The Pickle Thingie

It is with a modicum of certainty that I say everyone has a commercial that makes their skin crawl. Right now mine is a Big Mac radio spot that is literally called the Pickle Thief.

Every time I hear the guy start his little tirade about her being a pickle thief and maybe he should rethink their whole relationship I begin screaming, “Run girlfriend, run.” I know you’re thinking, “Cele, change the channel.” But you have to remember I’m a DJ I can’t change the channel, I can’t turn off the radio, and worse, I can’t open the Mic and scream, “Run, girlfriend, run” (in all truth that is what I am dying to do – but, like my job. A lot.)

I write commercials, I know that comedy sells, but who at their ad agency thought, “Oh, let’s do a commercial where a young man berates his date for STEALING the “Big Mac” altering pickle,” who? Not only did they think this would sell burgers, but they then sold the concept to someone who said, “Great, run with it.” (Well okay that is kind of an assumption, but when I write a commercial, I have to get customer approval before it runs.) Honestly, if they start selling their Angus Bacon Cheeseburgers that way the whole face and make up of my Fast Food Fridays will change.

Having been in an abusive relationship or three, attempting to sell me products with a self important brat heaving around his caveman tactics is friggin stupid. If you’re already married to a person who throws fits you learn how to deal, but if you find out about the abusive tantrums or worse before the I Do's (because really you shouldn't have)… run run run – do not pass go, don’t stop for cash – hie thee to safety. And you certainly don’t buy his hamburgers.

Sith,
Cele

A Difference Of Lives

Has your upbringing ever come up and smacked you in the face? Come on face it, we’re all different. We all have little twist to our values. Little things that mean something to us, and other things that we just don’t get. I’m not an in time person. I am late on a lot of things, like birthdays, even Christmas presents. I will send an email that says Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas very much on time. Well, except for the physical Christmas cards, they turn into Happy New Years cards. And those ever important thank you’s notes, well the phone calls came on time, but the mailed cards and notes...way late.

These little differences of mine over, say your’s, my husband’s, my friend’s, or a total stranger’s has come into focus over the past few years and caused me both pause and consideration. My birthday doesn’t mean a lot to me, it’s usually another day. But your birthday, wow, it means a lot to me, and if you’re with me –physically--I will lavish you on that day and do my best to make you feel as special as you are. But my poor brother and his family still haven’t gotten the gifts for their 2007 birthdays. It’s not that I don’t love them, it’s that I’m a failure at getting things figured out, bought, and the most important part…shipped in a timely fashion. Their email birthday cards… arrived on time. My sister and I always laugh about how late we are getting our gifts to each other, it is a prime source of our amusement, and you know what it doesn’t bother me, but others, oy!

My family doesn’t do funerals. When my father died in December, no funeral, no memorial, no wake, but I light a candle for him and tell him hello, goodnight when I blow it out, and will ask him questions out of the blue, then close my eyes and listen for the answer with my heart. On the other hand like most people, my husband’s family does the whole big thing, then at Christmas time they take it a whole giant leap further with a tree at the cemetery, decorated, little lights, and play Christmas carols. See what I mean by big difference? I find it a bit over the top, but it is their belief and I honor that, who am I to say who’s right or … different? And Ducky has come to appreciate the no funeral thing a little bit, too.

I’m not a phone person, really I find myself at odds when I know I have to make a call. I can put it off for weeks. You can’t do anything else when you’re on the phone, so you sit there and listen, talk, listen and accomplish nothing, but touching bases. I know that sounds cold of me doesn’t it? But then you have to understand I’m extremely bad at small talk. When we meet, if I ask you about your job or work it is for two reasons 1) I have no clue as to what I should ask you 2) it’s because I’m really interested in you and your job. I mean it’s you. When we get to the weather then you know I’m running out of topics of dialogue. But my husband and his sisters, my brothers and my sister too… all phone people. I am away for more than 20 minutes and Ducky already has three phone calls under his belt. He constantly harps on me to call my mother, has my daughter called and if not (which usually she hasn’t) why not?…er because she’s not a phone person like me. The other day I answer the phone at work and their is a guy on the other line, and excuse me, but I am pretty damn sure he was in the bathroom.

I guess for the most part what bothers me is when we judge another and find them lacking based on our own oddities. I once had a friend, Twinkie, who came out to me, all his life he felt he’d been trapped in a man’s body and was going to begin living his life as a woman. I felt terrible for him and could offer him nothing more than my support and understanding, and to keep his confidence. Two months later he cornered my friend's wife and told her all his problems, which is his right. Later when I admitted I’d know about Twinkie’s decision and had not told, my bo...er friend was furious with me. I honored my friend’s wishes; it was not my secret to tell and what good would telling anyone have done? None, it would have done no good. Where he is today I have no clue, he walked away from Florence after his family walked away from him. But the point was that for one person keeping their secret is good, but telling another’s is good too. Huh?

My mother raised us in a very even Steven manner (do you capitalize Steven when you write even steven?) even down to our Christmas list. If she spent $35 (remember this was back in the ’60) on one child (and she had four) she spent $35 on each child. She is that way to this day. I myself am the same way; it just seems fair. No favoritism, even Stephen (maybe you spell with a capitol but Stephen instead of Steven, or steven) and all is well. But I have one child who USE to count everything in volume. So weird.

I have more than one extended family member who is atheist or what they call atheist. I get extremely tired of being told my beliefs are rubbish? They are my beliefs, I don’t tell them their beliefs are rubbish, they would be highly offended if I did, but they have the right to shove their belief repeatedly down my throat. Huh? And what they base their belief that my thoughts are rubbish is on misinformation, but if you try to show them that, then you are trying to start an argument. Whatever. Personally to me it is ignorant, arrogant bullying.

And this one last rant. What about people who claim they are vegetarians because eating meat is cruelty to animals? But they wear leather boots, have leather couches (yes plural), and suede coats? And I’m the sick one.

Oh, I have a headache.
Love
Cele

Bunnicide To Save Our Children from China With Love!

I know I’ve be MIA and with few good excuses. Everyday or so I’ll sit down with the intent of writing a blog and become sidetracked by everything you have written. You guys rock. I’ve even started a few blogs, hmmm, that somehow are saved for later, whenever that might be.

But this morning their was an obscure form of bunnicide in blazing colour at the bottom of the front page of section B in the Eugene Register Guard. The, obvious, hands of a woman firmly wrapped around the head of a fuzzy, stuffed bunny whose sole eye was attached to a chain device of torture. She was pulling on said bunny’s head with firm grasp. Poor bunny. Apparently when a bunny screams on paper it doesn’t make a sound.

I was surprisingly shocked, stupid I know. I just wish more companies paid as extravagant and detailed attention as the bunny tester of Specialized Technology Resources, a company that test children’s toys. Sixteen hundred employs, working forty hours each week to destroy toys with the aim of protecting our children. The latest lead tainted toys made in China for American kids are lunch pales, dispensed by a well intended California organization to promote healthy lunches for school kids. And the basic cost for STR to test a toy line? Just $35.

$35 or better yet, what if we all demanded American made? What a concept. But wait, while America has outlawed lead based paints, there is no law that requires toys to be tested. None, Nada, Nix.

Mattel toys, whom we trust so well, suffered a 1.5 million item recall earlier this year for lead paint on toys. That was only their first recall. This year Mattel has placed recalls for 20 million toys. It boggles the mind – and tells me not enough books and puzzles are sold anymore. The Toy Industry Association is pushing for federally mandated testing. Finally!

And remember that stuffed bunny being sacrificed to make sure babies and toddlers won’t choke on tiny gnawed off parts? STR says a check of stuffing inside those plush toys uncovers filth. Whoa, Nellie! You Betcha! Dead bugs, sawdust, even metal shavings according to the Guard’s report. I was appalled, even at the age of fifty one, I love giving and getting plush toys. And for now on I’m going to be searching for the American Made label – at least they’ll be our bugs.

It gives a whole new meaning to the rabbit died – btw a quick check of five stuffed animals in my collection unveiled that three were from China, two from Vietnam, and one from Korea. I’ve not even checked Ducky’s Duck Collection. Bummer.

Today’s To Stupid To Live! Award shoud go to the MIT student who wore a fake bomb strapped to her person when she went to Logan International Airport to greet her boyfriend this morning. I thought the prerequisites for getting into MIT was brains? And an art project? Get fucking real.

Today in history 1937 - JRR Tolkien’s the Hobbit was first published.

Sith,
Cele

Beware, Rants Ahead

This isn’t what I was going to blog on today, I have pictures of water fights present and past but that will wait because of what I just heard.

Beware sustainable rants ahead…

I stand behind the concept of a greener earth. I believe hot house gases are changing our atmosphere (but I also believe in weather cycles.) I believe we have a responsibility to be better stewards of our planet. I recycle more each and everyday. I have recycled for years; I don’t know anyone in Oregon who doesn’t. I’m sure there are, but the western part of the state appears pretty green despite one or three glaring exceptions.

My truck gets mileage a bit on the higher edge than I’d like, but I only live a mile from work, from my grocery store, three miles to the post office, and my favorite nursery is….er…hptf!…a mile or so beyond the bridge (er 5 miles away - near my parents.) Ducky on the other hand has a 180 mile daily commute. His car, a 1997 Aspire, gets pretty great gas mileage, 32 to 35mph highway, and as soon as my truck is paid off he will be getting the
Mini Cooper of his dreams. He’s thinking forest green with black top, standard features, nothing too fancy. We feel that we’re doing pretty good. Of course that is relative. We’re not as good as my friend Sparks who drives a bio diesel rabbit one day and his electric vehicle the next, his house and hot tub both run on solar energy. As most would say Sparks walks the talk.

My energy consumption is relatively low; my PUD bill last month was 48 dollars. I use fans and a coastal air conditioner (one a door or window at the north end of the house, and an opposing one on the south end) with winds at a constant 25mph or higher it is a pretty efficient way at cooling a house off. I work hard to not use more than I feel is my fair share or what I need to reasonably survive.

So this morning I was a little bit ire-ed to hear that South California Edison (a company I am quite acquainted with despite living in Oregon) and Ford have teamed up to make available an Plug in Electric hybrid vehicle. Now I’m not against the concept on a whole. Electric cars are very possibly the wave of the future. What does bother me is the though that Southern California already has power issues. I’m not against hybrids or electric cars in the least, but I’ve already been asked, more than once, to show restraint in my electric use so that California will have more power during the hot summer months. Oregon has experienced brown outs to send more power to California. Now they want people to buy as many electric hybrids as possible, thereby increasing California’s power thirst.

It would be much better if at the same time they were creating a campaign to get solar panels on each and every house. Both are spendy, I noted the CNN article quoted no projected price, and well solar panels are generally out of reach of the average household. So maybe they should just start building new homes with solar panels.

Now so you don’t thing I feel my gorgeous state isn’t above creating more power drains and hot house gases, consider Marathon Motor Coaches. Based in Coburg, Marathon arms retired men and women with a home on wheels, guzzling petrol by the barrels each day. What, 5 or 6 miles to the gallon? These belching leviathans poison the atmosphere, hog the roadways, and cause havoc everywhere they go.

To drive a public bus, dump truck, or street sweeper you have to have a special license. When you’re retired and can afford to buy one of these environmental threats all you need is an everyday license…er and enough money to fill ‘er up. Disgusting.

I will continue to rant and rave over gluttonous, polluting motor homes, and abusive taxation. I will continue lust after solar panels (it would be much easier if I could talk Ducky into it.) But Americans will continue to suck up and demand more gas. Plug in more appliances expecting the power company to acquiesce to their demands, and they will. It’s kind of like expecting too much from the government but not realizing it takes effort from you too.

Am I unreasonable? I guess if you live in Southern California you might think so. My cousin, who lives in Elsinor, (in so many words) told me to suck it up because she’s not giving up her air conditioning. This conversation was a year or two ago, but I’m fairly certain it’s not changed.

So am I unreasonable? What’s your energy pet peeve?

I Hate Shopping

Neither God, nor genetics graced me with a $hopping gene – let alone a slew of them to last my lifetime. My sister on the other hand, bless her soul, has inherited not only her share of the $hopping genes, but slender legs, the Reynolds butt, and a gorgeous bubbly personality. She does not have to worry about bending over in low rise pants, whether her thighs will fit into her jeans from one weekend to the next, nor does she dread shopping. Lord, I went shopping with her once and she bought two purses – she had a BOGO coupon for Christ sakes. I didn’t even know what BOGO meant. And what woman needs more than two purses? And.oh.mi.gawd! One had fuckin’ Giraffes on it (no the Giraffes were not fucking on the purse) what in the world do you accessorize with Giraffes?

Why do I hate shopping? It is always my luck that I will need a pair of black slacks at the last moment and there won’t be a pair in town to be bought. This has led to years of frustration and a habit of online and catalogue clothes $hopping. Online or in a catalogue I can find the size I want, unless I’m shopping Spiegel’s, it will be in basic black (to match my ONE basic black purse.) I can mull over my decision for hours, days, weeks in the comfort of my own home, and if I want to order ten pairs (because basic black slacks match anything) no problem, I charge it.

Dee on the other hand is one of those gene enhanced people who can walk into TJ Max, Ross’, or Marshall’s and put together an classy ensemble for less than twenty bucks, in 15 minutes, that has you drooling in fashion lust. She is blessed I tell you, blessed. Umm, the purses were from Meyer and Franks – she is a shopping slut, thrifty, spendy, trendy stores are her friends.

I hate shopping. Whether it is shopping for clothes, shopping for cars, or shopping for groceries – I hate it. I hate the crowds, I hate the heat – because most women my age take their own heat sources along with us – I hate other shoppers. Inconsiderate, Rude, and oblivious – Americans live in their own little bubbles unaware of the world around them.

Like driving on an American roadway, shopping carts should stay to the right. Park at the curb (no double parking,) no jetting out into traffic, and do not jack knife your cart into the flow of traffic with your ass taking up the remaining room on the aisle as you count the marshmallows in the bags on the bottom shelf. Hey, it happens. Do not move your cart against the flow of traffic. Do not stop on a dime, back up, and then give the shopper behind you a look of blatant disgust for not reading your mind and KNOWING you were going to go baetso on the condiments aisle and back up with no beeper or notice. And do not stand idling in the middle of the aisle, every frickin’ aisle, talking to you next door neighbor as if you’d not seen each other since right after the earth cooled.

I hate shopping. Due to a phenomenon based on a forgotten tier of the Mayan calendar that is in accordance with the ratio genes use to calulate how much wider women will get, aisles have gotten narrower. All except the dairy and the freeze sections, those are the widest.

Today being the widest meant nothing. Women leave your husbands at home or send them alone, but do not block the entire egg case as he reads to you why he chose three, one dozen eggs cartons instead of a 36 egg crate that was on sale. TWICE. Because folks she was a bit slow, I’m sure from all the hormones in those eggs.

I hate shopping. It is a fact of me, regardless of which check out line I select shortest, longest, or in between something will happen. If you see me standing in a line, move on to the next – even if it is the longest in the store – you will get out and home far faster than me. Bookies could lay odds and clean up on the logical appearance factor alone. Because the shopping law of Cele demands that what can go wrong in a shopping line, will go wrong in the shopping line of Cele’s choice. The most reliable NCR will jam, cashiers will take breaks and the newbie of the day will ask for the code of each produce item on need to know basis. Thank Gawd I’m not a vegetarian…yet. Luckily I bag my own groceries.

The only place shopping where I feel in total harmony with the universe is in the nursery. It is like eating, my eyes are bigger than my weekend. I inevitably come out with more bedding plants than I can get into ground, planter, pot, or basket in a weekend’s time. I will spend hours feverishly digging, planting, feeding, and watering to come back the next weekend to deadhead, weed, and water in my own little nirvana. Let Ducky go to the store.