a grievance

More and more of my friends are beginning families and have an abundance of cute little kids. In light of that fact, it is with heavy heart that I say this. I don't think I like strollers.

In fact . . .

. . . I think I hate them.

(strollers -- not babies, I have no particular beef with babies)

I would never give strollers much thought if they were a normal, appropriate size. However, a stroller that transports a 10-pounder is approximately 150% larger than the motorized Rascal that transports the four-hundred-pounders that roam the isles of Sam's Club.

`

The size of these babymobiles is counterintuitive. We're dealing with tiny hands, tiny feet, tiny heads, tiny tushies. One might think the conveyance for these tiny people would consist of a tiny seat, tiny wheels, tiny space, tiny inconvenience to others. But one would be wrong on all counts.

`

Babies are small. Strollers are HUGE!

`

Why? I ask you, why? Why does a stroller require a canopy, a food tray, a cup holder, a complex system of compartments, shelving, and storage units? How many survival provisions are necessary for a trip to the mall?

`

When one of these things is fully loaded with baby accoutrement, heaping with bags and Build-A-Bear boxes, the stroller becomes a dangerous roving menace.

`

`

Strollers are the urban assault vehicles of the pedestrian world.

`

God help the poor souls that find themselves in the path of the stroller. Get out of the way; the stroller is most definitely coming through. There will be no slowing down. There will be no polite "pardon me." There will be no swerving. There will be no mercy. Save yourself and get the hell OUT OF THE WAY!

`

Might I recommend a more simple infant transportation system?

economy travel

French Tip Toe

I have a question for women who get the fancy French pedicure:

Why do you want your toes to look like fingers?

-

-

-

Therasmoosh

Every time I spot this logo, I cannot help but laugh.

-

-

-

Why do I laugh? I'll tell you why.

(Don't you hate it when people ask themselves a question and then answer it? SO annoying.)

It really looks like one of Work Systems' rehab clients was squished flat with a giant Theraball, and remained stuck to it as the Theraball continued to roll along its path of destruction.

I'm actually chuckling as I type this.

Saved!

Have you found your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?

I did!

Last night. In my laundry room.

Okay, well, I didn't actually see the Allmighty [sic], but I did spot His travel container. That has to count for something right?

(Too blasphemous? Maybe just a little? Don't blame me, blame the detergent manufacturer. They are the ones creating false gods. Write them a letter; proclaim your displeasure!)

Oddly enough, this is not the first time I have been impressed with cleaning products .

sleep junkie

I hate mornings.

A lot.

Have you done this? Bargain away your shower, your nourishment, your VERY soul, with every slap of the snooze button?

I was trying to remember how many time I hit the snooze this morning. Here's my snooze-button-math (I like to show my work). Let's see . . .

. . . each snooze unit equals 9 minutes (why is that, by the way?) . . . alarm went off at 6:25, but I didn't get up until 7:46 . . . there's 60 minutes in a an hour . . . carry the one . . . that is 81 minutes of snoozin' . . . 81 divided by 9 . . .

I hit that son of a bitch 9 times!

That means that I had to make 9 desperate bargains to be able to sleep in later.

Snooze Slap 1 - I'll just have to hurry a little bit this morning.

Snooze Slap 2 - No TV while getting ready.

Snooze Slap 3 - I'll skip breakfast, and eat a Pop Tart in the car.

Snooze Slap 4 - I won't shave my legs in the shower.

Snooze Slap 5 - I'll just pull my hair back, then I won't have to waste time blow drying.

Snooze Slap 6 - A Shower? Nah, that's not happening this morning. Scented lotion and a double spritz of perfume should do the trick.

Snooze Slap 7 - I'll just lay in bed for the next 9 minutes to think about what I want to wear.

Snooze Slap 8 - If I wore my pajamas to work, would anyone notice?

Snooze Slap 9 - Maybe I should just quit my job.

Who's yer daddy?

You should really check out the nifty face recognition program on the My Heritage website. If you are like me, and enjoy fostering your own vanity (and I do), you can spend all afternoon discovering which celebrities you most resemble.

I was tinkering around this website when I made a startling discovery.

BING CROSBY IS MY FATHER !!!

Well, I guess that would explain my affinity for the aroma of pipe tobacco, crooning, and White Christmases.

more on questionable logos

I just couldn't leave well enough alone, I guess. But it seems I am not the only one to notice the proliferation of the penis in corporate logos. Take a moment to check out b3ta.com's phallic logo awards .

Here are just a few fine examples:

Is it just me?

Does anyone else think that Monster's logo containes a suspiciously phallic image?

It's just me?

Okay then. Sorry to have bothered you.

Due for a weekend

So far . . . it has been a long, long morning.

It all began when I was walking though the courthouse while trying to disguise my limp.

The reason for the limp: on Wednesday, I took an unpleasant spill down the stairs at my office. My left ankle got banged up and is a bit tender and swollen. I will say this with great pride, though, I did not cry (even if I may have wanted to a little bit). That's right, this kid is a toughie.

Oddly enough, my ankle feels much more comfortable pointed than flexed, so high heels continue to be the most appropriate footwear -- which is good, because I have a fantastic new pair of shoes -- strappy numbers with an itty bitty skinny heals. Love 'em!

Fortunately, I managed to keep my hobbling to a minimum as I jogged though the courthouse.(YAY!) Then, as I was hustling down the courthouse's marble staircase, my dainty little shoe caught on the step. (BOO!)

Falling down the stairs Wednesday sucked. Falling down the stairs this morning S-U-C-K-E-D! I would rate the overall painfulness of both falls somewhat equally. However, in the embarrassment category, today's fall blows Wednesday's clear out of the water. Here's how it went down:

• I was talking with a client while going down the stairs.
• My heel caught, and I went down like a sac o' potatoes.
• I slid down four or five steps while the file I was holding went flying into the air -- papers scattering in every direction.
• Two very nice gentlemen ran to collect my papers.
• The commotion apparently attracted the attention of the security guards who darted up the stairs with hands on their firearms to see what the hell was going on.
• Eventually, I brushed myself off, told everyone that I was OK, and tried to scrape together some degree of decorum as I passed the people on the ground floor who were trying to disguise their giggles. (bastards)

After I got back to my car, I took inventory of any potential injuries. Sure enough, my left ankle had begun swelling to match my right ankle. This was the first time I noticed that my elbow, calf and finger were bleeding. I sighed and started to pull out of my parking space.

That's then the parking attendant flagged me down. Perfect! Why not add parking-ticket-insult to injury?

Fortunately, Parking Attendant Dennis did not want to issue me a ticket (YAY!). Parking Attendant Dennis just felt like chatting (BOO!).

Here's an overview of the topic that Dennis and I discussed: (Well, he discussed, I uncomfortably smiled and nodded)

• The weather;
• Dennis' childhood home in Boston;
• His father's military service record ;
• Dennis's Naval experience;
• Somebody's cremation and tastefully tall urn;
• Submarines and Rolls Royce limousines;
• Dennis' trip to the North Pole and his coming to terms with the realization that Santa Clause was nowhere to be found (I really, really wish I was kidding).

After a good FOURTEEN MINUTES, Dennis decided that his ramblings had reached a satisfactory conclusion, and allowed me to leave the parking lot.

While I may not always learn from my mistakes (like how not to go down stairs), there are some lessons that do stick with me. For instance, I did not offer to buy Parking Attendant Dennis a giant sandwich.

Thank you for listening to my Dennisesque rambling tale of woe. I feel better now

(Dear God, I am due for a weekend)

Safety First

We spent last week in Wyoming (ahh mountains, how I missed you!). On our way home yesterday we stopped at an iffy truck stop in Nebraska. I was fumbling with the restroom door in an effort to open it without touching the doorknob when I overheard an interesting exchange between a mom and her young daughter.

DAUGHTER: I'm going back out to the van.
MOM: Don't get kidnapped!
DAUGHTER: Okay, I'll try not to.

Now there is some fine, fine parenting. Mother was protective yet firm. Daughter was responsive and promised to give it her very best effort. That's really all anyone can ask of a child ... that they try.


Here's another interesting item we noticed in the lovely state of Nebraska -- Gas Camp -- which I can only assume is a summer program for children suffering from gastrointestinal maladies. Neat!