"Car-ma"

This year is a big year for me.  Both of my children are in school.  "Huzzah!!!" (What? Rich old men from the 1910s don't own that word)

One of the benefits of my new-found freedom is being in the car by myself.  All alone.  With no one to pass a sippy cup to or to scream at for looking at their sister weird.

I do, however, find myself slipping into my imagination quite a bit more, with all that solitude in the car.  I've noticed this in three different ways...

1.  I am tempted to play chicken with people trying to cross the parking lot.  I see a pedestrian walking from his car to Home Depot, where I am also trying to go but have just pulled into the area.  He wants to cross the main thoroghfare into the store.  I, of course, stop and wave my hand for him to go.  I then, in my head, decide to ever so gently put my foot on the gas so that the man gives a start. I brake.  He stops.  Perhaps he misread me.  He waits.  I wave again for him to go, then proceed to rev the car again.  Oops!  We're caught in an accidental little dance!  Or...are...we.  Because, just as I laugh big enough for him to notice through my windshield, and wave for him to really go this time, I hit the gas again for just a second.  As I brake for the third time, the guy looks at me like I'm crazy.  And I really laugh and let him go.  I'm sure if I really did this someday the man would laugh too. 

That's what I think of your Darwin Fish

2.  I do major damage to the car ahead of me who disagrees with my views.  Driving down the road, I notice the guy in front of me has a bumper sticker...or eight...that basically read "I disagree with everything you believe in and mock you for your stupid morals and principles".  I, in real life, just keep driving.  BUT, in my head, I floor it and ram straight into the rear of the other car.  A Bruce Willis Movie-style explosion then takes place between those two cars.  In the flying debris, the smoke, and the fire, I come striding out toward the camera.  All sexy and confident..possibly wearing heals and black leather pants...never looking back...as that stupid offensive bumper sticker flutters to the ground at my feet.  Yeah!!

3.  I have imaginary conversations...out loud.  It could be rehearsing a tough talk I need to have with a child's teacher.  It could be a thought I had from my devotions that morning...suddenly I'm Beth Moore and talking to thousands of women as I quip about being a mom while striking to the core of their beings with my thoughts on Philipians 2.  I have...and this is the deep level of my insanity...even eulogized my loved ones...all of who are alive, disease-free, and have at least 40-60 good years left.  Okay, that last one is hard to admit. 

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME????  I don't think I knew how active my imagination really was.  I have had to channel that into my kids and now that they are not home, my brain can't shut it down.  So on I go, making up situations and talking out loud to myself.  If those things could make me money I could be one of those people who "make millions by working from home"....or "driving in your car".

I might be a crazy person, but...hey, its safer than texting.

French

So, I have a bone to pick with the French language.

I was reading an article about an artist a while back.  The article said that Amy the Artist painted "En plein air"

I wondered what that meant.  Anxious to unlock the secret of Amy's genius, I looked it up and it meant "outside".  And, sure enough, the article included pictures of Amy the Artist painting...outside.

Oh.

Okay.

Why not just say that Amy painted...wait for it...outside?  I mean, I get that in some French school of painting that someone coined that term, but whoever it was...lets say Monet...he just said, "Hey, Marie Cassatt, let's go paint outside."

Why are so many of our words and phrases in French?  Why say, "piece de resistance" instead of  "the best part"?

I'll tell you why.

Because the French Language is the Lottery Ball Girl of languages.

You see, any girl, really, could be the Lottery Ball Girl.  Its not like walking a cat walk in 5 inch heals in a size 0 dress.  Its not splaying out on the beach in a bikini acting like you want to make out with the camera when its 40 degrees out, your economics class is in 25 minutes and you have to go potty.   Its just picking up that stupid ping pong ball.

Even I could pick up a ping pong ball with a number written on it, smile at the camera say, "23!", with excitement, and then place the ball in a place holder. In a pragmatic world, I would do just fine.

But people don't want to see the every day girl declare the numbers of their destiny.  They want a beautiful girl to say it. Only the beautiful girl will do.

Why say Amy the Artist paints outside when you can say Amy the Artist paints "en plein air". Misty, dappled pools of light seem to surround Amy when you think of her painting "en plein air".  If Amy just paints outside well, psh...she could be retouching a QuickMart sign, for all we know.

Sorry, English Language.  You aren't cutting it. The only words the French are borrowing from us are "Coca-Cola" and "McDonalds".

If French is the Lottery Ball Girl of language, you are the Lunch Lady.

Things That Freak Me Out...a List

Alot of things freak me out.

1. Circus clowns.

2. Team Mascots and amusement park characters.

3. 1970's architecture...still standing yet forgotten by time...with its white walls and dark brown beams plastered every which way, original olive colored carpet and smelling of...oldness<shudder>

4. Oh, and antique stores.  They smell like death. They trigger my gag reflex.
 
5. That weird thing that bugs do where they mate while flying around in the air...<worse shudder>

6. This Show:

I mean WHAT THE CRAP?!?

7. Shelters for failed actors that never quite reached their full potential like "Medieval Times", "Polynesian Paradise"...I made that last one up, I can only think of "Medieval Times"...

8. Words.  Words can freak me out.  Under no circumstance are you allowed to say the word "Panty" to me.  And for heaven's sake, don't tell me that you are glad I "Turned you on to" something.  Blech.  And, please, when I leave a meeting don't ask, "So, how did you make out in there?"  Also, if you could refrain from any word or euphemism  having to do with the "no no" areas on a person's body, I would be forever grateful.

I digress...

Ahem...

9. Mickey Rourke:

10. Being the only person in a store freaks me out, and a "store" can also be a garage sale.

11. Animals that should have hair but don't...no...its not right.  Calling it a "hairless cat" as if it was nature's intention doesn't make it any easier to look at.  Its a cat...with a severe genetic mutation.

12. Genetic mutations freak me out.

13. Mexico.  Unacceptable.

14. Museums with mannequins as part of their display.  I have to approach the display from a side angle and ever...so...slowly creep toward it...allowing my eyes to scan for a possible Victorian-era postal worker in the Victorian area post office before me.  If I don't, if I just come at it full on...its like BAM!  MANNEQUIN!  And it might as well be a vampire lunging out at me, the terror is so real.


Its amazing that I can go anywhere!  I am very intensely curious to know what every day things creep you out and send a chill running up your spine.  Anyone care to share their crazy?  Or, at least, can someone make me feel more normal by sharing a common "freak me out" issue?

The Kill Factor

I am not sure that anyone would ever describe me as "mild-mannered".

I'm pleasant, to be sure, but beneath the brunette ponytail, Sara's Secret relaxwear and neo-retro Mickey Mouse T-shirt (Disney World Park Exclusive, of course) lies a hot piping little volcano of molten rage and bubbling indignance.

My friend once described it as "an acute sense of justice."

My diplomatic cousin once said that I'm nice but that I "just CARE too much...about...everything..."

Okay, lets go with that.  Inside me lies a hot piping little volcano of molten care and bubbling justice.

I'm not always in a rage, but would say that most things in my life can be measured by its Kill Factor.  As in, a scale of 1 to 10, how much to I want to kill a person, place, thing or idea.

"Urge to kill rising...rising.."

Its simple, really.

Lady who holds up the line at the grocery store because, having already paid, they still want to chat it up with the cashier - KILL FACTOR 1

The girls in my dorm that would throw parties in the hallway at 3 am when I had an 8am Music Theory class - KILL FACTOR 9.9

In between there, you have an entire host of situations and Kill Factors.

Airports, for instance:

Guy who dropped a deuce in the airplane bathroom then left it in there for my son and I to behold - KILL FACTOR 7

Girl  in front of me who decided that the airport was the BEST place to wear her mini-dress with several metal zippers while also displaying 4 of her favorite metal body piercings and yelling at the Security Agent for making her take off her most comfortable 5 inch stilletos - KILL FACTOR 9

Entertainment:

Caillou, Max and Ruby, and Sponge Bob - KILL FACTOR 5

Self-righteous, pretentious celebrities who look down on people who don't re-purpose their Snickers wrappers into home decor - KILL FACTOR 9

Parenting:

Parents who yell at other people indirectly by talking loudly to their children.  As in, "Its okay, Bobby, I'm sure that lady REALLY has to go to the bathroom or she would never make us stand here behind her in line!" - KILL FACTOR 4

Daughter calling me fat - KILL FACTOR 8.97

Marriage:

Desperately needing sleep but having to listen to Mr. MacSnorington next to you - KILL FACTOR 9.9999 (I'm sleepy!  My Kill Factor is more intense!)

Having a terrible day at home, sauteing vegetables on a hot stove while kicking the children with one foot as a barely effective form of corporal punishment, and counting the seconds until Spouse gets home.  Only to have him call and say his meeting ran late and he won't be home for another hour.  TRUE...not his fault...but the emotion at the time equals - KILL FACTOR 9.9998

Now, there are rules to the Kill Factor.  You can NEVER have a Kill Factor of 10.  Kill Factor 10 means that you actually went through with it.  It means that you will get 25 years in the slammer.  So, keep it under control, count to 10, pray, drop down instantly into your favorite yoga pose, or maybe just do a little light murdering in your head before banishing the thought forever.  I won't judge you.

And, some things don't necessarily require a Kill Factor, just an Eye Roll factor.  Like, people who insist on calling God a "she" - EYE ROLL FACTOR 8

Family Fun Magazine - EYE ROLL FACTOR 6

See?  And of COURSE some things give me a feeling of love and encouragement.  We'll call it a LOVE BURST FACTOR.  But Kill Factors seem much more handy to a person who gets fairly disconcerted by "other people" not "doing what I want them to". 

What things raise your Kill Factor levels? 

Globes Review

I admit.  I am a sucker for awards shows.  Its my parallel reality.  Ever since pre-puberty I have made acceptance speeches in my head and created lavish outfits to wear on my imaginary red carpet.  I live for this stuff.

My husband, poor dear, has gotten suckered into it as well.  He judges the clothes just as harshly as I do, all while snacking on an array of summer sausage, cheese and the finest Kroger-brand Ritz crackers that money can buy.  We even upped the class factor and bought some hummus this year.  Greek...hummus, mind you.  <classy>

I would love to tell you that I have tons to say about the awkward speeches, outrageous dresses, and crazy drunken antics of the stars, but I don't.  Did everyone in Hollywood quit drinking?  Have those cushy rehab centers actually done their job, leaving us regular folk wallowing in disappointment so deep that we must take to the bottle in a vicious and ironic cycle?  And what is up with the super boring dresses?  I personally went on Vogue's site and looked through at least 15 designer's Spring and Fall collections and found way cooler stuff!

Why didn't someone wear this?

Jason Wu

Or this?

Zac Posen

Something...ANYTHING... non boring?

The only noteworthy thing about the Globes was Madonna's boobs...if you see a pun in there, you get a gold star.

Here's Madonna...

It just seems to me that if you can afford to start your own religion and all those red strings that go with it, and if you can also afford a $6,000 dress, you could afford to make sure it fits...or at least afford a friend to tell you that your "cleavage" looks more like "plumber's crack"

This is completely tragic.  It honestly looks painful.  I find myself feeling very sorry for Madonna's chest, that dress just looks cruel.  I'm surprised, actually, that Peta hasn't stepped in.

Maybe next time, Madonna should wear this:

Christian Dior

Considering that Madonna wrote a song for a foreign film, it seems that she will get to redeem herself at the Oscars.  And, lets hope that everyone in general steps it up a notch...please!  This poor Yankee Peach will cry into her hummus if they don't.

Things I Love: French Press Coffee

Well, here I sit in my red fancy ball gown, white gloves, and my hair in an alluring chignon (I can type that word, but honestly, I cannot pronounce it) ready to tell you about my new Thing I Love...my French Press Coffee Maker.


I got one from my Grandma Lynn for Christmas.  I was wary, I admit.  I do not like coffee.  As I have explained before, it makes my tummy feel as if I have gulped down battery acid. 

I gave this thing a try because, deep down, I really do want to be fancy, and the red dress and gloves were just not cutting it.  Let me tell you. 

It. Was.  Amazing.

The coffee was so good!  It was very smooth, did not hurt my tummy, and only required half of the sugar and milk that I normally require to down the stuff. The key is Essential Oils. 

I read the words "French Press Coffee is so good because it retains the essential oils that are lost when making coffee with a filter in a drip coffee maker." and immediately thought, "Oh, yes...Essential Oils!  The Magazines always say those are good things."  But had no idea what that meant. 

Essential Oils are the "essence" of the coffee bean.  They are the flavor and aroma of the bean.  They are lipids and colloids (please...don't make me do more research to figure out what THOSE are...I don't like to "look things up") that get trapped in paper filters and cause you to have very little natural flavor using the traditional drip method. 

PLUS, with a drip coffee maker, water is quickly passed over the grounds.  A French Press steeps the coffee grounds in hot water for a couple minutes.  Its a beautiful thing.

So, here's what you do.

1.  Spend very little money and get yourself a French Press.  They are ridiculously cheap.  I have this one. By BonJour.

2.  Put 1 TBS of "coarsely ground" coffee in the main container.  1 TBS/ cup...more or less depending on how you like your coffee.  And if you only have normally ground coffee, that's fine.  I had "Eight O'Clock French Vanilla" in the house and it worked great.

3.  Boil your serving of water (or microwave it for 2-3 minutes, its easier), and pour it in the main container with the coffee grounds.

4.  Place the top on and let it steep for 4 minutes.

5.  Be sure to turn the top so that the black splash screen is over the spout.  Here's a pic...see that little black thing over the spout?

6.  After 4 minutes, press the filter down slowly through the coffee...this is removing all the grounds.  My camera is broken, but here's a google pic of the filter looking down at it.

7.  Turn the top so that the splash screen is at the back and a little filter covers the spout (reference the first picture for a look at the spout filter) and pour out your magnificently perfect brew into a mug to enjoy.

Its very very simple.

Why this coffee does not hurt my tummy is beyond me.  Probably has something to do with those Essential Oils (said, every time, with kind of a haunted, dreamy voice). 

Plus, there is the Fancy Factor.  AND the Cheap Factor.  Because to make coffee for one person in a drip brew  you either need a high tech, wiz bang Krupp thingy or to make at least 4-6 cups in a normal coffee pot.  However, your handy dandy French Press can make up to 8 cups, so put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Coffee!