commodity, and some arm wrestling may be required to win the rights to one.
The quarter is for a deposit on a shopping cart. Some of you are saying "wha....?" to that, but again, Aldi does it to cut costs. They are shrewdly taking advantage of the fact that most of us that shop there are serious cheapskates, and we will return our cart to the secured row of them next to the front door in order to get our whole twenty-five cents back. This prevents the carts from being left in the parking lot, and if the customers logically treat the carts the same way they treat their cars, doing so could lead to some serious profit loss for the company.
Now if you're smart, when you pull in, you're looking for someone who is unloading their cart. You give them a quarter, and you take theirs, thus avoiding the whole extraction of a cart from the tandem lock system, which worked well in theory and design at the assembly plant, but at the store itself, notsomuch. At last, you're ready to head in.
Navigating the aisles will require some skill. You will encounter middle-of-the-aisle parkers and screaming children running amok and ducking and dodging through the carts. Don't be intimidated. Move forward in a slow but deliberate way. Come armed with three weapons to battle the Parkers and the Screamers. First, try a smile. If that doesn't work, try an "Excuse me".
As a last resort, try a "befuddled bump". This is done by staring off to the side at the items on the shelf while gently, but firmly, bumping their cart/child out of the way. Then when they turn to you in shock and surprise, you look startled and unsure yourself as to what happened, apologize sincerely, and move along what is now a clear path. Genius.
This may seem like a lot of trouble to some of you. Believe me when I tell you that Aldi's prices and the cool stuff you find there make it totally worth it! And I'll bet that a lot of you Trader Joe's freaks didn't know that Aldi owns TJ's. Mmmm, hmmm. You can find a lot of the same types of foods at Aldi that you find at TJ's, and they are even cheaper!
I think Aldi keeps that information on the DL because most of the people who shop TJ's wouldn't want to mix it up with us Aldi regulars. That's okay. You can keep your Two Buck Chuck, and we'll keep our two buck milk. Greasers will still be Greasers, and Socs will still be Socs, and if you see us in the hall at school or someplace, and you don't say hi, we know it's not personal.(That's "The Outsiders" for those of you who didn't get the reference. "Let's do it for Johnny, man!" Ahhh, great book, great movie.)
Before you check out, be sure to hit the "last chance" bin. This is where my BFF Clarence (see earlier blog post) hangs out. It is a veritable potpourri of everything from bread mix to pajamas to car mats. This stuff is even cheaper than the regular cheap Aldi prices. I have come home with everything from this fabulous area from Andes mint chocolate chips for thirty cents a bag to a new large stainless steel crock pot for ten bucks.
When you hit the check out lane, you have to shake off your euphoria from the bin bargains you scored and focus. The check out is run with all the speed and precision of the assembly line at a Toyota plant. Remove your items from the cart as quickly as possible. Aldi cashiers don't mess around. (It's my theory that each of them is made to drink a "5 Hour Energy" and eat a jar of marshmallow fluff thirty minutes before their shift starts.) Then move your cart rapidly to the end of the conveyor so that they can pull it into place to catch your items. They zip your items across the scanner so fast, it's invisible to the naked eye. Don't be distracted by it!
If you're paying by debit card (it and cash are the only forms of payment accepted), swipe your card right away, otherwise the cashier will already be done scanning all your stuff and barking, "Do you want cash back?" at you. If you hesitate again, (s)he will jerk your card away from you, swipe it, tell you to enter your PIN, and complete your transaction for you. (I've never been guilty of this, but I've seen this done, and it's not pretty. The person walks away in shame with a scarlet "A" of a different kind on their forehead.) Then roll your cart away promptly to the counter for bagging your groceries, take care of business, and head for the back forty and the car.
The roller coaster of emotions and diorama of experiences may leave you in need of a post-Aldi nap, but the whole trip is so worth it. If you are an Aldi lover like me, you whole-heartedly agree. If you just don't get it, that's okay too. Aldi may not be for everyone, but this chica just can't get enough of the place.
Sparkly Kisses,
D
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