Deep in Thought

Awhile back, the consensus amongst some unnamed qualified medical professionals was that I should meditate. As someone who cannot sit still, I could not envision a more torturous endeavor than meditation. Sure, it sounds appealing in theory, but in reality it makes my jaw clench and my body convulse like nails on a chalkboard does. Apparently I possess some character traits like perfectionism, over commitment, an inability to say no, and the desire to keep constantly busy. I do not associate all of those with the disdain in which they have been addressed to me, similar to oh, people with homicidal tendencies and crack habits. However, in an effort to maximize my health, I’ve been repeatedly assured that I should meditate, even starting in small increments, and I would notice a significant benefit.

“Well, what do you mean by small increments?”

“You can just start by using a small portion of time in the morning to meditate. Relax and focus on your breathing, do not even try to do anything else - just breathe. Clear your mind and breathe.”

“But how long should I do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just need to know how long I should try it for. I want to make sure I am doing it correctly.”

“Lyndsay, the fact that you need to apply your perfectionism, organization, and time constraints to meditation means you need it more than I initially thought,”

With that decree, I agreed to try meditation the following day. I woke up early … I normally wake up at 5:15, so I am not sure that early is the appropriate terminology for earlier than that. I drug myself out of bed and positioned myself to meditate.

Okay, focus on your breathing. In and out. In and out.
What happens if I fall asleep right here? My alarm is already off and I will be late for work. Work, what do I have to do at work today? I think financial statements are distributed today. Ugh.
Okay, stop thinking. Focus on your breathing. In and out. In and out.
That sundried tomato hummus we had last night was so good. I should pack some of it for lunch today. Oh, it would make a great appetizer for the baby shower too. The shower! I only have a couple of weeks until the shower and I haven’t even ordered a cake. I wonder if I would be breaking meditation rules if I opened my eyes long enough to write a note to remember to order cake today.
Shut up mind, shut up. We are supposed to be focusing on nothing, just breathing and relaxing. In and out. In and out.
I wonder how many minutes I have left. I don’t think I put the clothes in the dryer last night, so I can’t wear the pants I planned to wear. What should I wear instead? Is it supposed to be warm today again, or freeze your ass cold? Maybe we really should think about moving somewhere warmer. I’m totally going to develop Seasonal Affective Disorder if winter does not go away.
Okay, loser, you can’t even meditate right. Shut up. Breath in and out. In and out.
Wait, I’m not supposed to insult myself, am I? I think that defeats part of the purpose of this meditation business.
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Is meditation supposed to make you crazy? Now that would certainly defeat the purpose.
Pay attention and breathe. Think about nothing and focus on breathing. In and out.
Okay, this has got to be ten minutes. If not, close enough. I’ve made it through one day of meditation. What, three minutes? Three freaking minutes?
Okay, maybe I’ll shoot for five minutes today instead of ten. Close your eyes and breathe. In and out.

Now, wasn’t that relaxing?

No Worthy Title

Click to enlarge

Bear with me while I wine

Yesterday I got the brilliant idea that I should start blogging about wine. I should have learned by now that those voices in my head should not be entertained. Some days I feel lost in this sea of blogging about nonsense, without any theme or direction. Would lack of direction be classified as direction in itself? I am continuously amazed that people are entertained enough by my rambling to read this blog. Well, besides my family and friends, who aren’t entertained, but come here under duress. I underwhelm myself with the topics that I choose to write about. Besides Kate, I mean, she’s got a stage name in her future. But, in all honesty, what do I give you? Zip. Zilch. Nada.

So, last night as I was opening a bottle of wine, I was struck with a sheer bolt of genius. I should start reviewing the wines I try and make recommendations to my readers. Now, I’m no sommelier, but I ascertain than you can gain expertise strictly by consumption. Additionally, I have toured many wineries, “sampled” my way through Napa Valley, and am familiar with terms like full-bodied, tannin, woodsy, and hints of sandalwood. I know the appropriate pairings for fish, steak, and pasta. I uncorked a bottle of red last night and pondered the review I would write about the Skyhawk Cabernet Sauvignon 2004.



The Skyhawk Cabernet did not disappoint. I was multitasking during this effort, in an attempt to catch up on some blog reading while I enjoyed this particular Cabernet. I won’t complicate, or belabor this review by boring you with descriptors that I may or may not have paid attention to. It could easily be paired with steak, salmon, your toddlers leftover mac-n-cheese, or half a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. It is equally lovely with the only pairing to be with a second glass.

What do you mean that isn’t helpful? Is my palate not discriminating enough for you? Perhaps I don’t have a knack for writing wine reviews. There goes another of my well intended ideas.

Aren’t you glad I stick to blogging about nonsense?

Trade you my vanilla yogurt for your Injectable Hypnotics & Sedatives

Yesterday, I was having a conversation with my friend Sarah as I was leaving work. The ten-minute interval from work to daycare is the only guaranteed time I have to engage in uninterrupted, adult conversation. In most cases the “adult” portion is optional, but such is my life. I use these precious moments to engage in very important, life-altering conversations, like the following:

SARAH: Why is it so disgusting when people store their medication in the work refrigerator?

ME: That’s just gross.

SARAH: But, why is it gross?

ME: It is. It’s just gross. I feel violated just talking about it.

SARAH: How it is any different than someone having a container of Tylenol in their desk drawer?

ME: Totally different topics. I’m okay with your desk drawer. The fridge though? It's a boundary issue for me. There is something repulsive about placing your medication in the fridge next to my salad; does it really need any additional explanation?

SARAH: It has a lid on it though. It’s not going to grow fleas and jump onto your salad.

ME: Okay, I am confused. Do you think it is gross or not, because I can’t interpret this nonsense.

SARAH: I think it’s absolutely appalling. In fact, I can’t even bring myself to put my lunch in that fridge anymore. I don’t understand what makes it so disgusting though, so I needed to come to you for help. I think you need to ask the internet Lyndsay.

So, there you have it. My friends are now using me to get to my inter-peeps. Help us out, would you?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a colon-prep kit I’m thinking about sneaking into the office fridge. You know, a little experiment of sorts.

Humor me

You didn’t think I could totally stay away, did you? I just finished my third study book (half-way point) and thought I’d reward myself with a quick blogging break. I didn’t realize how much I would miss your witty comments, clandestine jokes, and funny commentaries – but I do.

I recognize that you haven’t each been with me since the start of time ... also known as the measly five months I’ve been blogging. So, during this hiatus, I am going to pilfer a little technique from my friend Beth and link you up with some of my favorite posts from the past few months. I can still stay connected and I don’t have to do much work. Brilliant!

Besides, I’d prefer to read about summer sun and playgrounds and ignore the fact that it was five months and seventy-degrees ago. Some people might classify that as an inability to face reality. I just call it a coping mechanism with a dash of optimism.

Red Beans and Rice Didn’t Miss Her – Take Two

We've Become THOSE people - Take Two

Enjoy!

Pants Victim of a Man-Laundry Accident

In the late hours of January 10th, a lovely pair of Ann Taylor pants was severely maimed during a laundry incident of great magnitude. Reporters were on the scene early to uncover the details of this shocking and catastrophic incident. Upon arriving to the household, two individuals were interviewed. Both were present as the horrifying laundry events unfolded, and they shared the harrowing details of the night.

“They were just such an important part of our family. They’ve only lived in our household for two short weeks. It isn’t very often that you adopt the quintessential pair of paints. They had an ideal fit, gorgeous material and undeniable style. We just spent last Friday together, the only time they were ever worn” declared Lyndsay, pants-owner, between heart-wrenching sobs and fits of belligerence.

In a true victory for men everywhere, Craig, the alleged suspect, said, “I sorted the darks from the lights. I only washed the darks this time.” Upon further probing, the reporter heard Craig mumble “I didn’t realize that I needed to check the tags. I don’t own clothes that say dry-clean only. If she didn’t want them washed, why were they laying near the dirty laundry? Why does she keep yelling that DRY CLEANING ONLY is NOT subjective?”

Shortly after the pants were pronounced in stable condition, they were immediately transferred to the local Thrift Shop for recovery. “It’s going to take a really special person to take these pants into their home. There are not many women out there less than 4’11” tall who would be willing to accept such responsibility” one onlooker said.



Officials are urging the medical community to intensify their efforts on research between the Y chromosome and the inability to successfully complete a load of laundry. “If research cannot support this claim, there is just no saying what Craig’s fate is going to be” stated the first officer on the scene. “It’s getting ugly here and this discovery would be his only saving grace at this point.” That research just might not come soon enough. Authorities have opened up a special investigation to see if this was a brilliant case of intentionally ruining a sacred piece of clothing under the guise of helping out. It is suspected that it was an attempt to permanently relieve the suspect of laundry duty for eternity.

“I hope for his sake that the assumptions aren’t true” said the investigator while shaking his head.

Red-dye comes back up hot-pink

After a solid afternoon of being thrown-up on, I'm finding it very difficult to not curse the human being that allowed Kate to eat a cherry donut this morning.

This is the crappy (pukey?) part about leaving a lot of to-do's for Sunday. I've accomplished nothing and now I'm so tired, I'm going to bed. I'm just hoping we all stay sleeping ...

I have a great blog post I'll try to get up tomorrow.

The BIG Reveal ...

will come as soon as I return from lunch.

Ha. Gotcha.

I also can't believe that from the hundreds of people reading this blog daily, only 22 of you were brave enough to guess. I'm highly disappointed.

Since my big "reveal" includes some additional rumblings (would you expect anything else?), I need to wait and finish it after I stuff my face.

Dear Snow Plow Driver

Dear Mr. Snow-Plow Driver,

I’ve heeded all popular advice in “taking time to cool down” before I decided to address you about THE snow issue. It has been two weeks and I still feel like sneaking into your home and stealing all of the light bulbs out of your fixtures in the middle of the night. I’m not sure the cooling down period was all that effective.

I am not certain what prohibits you from plowing the massive amounts of snow from our subdivision into the nice empty area between our driveway and the neighbors in the cul-de-sac. Instead, you repeatedly relieve your plow right in front of my mailbox over and over and over again. After the snowfall we had the week before Christmas, you left a pile of snow as high as the mailbox. Pile upon pile upon pile provided a nice embankment that spanned about 4 feet to each side and a generous 6 feet in front of the mailbox.

When you do this, our mail lady leaves scathing messages about clearing the approach to our mailbox or she is going to STOP.DELIVERING.OUR.MAIL.

The task is undaunted by a mere shovel. If I attempted to tackle the pile via shovel, we would likely see the spring thaw before I reached the half-way point. The other option we have is our ATV with a plow. In the event that I figured out how to operate the machine without injuring or maiming myself or innocent bystanders, I am still left in a predicament. What do I do with Kate? Our mailbox is not visible from the house. So, my first option would be to leave her unattended in the house while I plow out the mailbox. The second option would be to strap her car seat to the back rack of the ATV and have her wildly screaming “faster faster faster” as I careen recklessly through the snow. I am fairly certain that both options would result in a friendly visit from Child Protective Services.

As such, I ignore the love letters that the mail lady leaves until Craig gets home.

Mail lady isn’t so fond of my lack of response to her threats. So, she upped the ante and left a diagram in my mailbox that showed me exactly how to clear the approach and what it should look like when it is completed. In case you are unaware, she needs unimpeded access that does not require her to get out of her car or put it into reverse. If you see the mail lady, please flip her off, and let her know I lack muscles, not the ability to read.

Remember the snowfall that we got the week before Christmas? No? It was when you left a snow mountain at the end of our driveway so high that we thought someone might have stolen our house when we arrived home and couldn’t find it. Well, during that particular week the mail lady decided that she didn’t want to play anymore and the only thing she delivered was on her word to stop bringing our mail.

Since she decided to throw her hissy fit, I didn’t get my Christmas cards that I was eagerly anticipating from the printer for two additional days. I do realize that I was cutting it close as it was asshat, but I had timed it just perfectly. I obviously hadn’t provided the allowance for the tantrum thrown by the mail lady and the utter incompetence of the plow driver (yeah, you). During this diatribe, my darling daughter looked at me and said “Is Daddy plowing the freaking driveway?” You forced me to speak in pseudo-explicatives to get my point across, which apparently has earned me yet another Mother of the Year Nomination.

Mr. Snow-Plow Driver, you screwed with my reputation by making my cards late amongst your other infractions. I’m working on a neon sign with flashing arrows that will direct you to the empty area that is perfectly suitable for dumping snow. If you need a diagram, I’d be happy to provide it. The mail lady learned me real well.

If you fail to oblige, I will find a way for my darling Kate to accompany you on a day of plowing, while jumping up and down screaming “We are FREAKING plowing.”

Sincerely,

While the rest of the city has lost their snow already, we are still hiding behind the white mountains at the end of our driveway

Where is Yoko?

I have a confession to make. I typically don’t watch videos that are posted on blogs. I sort of skip right over them and move on with my day. I’m not saying some aren't worthy, but it requires adjusting my speakers, shutting my office door, or interrupting Craig's television show of the moment. Those are all euphemisms for my laziness. Often, after all of that work, I am disappointed anyway.

I can assure you that I won’t ever put just any video here, okay?

This video is impressive and slightly disconcerting at the same time. Are we guessing boy or girl? And how old would you judge this tyke to be?



I preferred to relish in our enjoyment of Kate as a child prodigy for singing (albeit off key and only with all of the words some of the time) the majority of the classic lullabies in existence. I think this kid was doing that in-utero.

Class, listen up, procrastination will NOT be tolerated!

I’m currently in the middle of a major mindset change. In just four short weeks, I get to transition from student to part-time professor. Hard to believe, right? Actually, I should rephrase that. I am going from student to professor AND student, depending on just how ambitious I feel like I can be when January rolls around. You know, because this last semester didn’t quite push me over the edge, driving all Thelma and Louise style into the abyss.

This will be my second semester of teaching hotel management to a group of junior and senior students at our local University. One might wonder how a Human Resources Director teaches hotel management, am I right? I’m hoping you are asking yourself that instead of just thinking, lovely, they let anyone teach these days, don’t they?

See, in my former life (read: the job I held for seven years prior to the one I have now), I was in hotel management. On the premise that a secret informant has told me that my prior boss (Hi Glen!) reads this blog, I all of a sudden don’t have too much to say about my prior job. Although Glen has a fantabulous sense of humor, I am not sure just how tolerant that humor would be when it comes to my prior employment. Since I like the guy and really need to keep him on my reference list, I will refrain from going there. Dang it.

On that note, I thoroughly enjoy teaching the industry to others. In fact, I like it, I like it A LOT (said in my best Lloyd – Dumb and Dumber voice).

Since I know that quite a few college students read this blog, I thought they might get a kick out anticipating some of the stories to come. From the professors side of view that is.

So, instead of basking in this lovely break from school, I get to prepare for a different aspect of school. However, being on THIS side of the classroom gives me a paycheck. Oh and since I am the professor, I get to make the rules. Plus, my students like me, what can I say? I guess I am young enough that I can still fool them into thinking I am cool, but old enough to actually teach them something.

All worried over nothing!

Let's see ... T minus 46 minutes and I am D-O-N-E. I would totally find something funny and celebratory to post if I had any energy. In fact, I would have proof read all of the crap I just sent in if I could have been motivated enough to shiv a get. It wasn't my best work, but it's over and nothing feels better than over does right now.

So, off to party like it's 1999.

Translation: I'll be sleeping before you read this.

Tomorrow is going to be pure bliss. I'm going to enjoy Kate's daycare Christmas party like it is my get-out-of-jail-free card. In fact, spending the evening with a bunch of curtin climbers and ankle biters (aka: Other People's Children) sounds like a spa day compared to this week.

And I WILL be back tomorrow to show you Kate's work of art from tonight. A little demented Picasso we've got on our hands here.

I wouldn't recommend just anyone

Do you ever wonder who you would be if you were to suddenly wake up as a 22 year old member of the opposite sex?

Oh good, me either.

However, I think I inadvertently found a potential answer. Now pay attention, this one is complicated. I’ve been reading my good friend Beth’s blog (Hi Beth!) for quite some time. Through Beth's blog, I found Sandra. Last week Sandra wrote about a great new blog, Life, written by Schafner. This is akin to following a conversation about your mom’s brother’s new wife who used to be married to your second cousin, just not nearly as creepy.

So, I followed Sandra’s advice and wandered over to Schafner’s blog. I had nothing better to do, since I was just sitting at home in my pajamas eating bon-bon’s and watching Ricki Lake *snort*. I started reading and immediately sensed recognition. My first thought was an immediate panic that I had written something and Blogger screwed it all up and published it on this random dude's blog. I mean, I know I said that I’d be relying heavily on the Pinot Noir to get me through this time, but I was exaggerating. Instead of sleep walking, had I engaged in sleep blogging? It was uncanny to see my sense of humor through the writing of another person.

His post today literally made me laugh out loud. That doesn’t come easily people. In honor of that accomplishment, I asked Schafner if he’d mind being featured here today.

Don’t get me wrong, he is a better writer than I am. He is one of those fancy-schmancy editors. He even uses appropriate punctuation and “stuff”. You know, one of those show-offs who actually paid attention in school.

Side bar: I hated my high school English teacher. If I can't write good, or make misstakes in my spellling, blame her.

I’m more apt to get my point across by DOING.THINGS.LIKE.THIS. Regardless, our writing styles are incredibly similar and I really enjoy reading his blog. Maybe if I "apply myself", I can aspire to such writing greatness. He is new to blogging, so I know he’d appreciate any of you who stopped by to say hi.

I’m thoroughly enjoying the comments and feedback on the blogging post (below). If you haven’t responded yet, you’ll do so if you know what’s good for you.

(insert evil laugh here)

Off to see if those elves have finished my homework yet.

Overachieving is Overrated

The pressure is on and to be honest, I don’t have time for the pressure. Two years ago, I had the brilliant idea to do a photo Christmas card. Now, we all know that I am not creative, or crafty. Remember, I covered all of those things that I am not here. The dust bunny stealthily hiding under my desk could come up with something more creative than I ever could.

However, that first Christmas card was an overwhelming success. I heard about it for months. So, when last Christmas rolled around, I used every last iota of creativity I could muster and coerced myself into creative mode one last time. That poses a problem for this year people. Last years card was another whopping success according to all who received one. Note that I am not bragging about my Christmas card ability, I am strictly relaying the information I have received. I actually must question the lameness of the other cards they received that made ours so spectacular. Apparently the competition is pretty weak amongst our social circle.

Regardless, the pressure is on. For weeks I’ve had people asking about our card this year. I finally came up with one great idea … however, it involves a Christmas tree. If you have learned anything about me, you would know that the thought of us actually having the tree up right now is about as likely as Dubya receiving any type of presidential award. But, I digress.

So, I’ve moved to plan B, which has included a lot of additional preparation; preparation that I just don’t have time for. Yesterday I bought dishes and pajamas, now I just need the cooperative kid and we will be all set. I need to get this done this week and I am doubting the cooperating kid bit. Would it be wrong to hire a fill-in? With a head swap possibly?

So, stay tuned for our Christmas card extravaganza. If you take away anything from this story, let it be to always underperform. If you do, no one will expect anything more, which makes life a lot simpler.

Not wrong, just funny

I will be the first to admit that my humor can be a little off sometimes. I swear, I was born that way. There must be a mutated gene somewhere in my body that gave me a corrupted sense of humor. I’m secretly hoping that Kate inherited this gene, because life is so much funnier on this side. I promise.

I’m proposing an expansion to my office, because I am not sure how all of these are going to fit on my wall. Don’t dare to make me choose people. I’ve already narrowed it down to my favorites. Enjoy! Special thanks to Ree for blogging about these awhile back, I was deprived for too long.

Beauty: Not as funny, only because it's true.



Compromise: I'm just sayin'



Conformity: Just funny



Demotivation: When all else fails



Dysfunction: *snort*



Failure: *snort*



Get to Work: I can think of a couple of places I'd like to give this to. Like maybe the pharmacy ...



Give Up: *cackle*



Humiliation: For those with more ambition than talent.



Ignorance: When your coworkers all of a sudden seem to be agreeing and getting along.



Incompetence: *snort*



Indifference: I'm enjoying this new perspective



Mediocrity: *snort*



Problems: Just wrong. And funny.



Procrastination: Finally, a slogan to go under my nameplate.



Tradition: *double snort*



Wishes: Sick and wrong.




I'm not sure what I can add to conclude this post ... I hope some of you share my humor. I guess if you didn't, you wouldn't read my blog, right?

How I shouldn't be spending my money

I used to be a clothes snob, but haven’t been able to afford that luxury in a long time. Plus, well, when baby weight hangs on for three years, there just isn’t much appeal to clothing shopping. However, I don’t pass up a good deal when I see it. For you clothing peeps, here is a sale I couldn’t resist today.

Ann Taylor Loft has a lot of great things 40% off their already marked down prices. Use code 10601376 for an additional 20% off and free shipping. I just bought three awesome pairs of suit pants for $76 shipped. If you haven’t bought pants from there, they run big. Another reason why I love Ann Taylor, I am totally a size 4 in their world. That’s not shallow, that is a fact and I have three new pairs of pants on their way to prove it.

I am working on a great post for this afternoon, so check back soon. In the meantime, happy shopping!

I prefer to think it adds character

I have this weird habit that drives Craig crazy. We all have our idiosyncrasies, but why do people feel compelled to point out exactly what it is that you do that is odd? If you think you don’t have a strange quirk, come and hang out with me for a few and I’d be happy to tell you what yours is. I think people who think they are the most normal are the furthest from it. I’m not Freud, but I think I am on to something.

So, back to me, because we all know I’m far from perfect, I have no qualms about sharing. I don’t use salt on my food often and when I do, I only use a teeny, tiny bit. However, I can’t just shake the salt on my food. I have to hold out my hand and shake the salt over my fingers, onto my food. I don’t get it, it makes no sense, so don’t ask. I justify it by thinking that I’m intuitively making sure I don’t put too much salt on there. It drives my husband nutty, but I can’t help it. It’s like a tick.

In the event of a marital dispute (assuming that we would ever engage in such an activity), I don’t need to yell, scream, or kick. All I need to do is grab the salt shaker and start using it to prove victorious. The annoyance will be so distracting that he’ll forget what we were arguing about. It’s a little tactic that I am glad to have in my arsenal, you know, in the event that I’d ever need it. Should I be disheartened that I have the ability to inflect such annoyance on another person? Oh good, because I don’t.

So, what is your most annoying quirk?

If you don’t know what it is, ask the person closest to you, I am sure they’ll share.

Hello?

Is this thing on?

Bring It

This week has been an insanely horrible week in our house due to reasons I’m not up to explaining to the internet. I’ll just say it ranks up there with a few of the worst I’ve had. Ever. I tell you this for a couple of reasons. First, I’ve not spent much time with Kate this week. Second, I’ve felt immensely guilty for how little quality time I’ve spent with her. Mommy guilt is not good. Third (and perhaps most significant) is that my patience is pretty much non-existent and my emotional state is more volatile that the status of America’s current financial market. I’ve been one the verge of losing my shit pretty much all week.

Tonight when we got home, Kate really wanted to make banana muffins. I mean, really wanted to make banana muffins. I was torn between making muffins, standing outside in the snow in my bare feet for hours, or listening to nails on a chalkboard. Given the mommy guilt factor, I decided I should embrace the muffins.



Muffin making went pretty much like this:

Dump dry ingredients together. Kate sticks finger into dry ingredients. Tell Kate no. Kate sticks finger right in the baking power, sticking a big finger full in her mouth.

Kate looks at me in horror and spits it out INTO THE BATTER.

Undeterred, we press on. Kate gets to the fifth banana and decides that one is for her. I mash the other bananas while she eats the remainder of the ingredients. Kate loses interest in the banana, smashing it under her leg and letting it collect various random particles from the surrounding areas.



I turn my back to check the oven and return to finish mixing the batter. Can’t find the fork. Where is the damn fork? Kate points to the bottom of the batter. I mean, why wouldn’t you bury the fork in the bottom of the bowl? Mom looks like she needs tested, right? While retrieving the vanishing fork, Kate picks up the mangled, half-eaten, infested banana mentioned earlier and throws it into the bowl.

Some good quality bonding time we were having, I tell you.



I inform Kate that we aren’t cooking these putrid muffins. She rebukes with shrieks that knock the earth just slightly out of orbit, so I oblige *shudder*.

I think this is the Universe’s way of flipping me off.

Lack of Self-Control

So, whose idea was it to put a Starbucks in our Target? I’d like to meet them so I can punch them in the face. No, not really. In fact, I’ll just open my savings account and give them every last penny in it. I mean, I can part with it now, or part with it one tortuous Target trip at a time, right?

Why is it that I can’t leave Target without spending $100? Why is it that I buy all of these things at Target that I didn’t know I needed until I got there? Plus, it’s hard enough for me to resist my one Starbucks of the morning, but then dangle one my face during my afternoon shopping trip? I’m totally done for.

So, dear internet, when we are living in a cardboard box and I am begging you for donations, you can all look at each other and nod, “It was totally Target and Starbucks. She has no self control.”

You do what with that?

I spent the rest of the weekend doing officially nothing. We all sat around the house, recuperating from our various aliments. Occasionally, I thought about the things that needed to get done around the house. Operative word being "thought". Unfortunately, the housekeeping fairies didn’t catch the vibe I was putting out. So, we had good intentions around here, but just basked in our laziness and watched a lot of TV.

HGTV and TLC are great time wasters. I love all of the real estate and property renovation shows. What amazed me this weekend was the plethora of houses that had bidets in their bathrooms. I don’t consider myself unsophisticated, but if living in the lap of luxury includes this strange invention, I think I’ll pass. I’m being one of those judgmental people making assessments about something without trying it, but I’m just not feeling it. How about you?

Just a side note, as I gingerly investigated the origins of the bidet, I learned that people often use them for an additional purpose: a baby bath. Ewww. Gag. Yuck.

Share your thoughts, I can't wait to hear them.