Santa Claus is overweight...

Ok, I'm going to make this one short and sweet. I am sick, no SICK of ridiculous people. I heard a report on the news recently that there was a group of people that felt that Santa Claus was not a good image for children because (sit down) he was overweight and wasn't promoting a healthy lifestyle.........(I just went outside to scream at the top of my lungs....I'm back now.) Next I suppose people will be protesting a scantily clad Cupid and blaming him for all the revealing outfits all the skanks are wearing. Next we'll have the vegetarians protesting the Easter Bunny because it's meat. "Can't we have an Easter Asparagus?" Here's my thoughts on all of it...."Get a job, freaks!" Merry Christmas everyone.

It Takes All Kinds

So, I've got a few weeks of real good people watchin in and boy oh, boy could I go on for hours...Now I'm not really someone who makes fun of people, I realize it takes all kinds to make the world go round. Diversity and ...shall we say "eccentricity" is what make us all unique. Yesterday I was catching a flight from St. George, Utah to Salt Lake City. St. George is a tiny airport and everyone booked on the flight goes through security at the same time and sits in a room waiting to board the plane. Just as I am approaching the line for security a woman, looking frantic and frazzled comes barreling through the front door, boots in hand, she is pulling a roller bag, carrying a large bright pink carry-on bag, balancing a cup (empty cup I might add) and shouting "Is this the line for Salt Lake????". (I will preach it til my dying day people...Do not make eye contact with crazy). Making eye contact with crazy people is like inviting a vampire into your home, once they're in, it's over. Anyway, I decided that this woman's name is Marcie. She is much older than she is dressed, her hair is long and piled wildly on her head. She holds up the line by laying two bins out on the floor and proceeding to dig through what looks like about 12 ziploc bags to find the one that has the correct liquids and/or gels. She of course has on 12 tons of jewelry that would send the metal detectors into overload. Patience, patience...my mother always tells me I should learn patience........She finally gets her bins organized and places them on the belt. She leaves her roller bag about 5 feet behind her, directly in front of me. I'm going to have to do it, aren't I? "Ma'am, your bag..." she turns around....like a scene in a horror movie where the killer comes out of the darkness and his victim sees him appear...we make eye contact. "Thank you, honey" she says ( I will learn later that she calls everyone honey, at least nearly everyone she bumps into trying to bumble her way to the very back of the plane). She pulls the bag to where she is. She then proceeds to leave it...again.
Damn, not again, I think to myself. "Ma'am, your bag." She turns again, takes the bag and finally places it on the belt, where she proceeds to leave it again after it is x-rayed. To most people it would appear that this woman had maybe never flown before, but what I discovered through my keen sense of what some people would refer to as "eavesdropping"... but what I like to refer to as "taking in all the world around me" was that this was her third, yes THIRD, time through that security line that day. Seriously, by the third time, you should know the drill. The fun didn't stop there though, once she was on the plane she announced to everyone seated around her that she had drank too much water and had to use the bathroom, then held up the plane from taking off because she wouldn't shut her phone off because she was trying to tell her daughter what time to pick her up. In some ways I admire this woman. There are many times when I wish I could be one of those people who live and exist in only their own world. I think sometimes how great it would be to be oblivious to what's happening around me, but let's face it, I'm a rule follower. I have the security process at the airport down to a science, everything I need on the flight is with me when I sit my butt down in the seat. I've got a couple more good people watching stories, mostly about short, fat men peeing and their poor wardrobe choices, but I'll save that for next time....

You're goin down Whipple!!!

I have just returned from the grocery store, a shell of the man I once was. It is a sad day here. I have had to draw a line in the sand, it is the end of an era. I refuse to pay nearly $10 for Charmin toilet paper. All of my life there have been the "standard" for what you should always buy. My mother taught me there are no substitutions for certain items. Jif, for example is the only peanut butter I buy, Crisco shortening is another...don't bother with the others they are not as good. ( I hope that my glowing endorsement of Jif and Crisco doesn't have the "Oprah effect"and there is suddenly bare shelves and crazed shoppers clamoring to get their Jif and Crisco!) Charmin was also the "gold standard" of toilet paper. I admit it, most of my adult life I stood in the toilet paper aisle, staring down my nose at the people buying "lesser" toilet tissues. And now I am one of them. I remember as a kid, Mr. Whipple guarding the Charmin so customers wouldn't squeeze it. It's funny now, years later, that Whipple is trying to put the squeeze on the customer by charging $10 to flush down the toilet. So I have flushed my last piece of Charmin, sad, I know. But I will go on, life will continue. So "you're welcome" in advance to Jif and Crisco (you better step up production) and as for you Whipple...squeeze this!

Get your own sugar, Gladys...

So this morning on the news there was a story about a guy in Virginia who was arrested for indecent exposure for being naked in his own house. Apparently the story goes that he had gotten up around 5:30am and went downstairs to make his morning coffee. He had the lights on in his kitchen and a woman and her 7 year old son were walking by outside and saw the man in all his glory in his own kitchen and she called the police. Here's what I have to say about that..."Hey Gladys Kravitz (Bewitched reference for those youngsters amongst us) how bout you stop peering into your neighbors windows and mind your own business!" I think if someone is that nosey they deserve to see it all! At what point is enough enough. When do we have to start wearing clothes in the shower to make sure someone sailing in a hot air balloon over your house doesn't see you through your skylight? I have lots of neighbors here in my complex, and the idea of seeing anyone of them naked makes me want to poke my eyes out (much the same way I felt when I "accidentally" watched an hour of "The Mo' Nique Show") Maybe I should call the police for that...for the potential that I could be very disturbed if I were to ever witness au natural neighbors..Please people (shaking my head) it is out of control!!!!! So the next time Gladys comes knocking on my door asking to borrow a cup of sugar, she better be fully clothed cause if I see even a hint of too much skin.....

It was a hoax? What?...Start the music please....

Okay, I just took off my "I told you so shoes" that I usually do my "I told you so dance" in. Surprise, surprise, the balloon boy was a hoax and charges are going to be filed! Poor Falcon...I mean he has a couple strikes against him (know anyone else named Falcon????) and his parents are crazy. He doesn't stand a chance. Does anyone know the other boys names? I have never heard their names, but (and I'm going out on a limb here) I would bet they are Buzzard and Crow. So if the charges stick what will Buzzard, Falcon and Crow do while MR. and MRS. Crazy serve time in the big house? This all could have been avoided if MR. Crazy did what I do. He wants desperately to be on a reality TV show. I too have always felt that the glamorous life I lead is worthy of thousands of TV viewers being riveted to their screen watching my adventures. So I simply live my life as if there were tv cameras following me and beaming my daily life off to some foreign land where I am BIG! It makes me happy knowing that my everyday life is bringing so much joy to someone in a third world country. I guess I just don't get it when we are surprised when we know crazy is lurking around every corner. It's like seeing the crazy cat lady that lives down the street. You see those cats, one, two, three...you know there are probably 40 in that house, you see her (clothes covered in cat hair) loading up her cart with cases of cat food at the Walmart, you know what's going on, and then one day the house blows off the foundation because the cat poop accumulated in the basement caused an explosion and suddenly everyone is surprised. Crazy is out there people...maybe right next door!!!!

Runaway Weather Balloon...

I happened to be working in Ft. Collins today and managed to avoid all the hoopla surrounding the drifting weather balloon containing the 6 year old boy. Apparently the entire nation was glued to every news channel on television watching the balloon fly through the sky, shutting off the airspace around DIA, waiting to see where and how softly it would land...it was all very dramatic to watch I'm sure. As the 6 oclock news begins, the boy was hiding in the attic the whole time...oh that little stinker. Silly, silly, silly. Why that's just the cutest thing in the world.
(Okay, I'm gagging on my own sarcasm). The local news is telling the story, revealing how the boys parents are storm chasers, how they appeared on "Wife Swap", how the boys father believes in UFOs. ( Ok people, can you see crazy coming? Don't make eye contact with crazy...keep walking, cross the street. Don't shout out "Hey crazy, how ya doin?") So the reporter is talking to the little boy through a small opening in the door...the kid is chomping on some pizza, I mean really, with all the chaos of the days events, who has time to cook? Well at least maybe in was DiGiorno and not delivery, I don't know. The kid seems completely oblivious that anything remotely wrong has occurred and when asked about any kind of punishment the dad says they had a long talk about "no more hiding." Okay people, when I was 6 years old had I hid for more than 5 minutes while my mom was looking for me (and I knew she was looking for me) there would have been a nice "Wait til we get to the car" threat and I certainly wouldn't have gotten pizza for dinner. Now, had my hiding shut down airspace and caused national media attention...I question whether or not I could even form a complete sentence now to even write this blog.

I'm Hip, Really I am...

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!!! I'm about to say something that hurts...I'm getting old.
Now I'm not talking about the "oh God, my body aches and I'm constipated" old, I'm talking about (I can't believe the words are on my lips....) kids these days. Sigh. Okay, in the interest of full disclosure, I am hip. I watch The Hills, The City, Gossip Girl, MTV, Flipping Out, Flipping In, Top Chef, Bottom Chef...anyway I watch them all. I also enjoy a vast assortment of music genres, but recently I heard a line in a song that would have Paul Anka turning over in his grave.
What? He's alive...really? Okay well if Paul Anka were dead, he would be turning over in his grave. I AM NOT A PRUDE...just keep repeating that and stay with me. So the catchy little tune is playing on the radio and I'm driving down the road jammin with the best of them (we do stay call it jammin, right?) and the rap portion starts..."blah,blah,blah.....she got an ass that would swallow up a g-string........SCREEEEEECH! First of all Paul, what happened to the innocence of putting your head on my shoulder. Paul, I ask you, were you not able to think of a word that rhymed with ass, or string? Is that why you didn't write such nonsense? Secondly, let's not even consider the outcome of something being swallowed by an ass. Do I want to see that? ah, no. Let's not even talk about the "hotel, motel, Holiday Inn." Okay, everyone sit down because you know it's coming and I will apologize beforehand..."That's what's wrong with kids today." (Dad, when did you get here?)
That's all, I gotta go do a shot. A shot of Milk of Magnesia that is.

Please don't say that on TV...

So, it's a Saturday morning....relaxation is my middle name today. I get up, make some coffee, check my emails, flip on the tv...Food Network. The food soon gets my stomach growling so I decide to whip myself up one of my favorite breakfast...the blessed breakfast burrito. I chop, and whisk and saute and melt...top it off with a good dose of chile verde and sit down to enjoy. This is when it happens. Ann Burrelle, the somewhat crazed looking host of "Secrets of a Restaurant Chef" is making brunch..."oh good, I love brunch" I think to myself, but something about this episode seems vaguely familiar. I think I may have seen this one before. When I hear her say "fritatta" it hits me...trying not to drop my burrito I scurry for the remote to change the channel...it's coming, where is that damn remote? It's too late..."be sure to get those eggs whisked completely...you don't want any egg white 'hockers' left in your eggs" HOCKERS, Ann? Are you kidding me? I've watched enough Food Network Star that I know the producers want you to be personal, tell stories, relate to the audience, and while I will assume that everyone does have some sort of "hocker" story, I stand firm in my belief that the word "hocker" should never be spoken by someone who is allegedly telling me "secrets" of a restaurant chef. If she talks about hockers on national television, just imagine what the REAL secrets could be????