Holy Kraft!

I want to start selling Kraft its food back to them. Tonight I was eating some dinner and getting some reading done when the back of the Wheat Thins box was presenting me with all these "delicious snack" tips that I can enjoy for "about a dollar" all while it urged me into really considering the weeks-old question: Why Snackrifice?

First off, the back of the box offered what it called a nutritionally "wholesome combination" of Wheat Thins and Crystal Light...



...which is about as wholesome as Lady Gaga in a fish store. Secondly, through sales/coupons my limit on Wheat Thins or any other non-organic national brand cracker is $2 or less per box. There are nine servings of 16 crackers in a box, which at $2/box results in $0.22 per 16 crackers. By Kraft-Mathft, this makes a canister of Lemon Chemicals Light ring in at $24.96 [($1.00 minus $0.22 for 8oz glass, times 4 (for a quart) times 8 (for 8 qt canister).] The asterisk says that this is the national average price, do you think any of the good people at Kraft would buy a canister of headaches and cancer and heart failure for $25? Isn't that what is for?

WhySnackrifice.com helpfully offers other "no snackrificing!" combinations to explore and discover...all with good family values and all also for around a dollar. Why, there's Triscuits and Cheese, Ritz and Cheese, Ritz and Peanut Butter, and Wheat Thins and something new called "Hummus" (I think Ay-Rabs and Vegetarians and other terrorists eat that, I'm not sure, I've never had it it, but heck I'll try it if it helps send aid to Haiti!)

Aye yaye! I am seriously in the wrong racket if there are people out there getting paid to market crackers and cheese as a new concept. Me, I've got all kinds of ideas for fresh combos like Oatmeal + Brown Sugar. Coffee + Cream. Macaroni + Cheese!!! Kraft, call meeeee!!

Just So You Know, Facebook Mommies: PSA

Some of your FB "friends" may be getting comfy with that printscreen button and resubmitting your comments back to the internet.

From time to time I get a bit of a kick reading people getting all worked up over the behavior of people who have the nerve to be, uck, parents. There's a lot of internet hate brewing out there for us "breeders," and I think it's kind of funny. A lot of the time I understand where the sentiments come from---I did the single life, I busted my tv throwing bricks at Kathie Lee Gifford in the 90s ("Cody! Cody! Cooooddddeeeey!"), that college Psychology class gave me a Ph.D. in childrearing, at the age of 20. I started reading these websites long before Jimmy hit the scene, if that says anything. But nowadays I am having so much fun being a mom it's kind hard to put a dent in that armor.

Then today, I found this site, STFU, Parents, and it was as humorous as any other, until it sunk in that a considerable percentage of its content is cut-and-pasted from readers' personal Facebook accounts. That daily arenas are being set up to ridicule comments and photos that are intended for friends and family. That's kinda low! Right? Am I just being paranoid? Because ninety-nine percent of my Facebook posts are Jimmy-related? Am I supposed to STFU?

Well, mock me if you must, but this moo will never be bullied into STFU-ing about my BAAAAYBEEEEE!!!!

Wilkommen...Tweens?

Y2K mayn't've blown up the world, but we lost something the day January 1, 2000 landed on earth. The American planet that day was robbed of that blind yet savory expression that comes after "Aw Muh Gawd, get with it, it's the ___-ies." Tracy Turnblad advised her mother to get out of the house and get "Welcome to the Sixties", and then things got jive in the 70s, and we passed the dutchie in the Eighties, and then we had to wake up and smell the java it was the Nineties, and then....

...Then that whole phrase-identity-with-the-decade thing went poof-gone. I guess at first we were calling it "The New Millenium" and that was very sleek and fun, but no one stuck with it. Or "The Two Thousands"...blaaaah. I realized late last year that we all could (and should) have been calling the decade "The Aughties" as in, "C'mon man, text me while I'm standing next to you, it's the Aughties." But now those years are all used up, now we're into 2010, are these now the "teens"? Like The Teens? Like a rainbow suspender Up With People mob? Yet 10, 11, 12 aren't technically "teen" years, and I see Dr. Phil and all the mom-jeans mob calling those ages "Tweens." That harmoniker is just toooo lame to think about. So I started thinking maybe we wouldn't get another identity decade until the 2020's, but are what are we supposed to say then, just "Oh muh gawd, wake up and smell the Mars colony, you are seau nawn-preaugressive this is the Twentays!!!" Now that just sounds soooo Model T stupid. Honk honk!

Last night my dear hubby was remarking on the ineffienciency of a parking garage that didn't use security cameras. "C'mon, this is the modern age," he said, that they should have cameras for their business. Perhaps that's where we are, stuck in "The Modern Age" for a while? Like...forever?

For-now-ver?

I'm a Bad Human Being

Decent human beings thrive on the books and the economy and the stillness and the sacred nature that breathes in the eager open pockets of endless curiousity encaptured within the walls of life's literary hamlet...untold adoration decent humans harbor for the infinite resources and lives and dreams living inside the walls of the almighty. public. LIBRARY. That hallowed majesty built for the palace of the mind, a fantasyland, why what childhood is complete without seering and constant exposure to the endless thrills of its imagination, to its books, and to whatever else may lie inside.

I like books, I like a lot of books, I really really like book stores, but spit on me now, I hate the library! I'm taking Jimmy tomorrow because it's the right thing to do, but I get so stressed out by the stuffiness, the shhhhshing, the deafening stuffy stuffy silence, the pious attitudes of some librarians, the mean overdue notices, the stuffy stuffy rules, the vilification of cookie crumbs, but nothing gets me more than the SMELL of all those used musty books. For as long as I can remember I've been allergic to the odoroma of each and every library, whatever it is that they all exhale and hover all over...even when I'm home library books give me the biggest headache and as much as I'd love to be progressive or meek or ecosavvy or on NPR, the library will have to win.

At the thought, a migraine already brews...but I think Jimmy will like it. Wish us luck!

The Lederhosen vs. The Lederhosed

It stands to reason, I get a lot of comments on Jimmy's Christmas Lederhosen...maybe because it looks like he was made for them.

If I may ask, take a moment to compare and contrast Jimmy's photos against those of the leder-models:

Is there any question who wears it best?

Ich denke nicht.

Hallelujah

People places and things I love but don't keep tabs on:

Leonard Cohen
kd lang
Religious lyrics not written by conservative republicans
Songs from Shrek soundtracks
Barefoot performances

This is a shortlist, and I don't know if I kneeded a knittingbreak or what but life has stopped since I stumbled upon this clip yesterday:



Djesus!

Knitting Knitting Knitting...

...knitting knitting knitting knitting making mistakes knitting knitting knitting knitting starting over knitting knitting knitting kno time for knattering, kristmas is koming lots of knitting...knitting...knitting fingers burning from knifty knittering knittering knit'ring...

The Exponential Factor of 31 Months

When you've got your toddler it takes 45 minutes to do what toddlerless folks do in 15. Today I attempted a zillion tasks and got pretty much none of them done and I'm exhausted! Start again tomorrow, I guess. Merry Stressmas!!

Overheard in Ventcilhaus

In the spirit of Overheard in Portland, here are some things I overheard around our house lately:

*Hunny, why do we have your boss's dentures?

*Oh, Jesus, phew, this is just chocolate all over his hands and mouth. I didn't want to think that he was going...there...

*They're not bad, once you get past the fart taste.

*This cell phone cozy that you knitted looks like a penis's...weird...thing.


On ill-fitting, pain in the ass shoes:


Me: I'll forgo a nap, feed Jimmy, give him a bath, get him dressed, and take him to the store so you can get a minute to yourself, if I can just ask you to get his shoes on.

Hubby: No fair!


Stupid Questions:

*This deal is for 4 cartons of ice cream, will that fit in our freezer?

*Hunny, when do you want to start watching The Sound of Music?

*Jimmy, wanna try using the potty?

*Hunny, would you like to put the tree up on your birthday, the day after Thanksgiving? It's up to you.

Thomas the Face Engine

I've been darned have I not been able to find the rolling face massager I bought from The Body Shop circa 2001, it sorta looked like this:




...except it was clear rubber and its wheels would have fit on a Thomas wooden railway which convinces me it was designed by a Mom whose child loved to run Thomas cars across her face,




...because it feels wonderful. Firrealll!

Nature Repeats Itself

I find it fascinating that natural patterns are everywhere.

There are Star Shapes







And Heart Shapes







And Spiral Shapes







And Pear Shapes





And repeats of Blue





And Orange





And Brown Log Shapes...





...whoa, sorry, I only say that one because of the firewood that hubby calls "the shitwood" as in "it's not that frigid out so use the shitwood in the fire tonight." It's from the tree that he had to trim to build the fence, it's Box Elder wood and not as quality as the split hardwood that we have out there.

The shitwood in action:



It turns out that it's actually not all that shitty. It's dry and Jimmy and I are nice and warm and I'm certainly thankful that it doesn't smell like burning shit, so I wanted to give it a break from the name "shitwood." However, when the fire is rolling and stove is open for loading, this wood does give off the faintest, ever most lightest whisper of...body odor.

I don't want to call it B.O.-wood, but it definitely is doomed with bodily excrescent qualities...and its scent is unmistakably another example of nature repeating herself!

Full Moon Phone Madness

Something about a full moon makes the crazy and the confused pick up their phones and start dialing. I know they say there is "no such thing as a stupid question" and I think I agree, but people!!! People should develop a clear reason to call a CSR before their little fingers start pressing buttons.

Caller: You sent me a letter saying that I'm a bad customer and that I pay late and that you turned my account off!!! HOW DARE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: I understand your frustration, sir. Can I ask you to read the letter to me?

And then he proceeds to read me a letter that says none of the accusations he initially reported to me. Why do people do this? It happens a lot. They get a letter, they jump to conclusions, and they start dialing. I am drafting a corporate request to our credit department to cease mailing any letters within 7 days of a full moon.

Me: Thank you for calling, may I have your account number please.

Caller: Account number?? Where do I find that on this card???

Again, this happens a lot. Rachel's Helpful Hints: The BIG number embossed on a card, that's probably the account number.

Caller: You screwed this account all up. This is all screwed up. You need to fix this, it is all screwed up and you did it.

Fair enough, I hold the caller's hand and we walk together through the scary alterworld of account maintenance to search and explore what is "all" screwed up, and 9.75 times out of 10, it's the caller who is either confused, or the one who screwed it all up. During the "Ah-ha" moment of silence when the caller starts to get it, I mini-daydream about spouting out the old 4th grade adage: When you point fingers, there are three pointing right back, MA'AM! But of course it is my job to instead absorb the craziness and negativity and unfounded accusations in the name of service, because well, there are stockholders out there.

Me: Thank you for calling, may I have your account number.

Caller: I don't have an account number! I lost my card! *chewing gum snaps*

The kookiness with this type of call is that the caller always beams with pride when reporting the lost card. They want a heroes welcome for their valiant deeds, how they lost a card in a boldfaced struggle against everyday life. Sorry. Out of confetti.

Me: Thank you for calling, may I have your account number.

Caller: Is it my account number that you want? Or do you want my name/pin number/zip code/dog's name.

Me: Account number.

Why do people think I don't know what I'm asking for?

Caller: I'm old and I'm confused and I'm from the greatest generation and I'm frightened and alone and because of all these, you're wrong! Who is this?

Usually in this situation, the full moon has possessed the caller to dial any old/wrong number. You try to help because they're old, but...

These represent just a slice of the phone-madness coming in fast and furious this morning, never mind the internal rockets blasted towards us at any moment's notice. Knock on wood, I will enjoy just one more full moon season here before I begin barking at the moon as I stay at home. In the meantime I'm looking for pt work-at-home positions, all interesting offers considered! :)

The Chump Dump

Seriously, some people take the "more flies with honey" philosophy a little too far, they excrete the aura of "salesman", and still think schmoozing a CSR will get them awesome service when generally, it only does the opposite.

I recently had a caller who had my eyes a-rollin' and a-hitting several of my uh-nuh nerves and it made me think of the trends these people are using, with failure. They include:

*Referring to non-floating objects as "she", which is fine among friends or if you're wearing flannel and wielding an axe, but when a novice does it it's just obnoxious: "This transaction, I think she's got a problem." No.

*Greasy schmuzl, at the end of a long list of bs that someone should already have and I certainly don't care about. "I'm looking for information of when I last had an itchy bum, I need to know who when why where how often how deep how much, all that good stuff." Ugh, no.

*Uncomfortable total exposure, feeling the need to tell me that you're being nice, just so I get it, so I understand that it's NICENESS that I'm encountering, a concept so foreign to a CSR that it needs to be pointed out, and attended to. Frequently comes with regional accent, when it comes at the end of the call I just feel dirty: "I've always figured I get more flies with the honey..." :shudder: No. Stop.

*Unauthorized usage of trucker talk. Again, with the alien industryspeak: "My account number is Three Six Niner Four.... " NO!

*To really activate the bitch switch is to call me something I didn't tell you to: "Hey Raytch, how's it hangin', listen, I need you to do this for me..." Wow. In this culture a 2-second phone greeting is not a long enough friendship to start with the nicknames, it doesn't charm anyone, Glengarry, and only inspires me to lie about how I'm completing all your "favors" when really I'm just hitting the mute button and making fun of you to coworkers.

It is my understanding that millions of dollars each year is spent on sales training. Is it time for trillions? For the victims of poor salesmanship? Call me, I can help.

Evening Reading

Cozying up beside my laptop, learning all about my Tempwood, and my dreaded thru-da-wall chimney and my CMP-luvin' Eden Pure heater. I know that some cultures are warm for free, they get their tsunami demolitions for free, but HERE, we get to work and pay for our houses to burn to the ground. Awesome!

Errrm, 'Scuse Me....

....I thought the SkyMall was just for useless shit.


http://www.skymall.com/shopping/detail.htm?pid=102910355&c=69753853

It sorta doesn't even matter that it's spelled wrong, I love it so. I heart kre8tifs spellings and portmanteaux (hell-o, 'kickasserole') and all, but I have to apollo-jize to any 2-A'd Rachels, because I never really got it. I recently read that the alternative spelling 'Rachael' came from the popularity of the name 'Michael.' But it's a "ch" sound...not a "k" sound... what's the urge to make it match 'Michael'? AND I've been a Rachel long enough to know that everyone spells the double-A'd one wrong, it's a force so strong that it even makes them spell mine wrong. Countless correspondence pieces I've received addressed to 'Racheal.' But no one ever spells 'Michael' wrong. It totally screws with people's minds-ael! Casserole agita!

36.5 Candles

Tomorrow a coworker turns 50. Everyone is bringing in foodstuffs and decorations and goodcheer, the works.

I'm bringing in mini-quiches...




...and a smile even though no one cares or will acknowledge the fact that tomorrow also happens to be my 36.5th birthday. No, it's OK, I realize some people's birthdays are more "important" than others. I'm not bitter. Some parties just prefer to be non-inclusive, right. No universal healthcare, right...pass the fudge, right.

It's to the right, right?

Don't you think that everyone should just walk to the right? Like if you're walking down a corridor or a sidewalk or in the mall, go to the right. Or when you find yourself muttering into the ear of a sudden deli line/bathroom stranger, shouldn't we just correct the situation by defaulting to the right? Wouldn't that be easier, none of that messy sorriness or struggles to figure out who goes where...you just, go to the right!

If I become mayor of my general vicinity, this Right Regulation will be my first royal decree...EXCEPT, when I'm walking Jimmy down the street in a stroller. It as at this point that everyone will understand that he is NOT be exposed to traffic; sidewalk on-comers will then be required to go to the left as so nothing happens to my precious nugget. Easy enough. RIGHT!

Flashography, and Exposure

I recently got a new camera and tonight I was wondering why the heck I couldn't get the flash to work. Jimmy was being so cute but the photos kept coming out like these:




Mmhmm. The camera kept telling me to "Raise Flash" "Raise Flash" "Raise the Damn Flash, Rachel" and I kept hitting buttons and picking at the infrared light but nothing was happening. I'm too lazy to dig out the manual so Google kindly gave me this video:



Commenters freak out on the person who posted it but I don't have the D70 I have the L100 and the flash doesn't come up automatically you have to manually RAISE it. With your fingers. Aha! I was filled with accomplishment and cheer and enthusiasm. Thank you gulbayram1 for showing me where my flash is located. Continuez with a proper evening Mother-Son photo session!





Except now I think I preferred it with the flash down.

Oh well. It was still fun, but I think my favorite part of today was when I read the final two paragraphs from this article from The Journal of the American Medical Association. I suppose I shouldn't be "happy" to read that others profit from our society's trust in doctors and that they do so by putting our children under unnecessary medical risks, but my heart gets a surge when I see doctors expo$ing the truth$ behind dangerous half-assed procedures. Below is the clip that led me to read the article. I was struck by Dr. Timothy Johnson's closing comment and by the level of intensity he gave in not recommending Gardasil, I'm glad he said it and I find it encouraging to the research I've been doing re: what Western medicine wants me to put into my precious one's body...and why.

Evangel-eeesh!

I'm small-town hick enough to get all excited when P'land gets featured in a national publication (which is actually often, jussayin') but this one gave me a bit of a yick factor. "10 Great Places to Master Art of French Eating" includes Evangeline, a restaurant I've only driven past, along with 9 other U.S.'traunts in cities like Las Vegas, San Francisco, Chicago, DC, and NYC (ever heard of 'em?) "Chef Erik Desjarlais describes his menu as 'rock and roll French,' and he's spot-on. At Evangeline, nose-to-tail dining meets French technique: Think crispy roasted calf brains and roasted beef shins with warm marrow for spreading on crusty bread." Err...Rock'n'Roll....!.....? Think Ozzy Bites Head Off Dove as in Think it's cool to sacrifice living icons of purity and peace. I thought we were past this. I've got no beef with USING the entire animal after its already been slaughtered, but baby brains? I don't wanna sound non-Rock'n'Roll French or hayseed, but do people go for this? I guess I can't be surprised considering this is the same lot of cuisine that mutilizes baby calves in search of stomach enzymes for their mumma milk processing properties, all in the name of CHEESE, is nothing sacred! Mon Dieu!

Fast Forward To Today

I wish people would stop using the phrase "Fast forward to today..." when telling their stories. It's off-putting and retarded.

Signed,
Sorry if you're offended by "retarded." Really! I am! I understand how offensive it is! But I also think it's just funny, so I tend to use it a lot. Sorry!

PS, I also hate "here's the kicker." Both "fast forward" and "kicker" make the narrator sound like they think they are so much more in-the-know than the listenee. Of course a storyteller knows more about the story than we do, so STFU with the need to tell us so!