Kids. I've Got To Get Me One.

Overheard in the Home department at Elder-Beerman:

Young Boy, about 8: "It was really cool just like I knew it would be. Cole said it looked exactly like that at the Swisstonian."

Amused Mother: "I think you mean the Smithsonian."

Pause.

Young Boy: "Oh. Well, I call it the Swisstonian. So anyway..."

Huh. The Swisstonian. I like it! Even if all they display is historical cheese.

My Absence. . .

. . .can be explained with one word and one picture.

The word? Vacation.

The picture? Low country boil:

Mmmmm, three of my favorite foods: seafood, sausage and starch! I just HAD to be a tourist and take a picture. The place had baby alligators in a lagoon out front though, so I'm pretty sure they welcome tourists and their pictures.

(As a side note, thanks for the surprise birthday trip, P! I expected 30 to be a tough one, but Savannah, plenty of seafood, the beach and spending time with you made it completely enjoyable.)

It's Not Delivery...It's Dejection

I made it to the last aisle. Frozen foods, to be exact. I had been focused and organized, flying through my list and poised to make it out of the store in record time. But there she stood in front of the frozen pizzas, reading off the names of each one into her cell phone:

Roadblock: "Well, let's see, there's pepperoni, sausage, plain cheese, meat lover's, pepperoni and sausage, half pepperoni-half cheese, veggie...hmmm, but you wouldn't like that. Okay, how about mushroom, four cheese, supreme...Well? Do any of those sound good?"

Long pause.

Roadblock: "Hello? Hello? Are you even listening to me?"

I sensed she was talking to her husband. Normally, I would have skipped ahead of her to the off-brand section, but dammit, I had a coupon.

Roadblock: "How does meat lover's sound? What's that? You can't hear me? MEAT LOVER'S. Does that sound good to you? Oh, good. Well, let me just get it out and make sure there aren't any onions on it."

She then proceeded to read the entire list of ingredients out loud into the phone. At one point she even glanced over at me, but didn't give an inch. She was hellbent on making the perfect pizza selection.

Roadblock: "So it doesn't sound like there are any onions, right? We'll go with it then."

And she started moving her cart. But...

Roadblock: "Well, maybe I'll get another one for this weekend. We can have a nice night in. I can get a sausage or pepperoni, or whatever you like. Maybe another meat lover's. Just tell me what you would prefer. Or I could get a small pizza with some garlic bread. Would you like that? Hello?"

I have to admit, despite my shock and awe, I kind of felt bad for her.

Roadblock: "Well, I thought you'd like to choose. I'll just pick something out and if you don't like it, well, you're going to have to live with it."

By this point, I had actually rested my cart against a display case and was casually leaning against it. Openly listening to her end of the conversation. Desperately wanting to make a selection for her.

Roadblock: "What do you mean you don't care? Why don't you care? Pizza is your favorite!"

Are you there God? It's me, Maureen. I need a miracle in aisle 15.

Roadblock: "Okay, I'm walking away. Guess you didn't want another one that much."

As I finally grabbed the pepperoni and cheese I'd been staring down (so close, yet so far away), I thought about the pizza dejection I'd just witnessed. Roadblock went from high to low pretty quickly, and all because her husband was probably focused on waxing the car or watching the ball game. I mean, how could she expect him to get that excited about a frozen pizza? And then throw it back in his face when he didn't?

And what of me? Innocent bystander. Pizza dejection witness. Well, I learned a few things. Like, for example, while it's sweet to try to keep love in the air by pleasing your partner, it shouldn't be at the expense of your own mental health. I mean, if he's not happy with the meat lover's, that means more for you! Am I right? Ladies?

In the end, the wait was worth it. A delicious pizza and material for a blog post. That's almost better than double coupon days or free sample Fridays.

The Runs

It pains me to have my first post in almost three weeks be titled 'The Runs.' But I can't help it that I:

1. Try to find the silver lining in almost all less than desirable situations, and

2. Am a horrible housewife, a fact previously documented on this blog.

Earlier this week, I came home after work to find our sweet little black lab, Bailey, cowering and shaking almost uncontrollably as I opened the front door. She'd done something bad and she knew it. I knew it too a few steps into the house.

The Wendy's bag I was holding no longer desirable (the new boneless wings combo with a Sprite), I set everything down in order to fully comfort Bailey. Yes, it is sweet that I chose the health and well-being of my animal over five minutes of bliss on my front porch eating the bold buffalo spiciness I smelled the entire way home. But Bailey also has bladder control issues when she's extremely nervous or excited, and I didn't want to clean up two messes.

With Bailey finally calmed down and settled on her bed, I proceeded to the kitchen to assess the damage. Two main points of deposit, runny, but no carpeting or rugs involved. Not as horrible as I was expecting.

I dug out the pet cleaner, Lysol, several plastic grocery bags and as many paper towels as I could grab, and got to work. As I was down on the floor cleaning, a yellow Wendy's napkin stuffed up my nose for gag protection, I thought "Hey, at least part of the kitchen floor will get its first good scrub in about three months." And after a flash of guilt, I briefly considered scrubbing the rest. But I had those wings waiting...come on, you would have done the same thing.

Buzz Lightyear Is Killing Me

I wasn't prepared. Nope, it was just like any other normal day. I was driving along, perhaps humming a little tune to myself. Probably speeding or cursing the car in front of me. And all of a sudden, something caught my attention. I stopped and listened. This is what I heard:



Y'all, another state's tourism ad campaign made me cry. Not like sobbing or anything, but I had to blink back the tears. And you know what? The first chance I got, I went to puremichigan.org. Since then, I've become a little obsessed.

Through some quick research, I discovered that Tim Allen is the voice over talent, an agency called McCann Erickson created the campaign, the music is from the movie Cider House Rules and there are several radio and TV spots. I also found that the Pure Michigan website experienced an increase in traffic by almost 50%. This campaign is just that good. Phenomenally well-written and unlike any other tourism ads I've seen. Perhaps a bit overly sentimental at times, but I'll take that over flashy or tough any day of the week.

So what is it that makes these commercials successful? For me, it's that they remind me of my childhood and appeal to what I think is important in life--slowing down and enjoying it. What do you think? Below are a few of my other favorites:

I’m With The Scottish

I’m not normally superstitious (I’m just a little stitious – name that quote), but this morning I experienced the mother of all superstitions: the dreaded black cat. As I opened my front door to leave for work, an all-black cat bounded across my front porch, through the bushes and down my driveway out of sight. Yup, right across my path.

For a second, I actually froze and wondered what to do next. I imagined all sorts of trouble, from a car accident on the highway to one of the ventilation tubes above my cube at work falling and flattening me. Or something less dramatic but equally painful, like a black widow spider bite or someone accidentally serving me blow fish for lunch. But since calling in superstitious does not exist on our time sheet at work, I was forced the leave the house. (Although really, I understand that something catastrophic could have easily happened at home. I would just prefer to spend my last moments watching Family Feud repeats.)

Backing out of the driveway, I was surprised to see the cat still hanging around on our lawn. He had a friend with him; a big yellow thing lounging on the sewer plate looking relaxed and overly fed. In an instant I knew he was the ringleader, the Al Capone of the group. I stopped the car for a second to stare them down. I wanted to send a tough “don’t mess with my flowerbeds while I’m at work” message. But they eyeballed me right back, probably waiting for my car to burst into flames so they could exchange a feline high-five.

And then I noticed something. The black cat was not a cat at all. Nope, too small. It was just a sweet little kitten. So, I ask, will the curse still befall me? Can there really be a wrath of the black kitten? Will my bad luck be someone snuggling and purring me to death?

Interestingly, I did my superstition homework and found that according to Scottish folklore, a strange black cat on your porch brings prosperity. Hmm. I’ll keep my fingers crossed, but really, I think the only way this thing ends is with more neighborhood cats. Excuse me, kittens.

Welcome Back Lees Summit, Missouri!

I don't even know who you are, but I've missed you. Glad to see your time and date stamp information back in the live feed box. I am, by the way, being completely serious. This little blog (okay, me) hasn't been performing at a top notch level lately and I fear I've been losing readers. I have a handful of excuses, none of which are exciting, glamorous or acceptable. Let's just say my scattered brain has been elsewhere. So I'm back in the game, with an emphasis on effort. But......

Since this post isn't really about anything substantial and I've been inundating you with video posts lately, how about some Conan bloopers from hulu.com (if you haven't checked out hulu yet, I highly recommend it):