Category Archives: me-me-me

Anti-Gravity Movie Popcorn

Posted on January 26, 2012 by wendy| Leave a comment

[Warning: she's getting her bitch on]

I took the Kid to see Hugo in 3D after ripping into our lottery winnings in our mattress. The movie was great in a very dontwealllovethemovies kinda way. If you go, be on time or you’ll never have me as your movie date because the opening shot in 3D is the highlight of the film, imo.

But this post is not about the movie. It’s about the concession stand. What they think we are not seeing them do there.

First off, I am a popcorn fiend. I admit it. I am powerless to it. So, I usually always get some at the movies, however nasty it may be. I said I’m powerless, you judgey judgers! Plus, concessions is where the exhibitors make their money, and haven’t you heard, the movie business is in trouble, so I’m doing my part.

But what amazes me is how they serve up those golden morsels nowadays. They lift the scoop of popcorn highohsohigh above the bucket and let those popped fluffballs of joy float, single file, down, down, down. Leaving as much air in the bucket as possible while still remaining on Planet Earth.

Now, if you’re 15, this is The Way It’s Always Been. But if you’re 29, like me, you have not forgotten the days when they were not so lovingly tender with the corn.

They roughly scooped, slapped it down in the bucket, and scooped some more. And then, they’d pound the bucket on the counter several times like they’re about to make a free throw shot with 1 second to go to settle the corn and make room for yet another incoming scoop of popcorn.

I am not shitting you. That is how it was done. It was a beautiful thing. Ask your dad.

Now that I’ve written this, honestly, I’m lost in my movie concession stand reverie, so talk amongst yourselves. *sigh*

Do you have any great memories of going to the movies?

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Posted in aging, food, life is good, me-me-me, movie reviews, weirdo

how to make yourself feel better with a scarf (G-rated)

Posted on January 19, 2012 by wendy| 5 Comments

I have recently made a discovery. I am sad, desperate child who will take any crumb of chocolate chip cookie the Universe will toss to me. I’m not proud. I’m just confessing because I have realized a certain shall-we-say manipulation that you humans are powerless to refuse.

It is . . . my pink scarf.

To be honest, once I realized my powers I felt a tad guilty, but hey, I got over that…

Here’s the deal. Whenever I wear my scarf, whenever wherever, someone tells me how awesome it is. They can’t help it.

So, now, I put it on every day wondering what unsuspecting innocent will be my victim? (Last time it took 1 hour, and that included 40 minutes of driving alone).

And when they find I-like-your-scarf or what-a-pretty-scarf involuntarily pouring out of their mouths, I say Thank You and smile graciously on the outside while I’m MWA-HA-HA-HAAAAA’ing and mentally putting another notch in my scarf-conquering belt inside.

But I wanted to gloat share this insight because maybe you, too, have those times when you feel blue, or your prescription ran out you need a tiny boost from a total stranger in order to feel better about yourself.

My advice is this: Get your own an awesome scarf, because you ain’t getting mine a) getting compliments feel good, b) manipulating the human race feels good, and c) having just one thought of hopeful expectation for your day was one of Oprah’s favorite things may save on your liquor store bill.
No promises on c).

Yes? What’s that? I’m listening…

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Posted in brilliant ideas, growth, health, life is good, me-me-me, weirdo

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My Dear Santa Letter

Posted on December 19, 2011 by wendy| Comments Off

Dear Santa,

It’s not you. It’s me. It’s actually you.

I had hoped we could have some fun together, but I’m seeing problems now that are hard to ignore. For starters, you’re totally obsessed with the children of the world. Day and night, night and day, they seem to be all you think about. How is an ordinary and somewhat high maintenance woman to compete?

But it’s not just that. You’re, shall we say, a tad judgmental about it all. Naughty, nice, good, bad, all your love is completely conditional. I’m sure if you held me to that standard, I’d be getting that famous lump of coal, coal you like to coerce behavior with, coal you make those poor elves mine.

Which brings me to the elves. The more I know them, the more they seem like slaves. There’s really no payroll, is there? Sure they sing while they work, but I can’t get comfortable with that. How do you sleep at night?

Actually, between the snoring and the sleep apnea, you don’t. You should consider a better health regime, San. I’m sure once you drop out of the obese category, you’ll sleep better. That and getting Rudolph off the bed. I know he’s your favorite, but still. Hello? Antlers. Plus, sitting around 364 days and then an insane energy burst one day of the year would not be good for anyone.

Anyway, I’m sorry it’s not working out. Maybe you just need someone better suited to your lifestyle. I know you said it’s a marriage in name only, but you may have been on to something with that Mrs. Claus in the first place. She’s certainly tolerant, if nothing else. I bet if you put some effort out, she may come back from St. Thomas. That chief elf couldn’t really mean anything to her.

Best of luck to you,
Me

P.S., My kid would love an iPad2 and an Xbox 360 with Kinect. Thanks bunches!

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Posted in aging, brilliant ideas, growth, me-me-me, weirdo

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Endings….what are they good for?

Posted on November 28, 2011 by wendy| 4 Comments

In case you didn’t know, it is almost December. Which means it is almost the end of 2011. Which means another, nauseating round of the Year in Reviews permeating the airwaves and those tubes on the interwebz.

Does anyone like endings? They seem to just stress us out and make us reach for a big, stiff hey, hey watch your language, buddy drink, I was gonna say.
If you’re over the age of nine months days, you know that they are a huge drag. Can you ever feel happy about an ending? Well, possibly a few people can, I guess…
But we’re not talking about them. Pay attention.

We non-paying customers seem to voluntarily head straight into things that seem good or enriching or fun, but clearly have an ending. Relationships, vacations, chocolate chocolate cake…but my best example for pretty much everything is television.

Pick a show you love. Watch it. Think about the characters in your off-time you do that, too, right?. Get involved. Guess what? Canceled! Even those stalwart classics that we thought would never end, do , I’m looking at you As the World Turns.
Yes, we’re completely bummed and left with a big, empty feeling when our show is done.

And yet, what do we do?

Thanks to Netflix, not only do we start watching shows again, we pick shows that we already know before we even watch Episode 1 have been canceled.
And frankly, no matter how many times I watch that Firefly series, knowing it will end, I nonetheless feel surprised and ripped off when I get to the last episode.

So, what do we do with that? We mourn, we pace around, we vent, we grieve, we vent we polish off that bottle of malbec, we shake our heads at the injustice, and then like a strung-out addict in a filthy, back alley with two dollars, a friend and a rat scurrying across our ankles, we go back to search Netflix for more.
Surely, this time we won’t be disappointed…

Got any new (or “new” old) shows you’re watching this fall?

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Posted in aging, growth, me-me-me, questions, venting

Sunrise Over Stupidity

Posted on October 30, 2011 by wendy| 2 Comments

Idiots come in many forms; sometimes, they can even be spotted in my a mirror.

But every now and then one pops up from the outside, directly in your face.

And what is a blog for if not to vent about idiots? I mean, really, I could lose my blogger membership card if I miss this opportunity.

Here’s my most recent idiot encounter:

So, I’m taking another improv class in a complex scheme to avoid housework, taught by him here, and one of the students is a guy who’s been in a couple of other improv classes with me. We won’t name names, but let’s just say his name rhymes with “gall.”

We hadn’t been in a class together for at least six months, I’m a little nervous about not censoring myself like I do to live in my world, and Gall sits down next to me.

Hey, how’s it going, Gall? I say.

Oh, great…been seeing some plays, this and this… Have you seen those?

No, I’m doing good getting here, ya know.

Do you have kids?

Yea, I have an eight year old.

YOU have an eight year old?? Sheer shock at this modern medical miracle began to register on his old face.

As I see this I start to think, just how old do you think I am??

Have you ever thought of coloring your hair? I mean, you could look at least ten years younger!

Gee, Gall, have you ever thought of penis enlargement surgery?

Well, actually, some people compliment me on my silver hair…

He rolls his eyes (!) in a you’re-gonna-believe-that? and that my wife left me? look.

Mind if I ask you a personal question because I have no social chip in my head and I’ll keep going until you shoot me?

You mean another?? I say.

How old are you?

I’m 39, or possibly just barely 45.

[Audible gasp] I hoped thought you were at least 55 and single!

I grab my right hip.

Do you think I need to go on a diet, too, and get rid of this, you fr*&%#in idiot??

I confess, face-to-face, I am a relatively sweet particularly when sober Texas girl who gets speechless at others’ less-than-polite commentary. Hence, the improv classes.

What do you do with these people when they pop up??!

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Posted in aging, health, me-me-me, questions, venting

Getting Discovered

Posted on September 24, 2011 by wendy| 6 Comments

Lots of bloggers like me folks online are waiting to be discovered, hit the big time, be rich, be applauded be given free maid service and car detailing for life.

Well, years have passed with this here blog…and I’m still waiting.
*fingernails tap tap tapping*

In fact, this week officially marked another one, a birthday for little ol’ me. Okay, perhaps it should be just “old me.”

While having a margarita with a couple of friends, they surprised me with “birthday speech!” “birthday speech!”

Just ask the Hubs about me and impromptu words (hint: when surprised by our rent-a-minister saying “you can now add your own vows” during our marriage in Belize, a stunned and speechless me let the Hubs go first. And what jewel did I say after? “Uh, can I ditto?”).

There’s a reason I take improv classes…

And what wise morsels did I, a more mature Wendy, dish out for my birthday well-wishers this week?

Errrrr, the older you get, the less you know!

and

I realize now how little control you have over pretty much everything in life!

Uplifting stuff, yes? That might explain the silent, disappointed gazes…

Years ago, I thought life was a learning curve, steep at first and then totally flattening out, and then you just are.

But again I was wrong.

I’d say now that life is more like a dig, for discovering things, mostly things closely related inside you, like yourself.

And everyone is doing it, whether you are hammering with a chisel on that rock that is you, or just sitting by a river that flows rapid and rough during storms or calm and peaceful on summer days. Excess rock gets removed to reveal more of your true form in every moment, in each breeze.

So, surprise! Maybe, if you’re lucky and live long enough, you are getting discovered.

By you.

And, birthday friends, now that I’ve had time and no tequila yet today, that is my birthday wisdom for you.

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Posted in aging, brilliant ideas, growth, me-me-me

A Motherly Confession

Posted on August 17, 2011 by wendy| 2 Comments

It’s time I confessed. See, there is something I’m ashamed to admit.

I don’t know why. I mean, others have probably gone through the exact same thing. Why should I want to hide it?

I’m talking about my case of PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and absolutely nothing else.

What event occurred to cause these symptoms (according to the Mayo Clinic definition)?
PTSD:
Feeling emotionally numb
Avoiding activities you once enjoyed
Hopelessness about the future
Trouble concentrating
Difficulty maintaining close relationships
Irritability or anger
Overwhelming guilt or shame
Self-destructive behavior, such as drinking too much
Being easily startled or frightened
Hearing or seeing things that aren’t there

What happened is that since she lost gave up her last sippy cup, the Kid knocks over her drink every freakin’ time. On me. Everywhere, our house, Disneyland, restaurants, airports, our house, the ferry, someone else’s house, our house. Every. Where.

I’ve got the nervous twitch to prove it. Just bring us our beverages make mine a double, and I’ll show you.

And I have those symptoms. I avoid giving her drinks unless she’s choking; I swear I hear the dumping sound of a full cup of milk when there is no cup; and I jump and gasp like a freakin’ kangaroo (yes, they gasp, pretty sure) if the Kid’s hand goes anywhere near anyone’s glass at any time in any place.

I am drinking too much ok, possibly not related; I don’t want to be anywhere close to her; I feel terrified of tall, skinny glasses (oh, SO tippable); and I feel hopeless about the fact that she will never ever stop doing this.

It has made me irritable screw you, that’s why, I tell you!, and I have trouble concentrating which is wholly unrelated to Twitter or Facebook usage.

The first step is awareness, right? So, there we go. Hello, PTSD!

Now, I’d like a sippy cup of Grey Goose, please, while I go online to order more quick-dry pants.

Are you suffering any known diseases? Don’t be ashamed! Confess!

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Posted in food, kid, me-me-me, parenting, weirdo