Monday, October 22, 2007

Myself and Stir Fry

I'm sort of a grammar snob. Well, a grammar snob wanna-be. This is said knowing full well that my knowledge of grammer SUX. I aspire to be one of those uber-eloquent writers that know how to show emphasis without 10 exclamation points, or to show true emotion without the use of emoticons!!

Unfortunately, I'll just be me---my silly, chatty self with I'm sure below average grammar skills, but with things that just ANNOY THE HELL out of me. Mainly the word 'myself'. How in the world did this word evolve into something used in daily conversation? How did 'myself' replace good old fashioned 'me'?? It happens in meetings and e-mails EVERYWHERE. "if you have any questions, please see Mr. Jones or myself'. The absolute incorrect use of this word sends me into orbit. So, please....STOP USING IT.

I was reading a fave blog recently, and made a comment to her, and embarrassed myself (now THIS is a correct usage) to no end. The blogger mentioned words, and proper usage, and grammar......and I was telling of a faux pas that I made and spelled it 'faux paux'---I even GOOGLED it before using it to make sure I sounded as intelligent as I wanted to, and guess what??? SOMEONE spells 'faux pas" as 'faux paux', cause I found more than ONE reference on google. Talk about being mortified. How can one backpedal away from THAT mistake that everyone in the world can read?

Anyway, as you all will learn, I love to cook. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it. I made chicken stir-fry last night, and was oh-so disappointed. I just can't master the stir fry. I attempt to cook the veggies to that 'crisp-tender' stage, and I try to get the chicken browned--I use sesame oil as a seasoning, and lots of asian-ish ingredients to make a sauce.......and what do I end up with? A steaming mess of flaccid veggies and very unbrown looking chicken. I am MISSING something......I can't use fish sauce because Mr. Perfectly would be very displeased--fish in any form is highly offensive to him. But I used, soy, wine, a touch of vinegar, a touch of brown sugar, garlic etc to TRY for the perfect sauce, and I'm failing.

Mr. Perfectly liked it and oldest son liked it, but it was very un-satisfying to me. It just tasted like chicken and veggies in sauce. Not inedible, but certainly not up to par with some of the other things I cook.

If anyone has any suggestions for fabulous stir-fry, bring-em on!!

Thursday, October 18, 2007

It's Ph.d.'s fault

What happens to women sometimes? I AM one, and I certainly can't figure it out. I am not an avid blog reader, but the few I read and love have such a fabulous mix of wit, insight, sarcasm and fun. I WANNA BE LIKE THAT. Instead, I think I end up sounding like some washed up old crow biotching about the world, when instead, my hope is to be cute and funny.

The last two days have been hell.......absolute hell. Ask Mr. Perfectly and Perfectly's sons!! Oh, and Jakki, one of the BFF's......I woke up and someone other than me; someone possessed had taken over my brain! Seriously.....

I realize I'm older and I realize that the normal course of business at my age is to begin to experience some strange things, but waking up POSSESSED is just not right. At the peak of my hormonal ride I went to a football game and nearly CRIED because my hot dog had cheese in it. CHEESE for goodness sakes (apparently a rogue package of cheese dogs got mixed in with the regular ole' beef franks, and lucky me got one of the 8 in the huge roaster full of hot dogs); and because the guy behind me was chewing tobacco and SPITTING into a gatorade bottle.....hello, could you not see me being repulsed?; or because the lady in the row next to me screamed like you WOULD NOT BELIEVE (as she does at every game), because it embarrasses me to think that maybe somehow I look nutty like she does when I cheer the game on!! ; Oh and said lady stunk like dirty hair and stale cigarette smoke, and Perfectly's dad DIDN'T NOTICE and thought I was nuts for saying I smelled it!!!

I wanted to cry that my dad and in-laws left early and I was all by myself, even though just earlier in the evening I didn't even WANT to be with them, because, of course, they annoyed me; or that my husband didn't telepathically KNOW that they'd left and come up from the field from his passion of taking pictures to sit with me; or because said BFF Jakki didn't come and talk to me during the game. Huh. The horror. Dont'cha feel sorry for me?

Oh, I forgot to mention that all my childhood compadres are highly successful--a Ph.d., and architect, and another Ph.d. that I hadn't spoken to since high school and just saw his'm just a glorified clerk. Oh, and that all the cute, popular football mom's don't like me because I'm fat.

Ok, I think you get it by now. Irrational, insane, OUT OF MY FREAKING MIND......and apparently it's because I'm 41 and 'getting to that age' where the body and the mind duel to the death.

I'm done with this. I get cranky at times, and I realize I'm not behaving normally, but this was WHACKED. I. AM. NOT. JOKING. Where are the drugs. Just give them all to me now and tell me the schedule in which I should take them to prevent this from EVER occurring again.

Actually, I blame Ph.d. (the first one mentioned in the list of accomplished friends since she's my dearest friend ever---since 6th grade). She was telling me the evening before HELL hit that she's been experiencing 'hot flashes'. She cursed me. She's the one that set this psychological firestorm.

So, Ph.d., the next time you get a hot flash, KEEP IT TO YOURSELF, because I don't think family and friends will be so gracious next time.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Generation Gap

How does a mother explain to her 17 yr. old son that he doesn't have a BIG butt? He has a very high, round, firm butt that is attractive to the opposite sex.

There is SO much wrong with the above for SO many reasons. He thinks his butt is big, when actually is very cute and proportionate to his when he worries about it I try to give him positive feedback, an it comes out so weird.

Let's break this down: Son complains about his big butt. Being the good mother I am, I attempt to reassure said son that indeed he does NOT have a big butt, but a very nicely proportioned hind end. He looks so cute in his football pants, we can ALWAYS tell which one he is when his number isn't visible because of his cute tush.

This translates somewhere between MOMMY and PEDOPHILE; and those two words should never be used in the same sentence!!

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Henny Penny

Elevator saga; part deux.

I was on the elevator w/ 9 of my co-workers including my BFF#2, Jakki. Jakki has issues w/ her personal space. DO NOT INVADE IT. Needless to say, Jakki wasn't faring very well during our stint in the stuck elevator. With 13 people.

Think of a boxing ring...I was in one corner, by the panels, and she was in the back--catty corner from me (or is it kitty corner? topic for another day...). I hear someone ask how she was doing in the middle of our shift in the elevator. She very quietly said something like: "I'm fine". I thought to myself in the midst of pushing buttons on the panel; "oh, she's so NOT fine".

Jakki is the most popular girl at work. She's adored by all, but many people truly don't KNOW her. I on the other hand, KNOW her. I couldn't see her because of the 11 other people between and around us, but the people who think she's calm, cool and collected? They are WRONG.

As we one by one got to climb the ladder to escape, she stepped on the bottom rung and with bionic determination, lifted her right leg ALL THE WAY TO THE TOP and launched herself out of that elevator. I was a couple of people behind her, so I didn't get to see her toddle off into NOWHERE, but I saw her coming back. As I exited the elevator, I spied her unsteadily wander my direction saying "I've got to go to the bathroom". This was a delayed panic attack if I'd ever seen one. My boss, who came out right behind me was talking to me, and rudely, I said "I"ve got to GO".

I followed a sobbing Jakki into the bathroom to find her wandering and crying. I tried as quickly as I could to grab paper towels to wet them for her (I'm a mom of 2 boys, and wet cloths work GREAT for a variety of ailments). My boss quickly followed us in, and grabbed Jakki's sweater she was wearing, proclaiming "you are SWEATING through this, take it off". Um...not a pleasant thought.

In the meantime, I'm frustrated because the water feels so WARM coming from the tap....I wanted COLD water, and it's just tepid. Jakki has a death grip on the row of sinks, and I just want her to RELAX. We are putting the sort of tepid compresses on the back of her neck to cool her off, and I realize I keep hitting the HOT spigot---duh. When you work in a building for nearly 20 yrs, and use the bathrooms daily and wash your hands after each visit, things sort of become habit......I use HOT water to wash my hands. So, with the knowledge of which spigot to use, I finally was able to produce a COLD compress. Upon using the cold compress on the back of her neck, I could visably see her shoulders relax, and she took a deep breath.

At the same time, a lady that works in our cafeteria came in and went into a stall. And as can ONLY happen to me and Jakki, the strange day only gets stranger. We hear the distinctive pfft...pfft....pfft sound that only a non-aresol spray bottle can make. You know, like hair spray or body scents or who knows what. I mean WHO would need to 'freshen' while there are people around?? The thing is that there was no smell. Not like a hairspray (yes, even UNSCENTED hair spray has a smell) or body spray or ANYTHING. What was the pfft...pfft....pfft?

At this point, I see Jakki giggle, and know that all is well. She's back. There's nothing left to to but mercilessly tease her about her tour of duty as henny penny---running through the building with her hands in the air after escaping the elevator. If she's ever famous, I'm SO writing a book.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Never say never

When contemplating the venture into blogging, I vowed to never blog about work. Well, my mother always said 'never say never'. Early on, this freshman blogger is going to break her own rule...well kind of......a little. The blog isn't so much about work as it is the trials that COME with work.

Yesterday, we had a fire drill. Yes, the kind that they spring on you unannounced. Except I had a 'little maintence man bird' tell me about it 5 minutes prior to this mid-day treat. We all filed out as we should, made an accounting of all individuals and herded ourselves back into the building. I work on the top floor, and we exit and enter on the 1st floor. You can IMAGINE the scenario at the 1st floor co-workers and I have a secret weapon--the FREIGHT/SERVICE elevator. In many years of weather and fire events and drills, this elevator is much less used than the others.

Today, the fire alarm goes off this some cruel trick that our facilities management is playing on us? A co-worker heard people from the maintence area say that this was not a drill and to get out.............the MAINTENCE FOLKS are saying get out? We'd better haul ASS and get out. We all schlep down to the 1st floor, and exit, again take an accounting of people, and all gossip about the fire trucks, and traffic, and why the fire trucks left so early, yada yada yada.....idle chatter that gets the gals all fired up.

We get the all clear and herd ourselves ONCE AGAIN back into the building and off to our secret weapon, the freight elevator. It doesn't appear to be working.....but a group got on right before us, so we were befuddled at the lack of elevator lights. A co-worker pointed out that there was nobody waiting at the regular bank of elevators, so we abandoned the freight elevator idea, and moved on to the regular elevators. A car arrived, and I, as the first person in, held the 'door open' button. People kept streaming on...mostly my office compadres, but there were 2 others that didn't belong to us. A total of 12. TWELVE. PEOPLE. ON. AN. ELEVATOR. (I didn't know the total early on...thank goodness).

The doors close, and the car stops on the 2nd floor wherein a lady sees how full it is and waves us on our way. The doors close and the car stops on the 3rd floor. I'm thinking--'we'll stop on EVERY floor, ugh', and what do you know, there are two women looking in and the first one barrels her ass right on. With 12 OTHER people. I looked at my supervisor with a look that CLEARLY said "Oh no she DI'INT". My supervisor starts laughing, and in the meantime the elevator poaching lady's friend tried in every way to get on too, but she couldn't make it. She should be so lucky.

The doors closed again, and we proceeded. CA--THHHUUNNNKKKKK. Silence. Then 13 collective 'ohhhhhhhhh''s. 'Are we moving?' "NO"......and the lady that jumped on to make lucky 13, exclaims 'Sorry!!'. She should have thought that BEFORE she jumped on the completely full elevator.

Someone uses the emergency phone, and we get "do you have an emergency"?? WTF?? Don't these elevator phones connect with someone that KNOWS it's an elevator phone? Does it go to 911? We tell the lady we are stuck on elevator #2. So she asks 'what building??"....Uh, the building this elevator is in!!!!! Comeon--again, doesn't the phone go directly to someone who KNOWS?? We give her the pertinant information, and she tells us she'll send someone right away. Right, we all know how quickly building maintence works.

Well, I'm tucked into a corner with 9 people from my office, and the lady who jumped on when she shouldn't have. What do I think first? OMG, my I dig out an altoids gum, and honestly, at this point, I didn't realize anyone else was ON the elevator with us. I'm chewing my gum and frantically punching buttons. The buttons would light up, then go out, we'd hear buzzing sometimes, and the lady that got on when she shouldn't have proceeded to push and HOLD the emergency alarm. I was hoping my altoids gum fumes made her eyes water.

Really, in seemingly short order, our building maintence had pried the doors open and what do I finally realize? A VERY tiny, VERY PREGNANT girl was huddled in the middle where I couldn't see her. Some of my co-workers shifted to allow her and her friend (person 11 and 12) to move to the front where cooler air was streaming in--that lady that got on when she shouldn't have was pressing up against me to give the little pregnant girl, who was pretty panicky, some room. Gosh, I'm sorry if my BREASTS got in the way....

The maintence people proceeded to tell us that they'd hold the doors open for air, but we couldn't get off yet, because it was DANGEROUS, and the car could still DROP. I asked if they couldn't get the little pregnant girl off, and they all stared at her, but nobody really answered.

We finally got to climb a ladder and exit the elevator. This whole incident could have lasted 5 minutes or 5's quite a sight to see 13 people exit an elevator in such a manner. Now, listen, lets be honest, I'm not exactly a small individual......ladders and I aren't on amicable terms. How embarassing to haul my ample butt up a ladder and climb out of a stuck elevator.....with people STARING and casually drinking a big gulp.....geez.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Wine Whine

I really, REALLY want to like and know wine, but it seems like SO much work! My palate is unsophisticated and I don't understand terms like tannins and hints of cedar and citrus.......I mean it's wine! It tastes like wine!

I'm a sweet wine drinker. I feel like a pariah among 'real' wine drinkers. My favorite winery is Adam Puchta Winery (, and I've read some of their tutorial (Wine 101) and still don't get 'it'. I just know I like it.....Mr. Perfectly, Perfectly's Dad and I went to a local festival last weekend and for the very first time EVER, I tried a wine that had a distinctive taste to me...I didn't like it, either. It was rather embarrassing to be greedily looking at the pretty, red, fizzy wine she was pouring for me, exclaiming to Mr. Perfectly "oh, I'll LIKE this" then turn my nose up at it. I explained that I didn't like it as I expected, thinking the girl would at least take my glass and what was left of my sample, but she didn't. She did, however pour me a sample of the sweeter WHITE---same result. Yuk. So here I had 2 small gulps of wine left in each cup, so what's a girl to do? I tossed them back!!

On to the next booth, and THEY had wine samples as well (my kind of festival!!). I was familiar with this winery as it was a Missouri winery too(St. James Winery), and we'd purchased some of their wines, as well as the in-laws purchasing it for themselves and giving us bottles. Anyway, I tried their blackberry wine and their Vignoles--MUCCHHH better--but they weren't selling it by the glass. I wasn't quite prepared to carry a bottle around town with me, so I refrained. What a site that would have made..Mr. Perfectly and Perfectly's Dad walking around with me in tow--a bottle of Blackberry wine in one hand and a deep fried Oreo in the other.

Anyway, it surprised me that I could tell such a taste difference. But I wouldn't have been able to identify WHY I didn't like the one.....I think tannin refers to something with red wine, and although I tried a red, since it was fizzy, I doubt it would be sophisticated enough for tannins.....I guess it could have been musky, but who knows......I sure didn't want more.

Is it so wrong to likeLambrusco and Arbor Mist? A white zinfandel if at a 'nice' restaurant?? I feel like I'm compared to the 'Stag' drinkers vs. the cool microbrewery connoisseurs!! (Note to self; stop laughing at the redneck beer swiller jokes).

I'm going to Teenie's (BFF one) 'girls weekend'. She's a dry wine drinker, so I usually avoid the wine at her house--THAT'S what Cosmo's are for!!

Monday, October 1, 2007

Dear Football Fans:

I appreciate your enthusiasm for the game, but might I offer some suggestions?

1. Please stop screaming at the referees. They are the authority figure here, and really don't CARE what it is you have to offer;

2. Stop disparaging every other kid making mistakes BUT YOUR OWN;

3. If you are the parent/grandparent/guardian of smaller children, don't allow them to encroach on others in the stands, such as drooling over my nachos, swinging the extra large jacket of yours that they are wearing in my face, or practicing the singing of their ABC’s in my left ear. Oh, and please tell them not to do the uber high pitched scream that only a 5 yr old can accomplish when there is NOTHING to be screaming about!

Please teach children PRIOR to coming to a public event, like a football game, that loudly expelling LETHAL smelling gas is not acceptable, or that the kids shouldn’t discuss amongst themselves how if one of them decided to KILL someone that he’d only go to ‘juvie’ which is different than jail.

Thanks so much for your time,