In the past couple of years I've learned a lot of commonly used Internet and texting abbreviations. Though LOL had been on my radar for quite some time, I finally shed my 30-something facade to discover such gems as WTF, ROFL and my personal favorite, OMFG. One that took me a while to figure out was PITA, which I came to discover was an acronym for Pain In The Ass. That one popped into my head today when I read an article in the Savannah Morning News about how the group PETA staged a failed circus protest at Hodge Elementary School.
Yesterday, PETA sent an activist in an furry elephant costume outside of the elementary school to hand out "ele-friend" stickers and give hugs to the unwitting students. I have no doubt that the elephants in the circus would be better off in their natural habitats, however, advocating for these 10,000-plus pound creatures by scaring mostly indigent elementary school students doesn't really seem like a good place to start.
The circus protest might not have infuriated me quite so much if it weren't for a PETA incident that took place six years ago. Back in 2003, they sent activists dressed in furry chicken costumes to Gadsden Elementary to scare the students out of eating chicken. They encouraged the children to "kick the bucket" and held up a sign reading "chickens are friends, not food."
Why on earth would PETA target an elementary school with a large number of indigent kids? Were they hoping that these kids would go home and ask their mothers or fathers to stop serving chicken, which happens to be one of the healthiest and least expensive lean meats in the grocery store? Were they hoping to start a tofu revolution among America's lower class? It's bad enough to take advantage of the carefree elements that come with being a child--being naturally drawn to mascots in furry costumes and having the inability to associate the food on your plate with the animals you see at the petting zoo. But to do that to a population of students that probably doesn't have the means to live a meat-free lifestyle is unconscionable.
If a PETA mascot approached my children in an attempt to scare them away from the circus or make them afraid of eating chicken, they would have a number of Internet abbreviations at their disposal: OMG, this cr8zy lady came FTF w/ me. What a PITA. WAFB. She 8tacked me in my chkn costume and gave me a blk I. I am FUBAR.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
White Whine
What was I thinking? Once every couple of months (okay, once a month), I go to Habersham Beverage Warehouse to restock my wine rack. Since you get a 10 percent discount if you buy 12 bottles at a time, it is, of course, the financially responsible thing to purchase an entire case per visit.
So there I was, a few weeks ago, perusing the aisles of Habersham Beverage with Caleb in tow. Buying 12 bottles of wine with a 3 year old who you let pick out a few bottles based on the label, well that's pretty heinous in and of itself. But what I did during that particular trip was even more egregious. I bought white wine. And a lot of it.
Perhaps it was the heat, perhaps it was the recipe for bellinis that I had just read in a magazine, maybe I was just hormonal. I really can't explain what possessed me to buy five, yes five, bottles of white wine.
Later that night, I thought I might bust open a bottle of the white. But then I stared lovingly at a bottle of Malbec and thought, "well, maybe next time." One by one, I drank the seven bottles of red.
Finally, last night, I was forced to open one of the whites. It was a type I had never heard of before (vihno verde) and it wasn't half bad, but it wasn't my usual nightly red. Now I face a daunting reality: pick up a few bottles of red and at least mix it up a little, or spend the next few weeks as a bona fide white wine drinker. I think I'm leaning toward the former. And if that is the case, then I most certainly can't be financially irresponsible and pass up a 10 percent discount. Looks like I'm just going to have to break down and buy a case of red.
So there I was, a few weeks ago, perusing the aisles of Habersham Beverage with Caleb in tow. Buying 12 bottles of wine with a 3 year old who you let pick out a few bottles based on the label, well that's pretty heinous in and of itself. But what I did during that particular trip was even more egregious. I bought white wine. And a lot of it.
Perhaps it was the heat, perhaps it was the recipe for bellinis that I had just read in a magazine, maybe I was just hormonal. I really can't explain what possessed me to buy five, yes five, bottles of white wine.
Later that night, I thought I might bust open a bottle of the white. But then I stared lovingly at a bottle of Malbec and thought, "well, maybe next time." One by one, I drank the seven bottles of red.
Finally, last night, I was forced to open one of the whites. It was a type I had never heard of before (vihno verde) and it wasn't half bad, but it wasn't my usual nightly red. Now I face a daunting reality: pick up a few bottles of red and at least mix it up a little, or spend the next few weeks as a bona fide white wine drinker. I think I'm leaning toward the former. And if that is the case, then I most certainly can't be financially irresponsible and pass up a 10 percent discount. Looks like I'm just going to have to break down and buy a case of red.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Don't Stop Til You've Had Enough
I am 35 and therefore at the absolute prime age to have grown up listening to Michael Jackson. Only I didn't. Thriller came out when I was 8, but I honestly don't remember watching the iconic video until I was well into my 20s. What gives?
I was definitely a pop music fan as a child. I loved legit pop music like Cindy Lauper, Madonna and Duran Duran, as well as burn-your-records-and-never-admit-you-owned-it pop music like Menudo and New Kids on the Block. Certainly the King of Pop should've fallen into my music rotation somewhere. But my memories of liking Michael Jackson songs are kind of blank. Heck, I probably listened to Weird Al Yankovic's take off of Bad--Fat--more than the original.
It's not that my friends weren't Michael Jackson fans. I have a distinct memory of one of my childhood friends, John, winning highly coveted MJ tickets during a radio contest. John invited our mutual friend Brian to go with him to the out-of-town concert. Any normal preteen would've been raging with jealousy. I think my parents even offered to see if they could find any available tickets hoping to stave off what they thought was going to be my inevitable meltdown. But I wasn't interested. It was probably the first time in my life I did something to spare my parents a few dollars and a lot of aggravation.
So now in the wake of his death, I've been forced to come to terms with my lukewarm feelings about Michael Jackson. Yes, I appreciate his contribution to pop music and his artistry...I guess. Even his media-saturated, cover-story-of-every-magazine-I -read, if-TMZ-doesn't-stop-covering-it-I-may-permanently-delete-it-from-my-bookmarks death isn't enough to make me entirely change my mind. In the words of Michael Jackson himself, "I can't help it if I wanted to."
I was definitely a pop music fan as a child. I loved legit pop music like Cindy Lauper, Madonna and Duran Duran, as well as burn-your-records-and-never-admit-you-owned-it pop music like Menudo and New Kids on the Block. Certainly the King of Pop should've fallen into my music rotation somewhere. But my memories of liking Michael Jackson songs are kind of blank. Heck, I probably listened to Weird Al Yankovic's take off of Bad--Fat--more than the original.
It's not that my friends weren't Michael Jackson fans. I have a distinct memory of one of my childhood friends, John, winning highly coveted MJ tickets during a radio contest. John invited our mutual friend Brian to go with him to the out-of-town concert. Any normal preteen would've been raging with jealousy. I think my parents even offered to see if they could find any available tickets hoping to stave off what they thought was going to be my inevitable meltdown. But I wasn't interested. It was probably the first time in my life I did something to spare my parents a few dollars and a lot of aggravation.
So now in the wake of his death, I've been forced to come to terms with my lukewarm feelings about Michael Jackson. Yes, I appreciate his contribution to pop music and his artistry...I guess. Even his media-saturated, cover-story-of-every-magazine-I -read, if-TMZ-doesn't-stop-covering-it-I-may-permanently-delete-it-from-my-bookmarks death isn't enough to make me entirely change my mind. In the words of Michael Jackson himself, "I can't help it if I wanted to."
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Pass the Purell
I’m trying hard not to give into all the hype over the Swine Flu, or whatever scientific name they just gave it to appease the pork and grain industries. Really, I’m not that concerned that it will become an epidemic. In fact, I haven’t even made a mental list of all of the medical professionals I know and the CDC contacts I have like I did back in 2001 and 2002 when we were all worried about a bioterrorism attack.
But maybe I am just fooling myself. Let’s face it, if either of my kids woke up tomorrow with a high fever, I would be googling “Swine Flu symptoms” before I even got up to brush my teeth. I would argue with Jonah that a visit to the pediatrician’s office is called for, even though normally I would wait a day or two with a fever. I would be making a flow chart of the recent travels of all of my kids' classmates and their families.
It’s hard to tell these days what is a real threat and what is media hype. I suspect that the Swine Flu is a little bit of both. CNN and Fox News are having a field day filling their 24-hour news cycles with images of people in masks and interviews with any and everyone with an M.D. after their name. But these are the same media outlets that convinced us that terrorists in crop dusters were going to fly across the country, spraying unwitting Americans with all kinds of deadly chemicals.
So I will keep a cautious eye on this Swine Flu thing. And wash my hands a little bit more. And keep my hand sanitizer within reach at all times. And completely freak out if I am sneezed on. And do my best to convince myself that I am not acting paranoid at all.
But maybe I am just fooling myself. Let’s face it, if either of my kids woke up tomorrow with a high fever, I would be googling “Swine Flu symptoms” before I even got up to brush my teeth. I would argue with Jonah that a visit to the pediatrician’s office is called for, even though normally I would wait a day or two with a fever. I would be making a flow chart of the recent travels of all of my kids' classmates and their families.
It’s hard to tell these days what is a real threat and what is media hype. I suspect that the Swine Flu is a little bit of both. CNN and Fox News are having a field day filling their 24-hour news cycles with images of people in masks and interviews with any and everyone with an M.D. after their name. But these are the same media outlets that convinced us that terrorists in crop dusters were going to fly across the country, spraying unwitting Americans with all kinds of deadly chemicals.
So I will keep a cautious eye on this Swine Flu thing. And wash my hands a little bit more. And keep my hand sanitizer within reach at all times. And completely freak out if I am sneezed on. And do my best to convince myself that I am not acting paranoid at all.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Keeping Up With Kim
I like Kim Karsashian. I know that’s an arbitrary and somewhat embarrassing admission on my part. She’s not exactly the most likable pseudo-celebrity out there. On the pseudo-celebrity spectrum, she probably even ranks a few places below Paris Hilton.
But Kim and I have a few things in common. And it’s not millions of dollars and an NFL boyfriend, though I certainly wish I could claim the former.
First of all, she is short. Really short. Yes, Khloe is freakishly tall, but there’s another reason that she looks like a dwarf next to her youngest sister. Kim is just 5’2. Like me. She is also curvy. Like me. And has dark hair, brown eyes and olive skin. Like me. You get the idea.
After years of seeing Hollywood’s ideal beauty as a 5’11, willowy, fair-skinned, blue-eyed blonde, it’s nice to have someone who shares some of the same physical characteristics as me.
I like to see pictures of her on celebrity websites and in magazines. I call her out on things that are unflattering (“I never would’ve worn that cut of dress”), and I praise her for her good fashion choices (“ruching definitely works on us”).
Although I’m not sure if her figure has cut down on eating disorders nationwide, I think she is a step in the right direction for young girls who look to celebrities for ideal body types. I know, I know. Kids shouldn’t idolize celebrities to begin with, but they do, so it’s good to have some variety.
The dark hair, brown eyes, olive skin thing is my own hang up. I have come to appreciate my ‘ethnic’ look over the years, but it hasn’t been an easy road. Spending my formative years at a school where the WASPy look was the norm didn’t exactly boost my self-confidence.
Over the years, I’ve been asked countless times what my ethnicity is. Among the popular guesses have been Italian, Greek and Armenian. My stock answer is, “well, my family has been here for generations, but I guess my ancestry is Russian, German and Austrian.” Usually I get a blank look when I say that. Maybe it doesn’t sound exotic enough.
There are plenty of dark-haired celebrities out there, but none of them quite has the look of Kim. My husband likes to remind me how pretty he thinks Jennifer Connelly is (usually after I complain that he only likes Cameron Diaz types). I can’t help but roll my eyes when he says that. I mean, come on, I look no more like Jennifer Connelly than he looks like George Clooney. Our only similarity is dark brown hair.
I’d like to think that Kim’s influence has had a big impact on my usually low self-esteem. Unfortunately some things never change. Just today as I was walking out of Starbucks feeling pretty good about how I looked, I whisked by a impossibly tall and thin blonde. I felt miniscule. No guy would even give me a second glance if the two of us were side by side.
So maybe the Kim Kardashian revolution hasn’t exactly turned my world upside down. But it has renewed my hope that one day we’ll see a 5’2 model walk the runway during New York fashion week. One day size 4 will be the new size 0. One day a sequel to Gentlemen Prefer Blondes will come out called Gentlemen Prefer Brunettes. And, most importantly, one day I will receive millions of dollars for no apparent reason whatsoever.
But Kim and I have a few things in common. And it’s not millions of dollars and an NFL boyfriend, though I certainly wish I could claim the former.
First of all, she is short. Really short. Yes, Khloe is freakishly tall, but there’s another reason that she looks like a dwarf next to her youngest sister. Kim is just 5’2. Like me. She is also curvy. Like me. And has dark hair, brown eyes and olive skin. Like me. You get the idea.
After years of seeing Hollywood’s ideal beauty as a 5’11, willowy, fair-skinned, blue-eyed blonde, it’s nice to have someone who shares some of the same physical characteristics as me.
I like to see pictures of her on celebrity websites and in magazines. I call her out on things that are unflattering (“I never would’ve worn that cut of dress”), and I praise her for her good fashion choices (“ruching definitely works on us”).
Although I’m not sure if her figure has cut down on eating disorders nationwide, I think she is a step in the right direction for young girls who look to celebrities for ideal body types. I know, I know. Kids shouldn’t idolize celebrities to begin with, but they do, so it’s good to have some variety.
The dark hair, brown eyes, olive skin thing is my own hang up. I have come to appreciate my ‘ethnic’ look over the years, but it hasn’t been an easy road. Spending my formative years at a school where the WASPy look was the norm didn’t exactly boost my self-confidence.
Over the years, I’ve been asked countless times what my ethnicity is. Among the popular guesses have been Italian, Greek and Armenian. My stock answer is, “well, my family has been here for generations, but I guess my ancestry is Russian, German and Austrian.” Usually I get a blank look when I say that. Maybe it doesn’t sound exotic enough.
There are plenty of dark-haired celebrities out there, but none of them quite has the look of Kim. My husband likes to remind me how pretty he thinks Jennifer Connelly is (usually after I complain that he only likes Cameron Diaz types). I can’t help but roll my eyes when he says that. I mean, come on, I look no more like Jennifer Connelly than he looks like George Clooney. Our only similarity is dark brown hair.
I’d like to think that Kim’s influence has had a big impact on my usually low self-esteem. Unfortunately some things never change. Just today as I was walking out of Starbucks feeling pretty good about how I looked, I whisked by a impossibly tall and thin blonde. I felt miniscule. No guy would even give me a second glance if the two of us were side by side.
So maybe the Kim Kardashian revolution hasn’t exactly turned my world upside down. But it has renewed my hope that one day we’ll see a 5’2 model walk the runway during New York fashion week. One day size 4 will be the new size 0. One day a sequel to Gentlemen Prefer Blondes will come out called Gentlemen Prefer Brunettes. And, most importantly, one day I will receive millions of dollars for no apparent reason whatsoever.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Breakfast of Champions
Caleb ate three mini blueberry muffins this morning, and I was thrilled. The act of rejoicing over the consumption of a prepackaged, carb-laden, sugar-filled breakfast may seem odd, but for Caleb, eating anything 'new' is an accomplishment.
Sarah counts among her favorite foods Kalamata olives, feta and grape tomatoes. Caleb's favorite food: Sunchips. Sarah loves broccoli, baby carrots, cauliflower, green beans, you name it. She will try just about any vegetable I offer her, and most of the time, she likes it. (I even had her try pickled beets the other day at a lunch buffet, and she ate them all). Caleb, on the other hand, probably consumes the equivalent of one serving of vegetables per week, divided among the two baby carrots and one spinach-potato patty he consumes over the course of seven days.
Sarah loves milk and would drink an unlimited quantity if given the chance. Caleb has never had more than one sip of cow's milk in his life. And yes, I've tried everything--chocolate milk, strawberry milk, goat's milk, soy milk, chocolate soy milk, etc. Since his dairy consumption is questionable at best (yogurt once every other week, cheese once a week, if I' m lucky), i give him orange juice fortified with calcium and vitamin D every day.
If it weren't for a few processed varieties of meat, I would honestly think Caleb is a vegetarian. He will not eat most forms of chicken, red meat or pork. Though he prefers Morningstar vegetarian sausages, he will eat turkey or pork sausages when they are put in front of him. He will also occasionally eat a hotdog and a bite of chicken nugget, though it is not a sure bet. Sarah loves all kinds of meats, especially lamb, and she ate all of the tilapia put in front of her the other night.
It's a good thing Sarah was my child, because if my inaugural experience feeding a child had been Caleb, I would've worn the keys out on my keyboard googling 'children's nutritional needs' and probably would've been a candidate for anti-anxiety medication. But I learned to relax after fretting whether Sarah was eating enough as a baby, and that has paved the way for the nonchalant attitude I now have with Caleb.
Sure, I worry that Caleb's cholesterol is higher than mine and Jonah's combined. Yes, I am mildly disturbed by the notion that he is on a path to becoming a carb-addicted fiend, much like myself. But I am hoping that time will change his eating habits. And I think that any time he tries and likes a new food, even if it is something as questionable as mini blueberry muffins, we are taking a step in the right direction.
Sarah counts among her favorite foods Kalamata olives, feta and grape tomatoes. Caleb's favorite food: Sunchips. Sarah loves broccoli, baby carrots, cauliflower, green beans, you name it. She will try just about any vegetable I offer her, and most of the time, she likes it. (I even had her try pickled beets the other day at a lunch buffet, and she ate them all). Caleb, on the other hand, probably consumes the equivalent of one serving of vegetables per week, divided among the two baby carrots and one spinach-potato patty he consumes over the course of seven days.
Sarah loves milk and would drink an unlimited quantity if given the chance. Caleb has never had more than one sip of cow's milk in his life. And yes, I've tried everything--chocolate milk, strawberry milk, goat's milk, soy milk, chocolate soy milk, etc. Since his dairy consumption is questionable at best (yogurt once every other week, cheese once a week, if I' m lucky), i give him orange juice fortified with calcium and vitamin D every day.
If it weren't for a few processed varieties of meat, I would honestly think Caleb is a vegetarian. He will not eat most forms of chicken, red meat or pork. Though he prefers Morningstar vegetarian sausages, he will eat turkey or pork sausages when they are put in front of him. He will also occasionally eat a hotdog and a bite of chicken nugget, though it is not a sure bet. Sarah loves all kinds of meats, especially lamb, and she ate all of the tilapia put in front of her the other night.
It's a good thing Sarah was my child, because if my inaugural experience feeding a child had been Caleb, I would've worn the keys out on my keyboard googling 'children's nutritional needs' and probably would've been a candidate for anti-anxiety medication. But I learned to relax after fretting whether Sarah was eating enough as a baby, and that has paved the way for the nonchalant attitude I now have with Caleb.
Sure, I worry that Caleb's cholesterol is higher than mine and Jonah's combined. Yes, I am mildly disturbed by the notion that he is on a path to becoming a carb-addicted fiend, much like myself. But I am hoping that time will change his eating habits. And I think that any time he tries and likes a new food, even if it is something as questionable as mini blueberry muffins, we are taking a step in the right direction.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Punch Drunk Love
When I have a few too many drinks at a party, I'm a social butterfly, bitingly funny and, much to my chagrin, really mean and nasty to Jonah. I'm not exactly sure when it started. I remember inviting some of his coworkers to our house for a party years ago and having them all in stitches as I lobbed insults in Jonah's direction. Since then, it's only gotten worse.
This past weekend was especially bad. We went to a wedding in Alabama, which I think was really a Jonah Lovers convention in disguise. Many of the wedding guests were quite a bit younger than us and had been campers back in the days when Jonah worked on the nature staff at a camp in North Georgia. These guys worshipped Jonah back then and clearly still did now.
Seeing a 30-year-old man showing puppy dog affection for my 37-year-old husband was definitely a first for me. Don't get me wrong. I think Jonah is a pretty amazing person--smart, funny, engaging, multitalented. And I am used to people telling me as much. But this was a totally new experience.
Now, you might think the natural consequence of this extreme adoration would be a burning desire to get to know the lucky lady who got the prize. No such luck. I think I could've removed my shirt and started dancing on a pole and gotten absolutely no reaction from these guys.
So I coped in the best way I know how. I had a glass of wine. Then another. And another. And, well, you get the idea. Soon being ignored by a gaggle of guys was the least of my concerns. I mingled with other people, who found it similarly funny that Jonah had so many admirers.
But I took it too far, harping on Jonah's admirers for longer than I should have. Then when I heard someone talking kind of loudly about one of Jonah's ex-girlfriends, my drunken insults reached all new proportions.
Still, I thought the weekend went quite well, until Jonah brought up my behavior on the long drive home. I couldn't deny the topics of my conversations. The only thing left to do was apologize.
So the next time you see me at a party, ask me about the weather, the economy or the latest celebrity breakup. Because you won't find me saying truly hysterical yet undeniably mean things about Jonah. Well, unless of course he really deserves it.
This past weekend was especially bad. We went to a wedding in Alabama, which I think was really a Jonah Lovers convention in disguise. Many of the wedding guests were quite a bit younger than us and had been campers back in the days when Jonah worked on the nature staff at a camp in North Georgia. These guys worshipped Jonah back then and clearly still did now.
Seeing a 30-year-old man showing puppy dog affection for my 37-year-old husband was definitely a first for me. Don't get me wrong. I think Jonah is a pretty amazing person--smart, funny, engaging, multitalented. And I am used to people telling me as much. But this was a totally new experience.
Now, you might think the natural consequence of this extreme adoration would be a burning desire to get to know the lucky lady who got the prize. No such luck. I think I could've removed my shirt and started dancing on a pole and gotten absolutely no reaction from these guys.
So I coped in the best way I know how. I had a glass of wine. Then another. And another. And, well, you get the idea. Soon being ignored by a gaggle of guys was the least of my concerns. I mingled with other people, who found it similarly funny that Jonah had so many admirers.
But I took it too far, harping on Jonah's admirers for longer than I should have. Then when I heard someone talking kind of loudly about one of Jonah's ex-girlfriends, my drunken insults reached all new proportions.
Still, I thought the weekend went quite well, until Jonah brought up my behavior on the long drive home. I couldn't deny the topics of my conversations. The only thing left to do was apologize.
So the next time you see me at a party, ask me about the weather, the economy or the latest celebrity breakup. Because you won't find me saying truly hysterical yet undeniably mean things about Jonah. Well, unless of course he really deserves it.
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