I Have the Mind of a 4 Year-Old!

A big raspberry to all those people who've told me that I'm wasting my years of education by not having a paying job! I just won the second official Neatorama.com "Decipher the Doodle" Contest and scored a T-shirt from the Neatorama shop by astutely deciphering the meaning behind this drawing by a 4 year-old:
It's obviously depicting the happy child and a pet turtle in its home environment. Who says I don't use my training in child development and psychology?

A Booty Call to Ignore

A model wears Booty Pop panties (on right) to plump her posterior
(amazing how it improves her posture and gives her bigger boobs too!-lolamouse)

For centuries, women have wriggled into girdles and other slimmers to minimize their rear ends. Now, a fascination with the hind-quarters of celebrities like Beyoncé and Kim Kardashian is fueling a booming market for undergarments that amplify the derrière.

On Booty Pop's late-night infomercials, which began airing in December, viewers are entreated to "forget about doing endless squats—and cosmetic surgery, who can afford that?" as models prance around in tight jeans flaunting their backsides.

What will the marketing gurus think of next to torture us women?!! The above drivel is an actual advertisement for a product called "Booty Pop." Booty Pop is not an alternative sexual activity but an undergarment with built-in pads to "plump" one's hindquarters. Consider it a push-up bra for your ass. Apparently, it is now not only OK to have "junk in the trunk," it's sexy. Flat or "pancake" butts are OUT.

Of course, women are still required to have tiny waists, thin thighs, and no hips along with the perfectly rounded and perky derriere. Thus, Booty Pop to the rescue! I can think of no bigger pleasure than wearing panties with padding sewn into them all day long, especially in the summer. Put me down for 7 pairs, one for every day of the week! How sexy I will feel carrying around two big pads on my ass. I bet they get really nice and heavy when you sweat too! It'll be just like wearing a wet diaper all day or pasting Kotex all over your backside. I'll have to fight the men off with a stick!

I'm waiting for the day when belly blumps are considered the new sexy (you women know what I mean, that wedge of fat under your navel that you can't get rid of?) I can just see it now: "Don't waste all your time and money buying and eating high calorie food to try and get that sexy 'muffin top!' With our new Muffin Topper Pantie, the muffin top look you so envy can be yours!" Millions of skinny chicks will flock to the lingerie department to buy panties that give them belly bulges. I won't have to because mine will be au natural! It will be a proud moment.

Read My Legs!

Okay, I need someone to tell me when my legs were taken away and mysteriously replaced with middle-aged lady legs! Did this happen that night when I took one too many Restoril? Oh, I admit, the general shape of the aforementioned limbs are the same--fairly long, chunky in the thigh, cankles (damn my Polish/Russian peasant ancestry!)-- but there seems to be a road map of the entire United States printed on them! With lots of little red dots to indicate major cities and brown freckles to locate natural landmarks, you could travel from here to Los Angeles and back with stops at Mt. Rushmore, the Grand Canyon, and South of the Border by using my gams for navigation! Where did all the blue, green, and purple lines come from?!! They were NOT here yesterday!

The mystery deepened as I realized that all of my "young leg" marks are still visible. I can still see the scar on my upper thigh from when I fell on the playground in elementary school! If I can still see an elementary school scar, I can't be that old! And here's a scar from when I fell trick-or-treating with my daughter when she was a toddler. See, I'm still a young mom! It doesn't matter that my daughter is now 14 if I can see the decade old scar! And here are numerous bruises that I acquired just recently from...I don't remember, just being my uncoordinated self and bumping into objects, which is what I do. I'm ACTIVE! And rug burns from...well, never mind. I'm active.

So, how to reconcile this disconnect between how I feel and perceive myself and the legs that confronted me while doing downward facing dog in yoga? Maybe I'll grow to accept my middle-aged lady legs. I can look at them as showing the road map of where my life has taken me, metaphorically speaking. But if during the night my ass mysteriously turns into a big, ol' middle-aged lady butt, some heads are gonna roll!

My Underwear Is Broadcasting Messages!

"How would you like it if, for instance, one day you realized your underwear was reporting on your whereabouts?" —California State Senator Debra Bowen, at a 2003 hearing<sup>[85]

You better watch your back(side) if you shop at Walmart because that's not just the paranoid ramblings of someone who needs her Risperdol dose upped. The RFIDs are here, there, and everywhere, and they may just be in your Fruit of the Looms.

For those who are less tech-savvy than myself (is anyone less tech savvy than myself? Maybe the Amish?), RFID (pronouned ARE-FID) is Radio Frequency Identification. RFIDs are little transmitter thingies that can be programmed to transmit information about whatever object they are attached to. They are used now in Easy Pass Smart Lanes where the RFID on your transponder sends a signal to the reader in the toll lane, and your toll is automatically deducted from your account. Some libraries use them instead of barcodes to keep track of who checks out books and which books are in their inventories. Stores have begun using RFIDs to keep track of inventory also. By having an RFID on each item as it leaves the distribution center, that item can be tracked to a store, to a shelf, to a customer. The store knows when more items need to be ordered. Eventually, lines in grocery stores may become passe as a scanner "reads" the RFIDs on each item in your grocery cart as you walk out the door and automatically deducts the money from your bank account.

Walmart is a big proponent of RFID technology. They claim it will save money by helping them keep track of inventory and decrease theft. As Walmart goes, so go most other big retailers.

Many identity documents, such as passports, credit cards, loyalty cards, etc. already have RFID technology embedded in them. Soon, many of our purchases will also. All of this is convenient, efficient, and smart, but consider: Do you really want a record of where you go, what you buy, what you read available not just to the people and/or companies who are "supposed" to have the information (what happened to privacy anyway?) but to anyone who is smart enough to figure out how to hack into the system? And if they can hack into the system to get your information, what about hacking into RFID systems to change information? "No, really, honey, I didn't check out the complete Marquis de Sade and buy a leather whip and handcuffs! That must be someone else's info!"

I've heard that RFIDs can be disabled by putting them in the microwave for a couple of seconds. Maybe after I remove all the labels on any new undies, I'll nuke them for a second or two just to be sure. I'll have nice, warm undies and they won't be able to rat me out!</sup>

"Let's Get Together!"

"We just have to get together some time soon!" How many times have I heard this line in my adult life? How many times have I known, with all certainty, that the speaker had absolutely no intention of EVER getting together with me?

Like my adolescent hero Holden Caulfield, I can't stomach "phonies." If you meet me and like me and want to get together for coffee or lunch or whatever with me, great! If not, hey, no problemo. What's wrong with saying, "Nice to meet you," and leaving it at that? To quote Holden, "I am always saying 'Glad to've met you' to somebody I'm not at all glad I met. If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff, though. " So true. Just don't give me that sing-songy "Let's get together some time!" if you don't mean it because I have no patience for BS.

And PLEASE don't start offering up excuses why you haven't called, emailed, or responded to my offers to get together the next time we see each other at some mutual social occasion. I really don't give a rat's ass that you've been busy with work, your kids have had the flu, or that your mom has had foot surgery. If you had wanted to keep in touch with me in the first place, I would've already known all that and you wouldn't be splurting it all out here now in some pathetic attempt to "catch up." Real friends keep each other apprised of the big events in their lives, if not in person, then via phone, email, blog, etc. If one person can't "get together," for a while, the other generally knows why and doesn't hear a list of vague excuses at a PTA fundraiser.

I don't need or want everyone I meet to be my friend. I'm fine with a small group of friends and a larger group of acquaintances. What I don't want is someone who tries to act like a friend. Don't be a phony!

You Want Some IQ with That?

Why are some people so OBLIVIOUS?!! What is it about the stupid gene that makes it survive, even thrive, from one idiotic generation to the moronic next and not be weeded out like the useless mutation that it is? And why is it that when I'm tired, hungry, hot, sweaty, having my tsunami of a period and in a hurry because my Super Plus tampon is about to give out, I get the Ditzy Mother of the Year and her brood of subpar intellectual urchins in front of me in line at Five Guys?

Mom places her burger order and all seems well until the guy behind the counter asks if she wants any fries with her order. Now, remember, the dining establishment of which we speak is called:

Thus, one might not be surprised that they sell fries. Our Rhodes Scholar, however, was apparently astounded. "Fries? Fries? Oh...Oh! Fries! Yeah, I want some fries!" she declared like she'd just discovered a new planet. "Let's see...I want one regular fries, and one Cajun fries, and one...hmmm (as I feel the drips of blood starting to escape their cotton fortress and I try to subtly clamp my legs) one Large fries. So, that's, let's see...2 regular fries but one Cajun, and one Large fries, so that's (I can almost hear the rusty gears clanking in her otherwise empty head) 3 fries!"

After this stimulating exchange, I place my order and go to wait. Mom's two kids immediately start harassing each other, which Mom happily ignores while munching on the free peanuts provided by the burger place. Then the boy, who looks like he'd been swimming in the Gulf and tried to use his hair to staunch the oil spill, starts trying to get Mom's attention by saying "Mom" over and over and over. "Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom...Hey, Mom, Mom, Mom, Hey, Mom, Mom, Mom...." It was like one of those annoying car alarms that no one bothers to turn off.

Finally, the Pest Family's order is up. They are the only ones in the place besides me, and they ordered before I did. So, what does Marie Curie do when her number is called? Nothing! She sits there with a blank look on her face. They call it again. Some dim recognition from the recesses of her addled brain-like structure suggest that maybe this might be her order. She starts scrambling through her purse looking for her ticket to be sure because, you know, since there are only 2 of us, and it's NOT MY ORDER, it's still unclear whether it's her order! She finds her ticket, confirms her order number, and, thankfully, leaves the restaurant (but not before leaving a pile of peanut shells on the table for someone else to clean up!) I hope she gets food poisoning!

Me and My Baggage or Why I Hate Airline Travel: Part V

We ALL come with baggage. No, this is not a post about exploring how our past traumas affect our current relationships (you don't get that kind of stuff from me for free!) This is about the utter impossibility of taking a vacation without luggage of some sort. How to best pack that luggage to meet the whims of the airline industry is, indeed, a riddle wrapped in dirty socks.

Flying out of the U.S. to Italy, we were allowed 1 checked bag and 2 carry-ons. Of course, the checked bag had to be under the weight limit of the airline (not specified anywhere unless you ask and until you're actually in line to check your bag.) If your bag is overweight, they charge you an extra $200! REALLY?!! $200?!! The entire contents of my bag aren't worth that much!

After making sure the bags are all in order, are not obese, are not containing anything illegal or unacceptable, we present them to the airline clerk who labels them and then tells us to take them. Huh? There's a conveyor belt right behind her! Why not put our bags on it like they always do? OH NO! Not any more! We have to drag our bags out of the line, around the corner, and present them to the baggage people ourselves. Why don't we load them on the plane too? Maybe then they'd actually get to our destination?

For the trip home from Italy, we know the drill, though, or so we think. We carefully pack everything in 1 checked bag a piece and 2 carry-ons. Nope! The airline in Italy allows 2 checked bags and 1 carry-on! Repack everything AGAIN!

Now I hear that Spirit Airlines has a new policy where they are going to charge passengers to use the overheard compartment to store their carry-on luggage.
http://abcnews.go.com/Travel/spirit-airlines-ceo-defends-luggage-fees-tells-congress/story?id=11162586
The CEO of the airline has the audacity to claim that having luggage on vacation was not "essential" to travel and that by "bundling" services, such as charging for luggage and, say, sustenance, they are actually helping "the poor" to fly. Have you stopped laughing? (or crying?) How about this as an advertising pitch for Spirit: "We'd just lose your luggage anyway, so with Spirit, don't bring any! We save you the stress of filling out lost baggage forms!"

Did I mention that I hate airline travel?

I'm a 3 Time Loser!!!

My altered movie title gave me my third loss in the Washington Post Style Invitational! I'm so proud! Here's the link for those who want to see it in pixels:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/07/09/AR2010070902817.html

You had to take a movie title, alter it by one letter, and tell what the "new" movie was about. Mine was "Silence of the Iambs," a poet struggles desperately with writer's block. I won myself a very special refrigerator magnet that is on proud display on the family fridge as I write. I'll be happy to autograph copies of the Post for anyone who'd like a keepsake, although, alas these last contest results appear only online due to space restraints in the paper (I can still autograph print-outs!) Get 'em while they're free! Who knows what they'll be worth on Ebay one day?!!

My New Love

I'll admit it; I fell in love in Italy! This man changed me and I will never be the same. He has spoiled me for all others. His hands are true implements of artistry! He is a maker of magic! This man makes the BEST PIZZA I HAVE EVER HAD IN MY LIFE!!! The crust is thin, crisped, and has more flavor than any of the flabby cardboard crap that passes for pizza crust here in the States. The sauce, sparingly applied, is fresh, not too sweet, and doesn't overwhelm the crust. The cheese, also sparingly applied, tastes fresh, milky, and sweet, not rubbery and oily. The ingredients complement each other in a synergistic orgy of deliciousness. Oh, I miss it already!

Silence of the Lambs, Lament of the Loon, and Why I Hate Airline Travel: Part IV

Why does increasing altitude bring out the crazy in people? I think those so called "lifejackets" they claim are under your seat for emergencies are really straightjackets in case the wackjobs get too nutso. For instance, on our last flight my poor husband had to sit next to subnormal body temperature woman. The plane was really stuffy, so we opened the air vents above our seats to allow those refreshing gusts of fresh air to blow down on us like the weak, hot breath of a dehydrated kitten. After a couple of minutes, subnormal body temperature woman squirmed around uncomfortably and looked peevish. After a minute more, she fidgeted with her air vent and asked if it was closed (it was). She shifted in her seat again and looked at the vents. "I'm cold. Are your vents blowing on me?" My husband readjusted the vents to make sure that no stray air molecules would drift her way and told her so. She still wasn't happy. "It's so cold in here!" she whined, clearly expecting him to close the vents (think again, girlie! The wife wants air; the wife gets air.) Finally, she grabbed the blanket from under her seat and wrapped herself in it like a cocoon, or a straightjacket!

Then, there was the walking Hannibal Lecter. You know that evil eyed look that Anthony Hopkins had when he played Hannibal? Imagine his doppelganger pacing up and down the aisle of the plane by your seat throughout the 8 hour flight. Stopping only to stare. Then pacing again. Then staring. This guy seriously creeped me out! He never spoke a word. Just walked. Up and down the aisle.

By the time the our asylum in the air landed, I was in serious need of some psychotropic meds myself. LET ME OUT!!!

You're Not the Boss of Me! or Why I Hate Airline Travel: Part III

I don't like other people telling me what I can and can't do. I like autonomy. Airline travel and autonomy don't mix. Ipso facto, I HATE airline travel!!! I can deal with the assigned seat (after all, I get to choose it), but that little light above my seat that tells me when I can and can't "move about the cabin" is a complete nuisance. I haven't been told to "sit down" since I was in public school, and I hated it then. So what if there's turbulence? I'll pretend I've had a couple of glasses of merlot and am wearing heels and deal. Permission to use the bathroom? You've got to be kidding!

And with airport security so paranoid, you can't bring much in the way of snacks or drinks with you on the plane, so you're at the mercy of the flight attendants (aka Air Nazis) for your sustenance. "Did you see the drink cart?" "I think I might have seen the drink cart!" "Oh no! It's going down the other side! What if she forgets our side?" Not since infancy and bottle time has liquid loomed so all important. And then, if we're lucky, and the flight attendant/air nazi tosses a tiny bag of snack-type foodstuff on our tray, we light up like we've hit the big one on Lotto. "Ooh, what is it?" "I don't know....it looks like some kind of crunchy corn-type thing and maybe a piece of a nut!" How pathetic! It's like we're dogs begging for treats. It's humiliating.

Crank it up another notch come "meal" time. As soon as we think we see the magic cart, we're like Pavlov's dogs. "I WANT FOOD! PLEASE GIVE ME FOOD!" We're all craning our necks to see what the masters are bringing us and trying to make eye contact so maybe we'll get ours first. "See me? I'm a good passenger. Give me my food, please?" So undignified. Would we EVER act this way on solid ground for a tiny tray of microwaved processed meat food, a limp leaf of lettuce, and a rock hard, cold roll? What is it about air travel that turns adults into sniveling babies?

Then there's the whole set of ludicrous rules they impose of you for take-off and landing. Who are they kidding? I'm old enough to decide when I've had enough TV time, and I don't appreciate some air slut who isn't even old enough to remember the first "Airplane" movie telling me to turn off all electronic devices. Then they walk by your seat to check that your seatbelt is fastened and your seat is "upright." Ha! What are they going to do? Not land the plane if I'm comfortably reclined that extra 1/2 inch? "Young lady! You put your seat upright this instant or the captain is going to pull this plane over-do you hear me?! We will not land this plane until you fix your seat!" And the little seatbelt show? I'm sure that being safely buckled in my seat will be the difference between life and death when the plane plummets from 25 thousand feet in the air. I just hope they don't find my body in the plane lavatory because I ignored the sign above my seat!

A Hollywood Minute

I, for one, feel sorry for poor Lilo. She's obviously done so many drugs and drank so much alcohol that her once (being generous here) average sized brain is now looking like a moth-eaten cashmere that's been pickled in grout cleaner. Her skin tone resembles wet cement, and she is about as coherent as an 18 month old who's had WAY too many cookies and missed his nap time. Why, she doesn't even have the short-term memory capacity to remember that she wants to tell the judge to "F" off in court, so she has to write herself crib notes on her fingernail. How will she ever be able to learn her lines for scripts with this level of disability? Such a pity...

Travel Tip for Airport Screening: Go Braless or Why I Hate Airline Travel: Part II

Think insurance will cover PTSD from airline travel? Why does airport screening have to be so fear inducing and humiliating? I was prepared to encounter the full body scanner and have the highly trained and professional security personnel giggle at my jiggles, but, alas, no such technology at Dulles. I was NOT prepared to have my innocent 14 year-old daughter be subjected to a full frontal assault from security because of her bra!!!

After emptying pockets of such terrorist weapons as keys, spare change, and nail clips, and removing footwear that contained nothing but sweaty feet (perhaps a weapon of mass destruction at that!), my husband and I made it through the security checkpoint. Our daughter, however, set off the alarm as she walked through the gate. Does your heart leap out of your chest when that happens? Do you feel like you've been caught shoplifting a Gucci bag from the Duty Free store when, in fact, you know full well you've done nothing wrong? Well, we all know what that alarm means-20 questions time!

Are you carrying anything metal? Is there anything in your pockets? Do you have a pacemaker? Have you crammed any illegal weapons into your body cavities this morning? After trying in vain to convince security that my daughter's braces set off the alarm, she was asked if she was wearing a bra? WHAT?!! Then they wanted to know if it was an underwire! If the next question was what color is it and does it have lace, I was going to slap the security guy in the face! But as it turns out, underwire bras can set off the security alarm. So....

14 year-old daughter must get patted down by (female) security guard to make sure that she is, indeed, wearing an underwire bra and not hiding anything dangerous or illegal on her person. Mom is told to step aside and retrieve daughter's carry-on, to which I replied, "No, I will stand right here and monitor." The guard then proceeds to do such a thorough job of "patting down" my daughter that I doubt she'll need a clinical breast exam any time soon! If a boy had tried that on her, I think she would have broken his arm (at least I hope she would have!) Finally, it is determined that, yes, this 14 year-old girl is, in fact, wearing a bra and not concealing terrorist weapons. She is allowed to board the plane, and we all feel just a little safer and a lot more traumatized.

Cocoa Almonds Are a Terrorist Threat or Why I Hate Airline Travel

I HATE AIRLINE TRAVEL!!! Just got back from our Italy trip (most awesome! I love seeing new places, trying new food, experiencing new customs; I just hate getting there!)

Our family arrived in Rome after a long, tiring flight to discover that my poor husband's suitcase was stranded in Munich. He had no extra clothes, it was in the mid 90's, and his meds, toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant were all packed in the suitcase since you can't actually carry any of these items with you on the plane because they're either potentially deadly or don't fit in the 6 square inches allotted for personal carry-on luggage.

After speaking with representatives from the lost luggage department for Lufthansa, he was assured that his luggage would be sent by courier to the hotel later that evening. Surprise! It wasn't. Then he was told that it might come during the night and be there in the morning. Nope. But Dave sure felt much fresher after his shower, my green tea/cucumber antiperspirant, and his aired out 2 day old dirty clothes!

Finally, the suitcase magically appeared in our room that evening to much celebration. Upon opening it, however, my ever patient husband found that among his packed clothes were strewn hundreds of cocoa dusted almonds! Now this is not quite as weird as it may seem; I did pack snacks in the suitcase for our trip, and a jar of peanuts and a jar of almonds were among those snacks. However, both jars entered the suitcase completely sealed. The peanut jar (transparent glass) remained untouched. The almond jar (opaque plastic) had been opened, the plastic inner seal removed, and the contents apparently poured out ALL OVER THE SUITCASE! I'm not sure what security thought we had hidden in there, but as a result of their overly thorough luggage search, my husband had chocolate scented clothes on our trip (but at least he had his clothes!) So, a travel tip for those wanting to pack snacks-DON'T! Those airport security folks are nuts!