Archive for January, 2012

“No, I don’t want an appetizer. I’m trying to be good and watch what I eat. But, go ahead and order one for yourself, ‘I told my husband who was reading the menu. He ordered the onion rings. They’re hard to resist when hot and crispy. “You sure you don’t want one,” he offered. “Oh, all right. Stop badgering me! I’ll just pick.” I wonder – do the calories count if you’re eating from someone else’s plate? Anyone? I say they don’t.

“No, I’m not getting dessert. Don’t you remember me saying I’m watching what I’m eating? (The man should listen more.) Don’t let that stop you from ordering one for yourself.” He ordered chocolate cake. Chocolate cake? Really?  Of all things to pick from he chooses chocolate cake? He knows it’s my weakness. But, I’ll exert self control and … “Oh, alright, to make you happy I’ll try some. Stop badgering me! This is great! One more bite; maybe another. One last bite and then I’m done. Oops, sorry didn’t mean to stab your hand with my fork, but get your hand out of my way. You gonna eat that last, little piece of cake? No? Then I’ll eat it. For heaven sake – we can’t just let it sit there. Waste not, want not. Not a very big piece of cake was it?”

I believe the calories may not count if you eat from someone else’s plate so long as you don’t count the forkfuls.

My husbands’ birthday is this month. The restaurant birthday coupons have started rolling in. As of now he has collected 712. He could stretch out his birthday celebration not for just a month but for an entire year. No matter what restaurant we go to if they have a birthday club he’ll sign up for it even if he doesn’t like the restaurant.  Last year when we went to visit my mother, inFlorida(we don’t live inFlorida) and went out to eat he filled out the birthday form. Yesterday he received an e-mail coupon from them. I think the man is seriously considering a mini vacation there to claim his free cookie. I think it’s a little extreme.

I must admit I also enjoy the birthday coupons to get free goodies. My son always gets me a gift card to the Cheesecake Factory, which is one of my favorite restaurants. There is a drawback to it however. Since the restaurant is close to where he lives we always swing by and take him with us. Well, his gift card never covers the cost of the entire bill so it’s up to us to make up the difference. My husband has pointed out that the boy is merely paying for his own entree (his dessert is also on us) and it’s not that great of a deal. I got to admit the man has a point. But, I get to see my son so who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I favor the restaurants that quietly and discreetly bring you your free dessert. I hate the restaurants that drum up fanfare and the entire wait staff comes to your table and sings, loudly. Don’t sing to me! Don’t attract attention! Just serve the cake and leave. This weekend I’ll be helping my husband as he indulges in his free cake. Let’s just hope there’s no fanfare.

I was organizing closets and drawers the other day. To my surprise one drawer held items that unbeknownst to me my oldest daughter left behind when she moved out, five years ago.  When her and her brother lived at home they conditioned me to keep my hands off their stuff. It was like a Pavlov’s experiment – when I dared to touch their stuff I was zapped with the line, “Don’t touch my stuff,” even if they were in a different room which was a little freaky. I always wondered where they got that line as I never would have been permitted to use it with my mother while growing up.

When I found her stuff I called to inquire what she wanted me to do with it. I was surprised when she told me, “Do whatever you want with it, keep it, throw it out. I don’t want it, it’s junk.” Junk? Did I hear her say junk?

For 21 years I couldn’t touch her stuff and now I could have my way with her junk? I removed the drawer from the dresser and placed it on the floor. I touched her stuff and then I stepped into the drawer and danced around. Even though I had permission I felt as though I was enjoying a guilty pleasure. Once my unchecked, unbridled enthusiasm was reined in I took a good look at her stuff and had to agree with her – it was junk.

Later that night, when I moved my husbands stuff from the kitchen he barked at me, “Don’t touch my stuff.” Now I know where the kids got it.

Our Netflix movie (or rather someone else’s movie) arrived in the mail the other day. Netflix made a bad and sent us the wrong movie. Since there was nothing good on television my husband and I could either watch the movie or talk to each other. So, we popped the movie in and got comfortable, ready to let others do the talking. Ten minutes into the movie we agreed it was awful and shut it. Who were these people who ordered such a horrible movie?

Since it was just the two of us we didn’t feel obligated to watch the whole thing. But, when you see a movie or play with friends it’s a different story. You may sit in your seat wishing the ground would open up and swallow you while your friend is laughing their head off.

A similar situation happened when we went to see a play with friends. The play started off bad and got worse. My husband and I would have left during intermission if not for our friends. Although this play presented the perfect opportunity to catch up on some sleep, there would be no dozing off (which always involves head bobbing) since we were in the front row.

Since our friends enjoyed the play I offered them the Netflix movie. I was certain they’d enjoy it. I was certain they were the type of people to order such a horrible movie.

I went to a restaurant with my brother-in-law who ordered a meal with five courses. He was served all five courses at once. He was blowing on his soup to cool it while eating ice cream from his apple pie a la mode dessert. He should have spooned the ice cream into his soup bowl to chill it and eat the two together, saving time.

When you go to a restaurant and get served in a hurry it’s called eating. When you go to a restaurant and leisurely eat your food it’s called dining.

I hate when you’re at a restaurant and they bring the entrée as you’re still eating the appetizer. I hesitate to send it back to be kept warm because we all know what a server may do to your food if you piss them off. These are the people we’ve seen on a 60 Minutes story.

So, I’ve learned to order my soup or appetizer and when I’m done I’ll order my entrée. A When I’m done with that, if I’m still hungry, I’ll order dessert.

This system drives the servers crazy. They want to take your entire order at once. They want to serve you and get you out the door in fifteen minutes. If I wanted fast food I’d go to McDonalds.

I’ve learned not to cave under the pressure. I’ve learned also they’ll try to trick by saying, “I can take your order now, but I won’t place it right away.” Ha! They lie! I regretted my belief in them when I was served all entrees in rapid fire form. Liars!

But, by staying strong when asked, “Are you ready yet? Are you ready yet?” (By servers whose eyes are marked with hatred for me,) I’ve learned to slow down and enjoy my food.

However, they do take their time when wrapping up leftovers. I  honestly don’t know what takes them so long.

I was looking for the perfect match that would blend perfectly with me. No, I’m not talking man, I’m talking foundation and ladies know it can be harder to find the perfect foundation than it is to find the perfect man. But I’ll leave that for another time.

It’s got to have staying power and offer full coverage to hide imperfections. It’s got to have magical powers that’ll transform you into the supermodel on the cover of Vogue.

At the cosmetics counter I told the sales lady what I needed. She told me I needed to sit in the chair. She barricaded her work zone by erecting a cardboard petition around me. Obviously she didn’t want people to glimpse a glance at repulsive as they walked by. Next thing I know I’m sitting in the chair getting a makeover. She stripped my face void of makeup. She pulled out lotions, creams and cleansers. She lined up brushes, shadows, lipsticks and foundations. She waxed, plucked, exfoliated and moisturized. When she pulled out the sander I protested this was a bit extreme for wanting to buy just foundation. She had her hands all over my face and I don’t know if she even washed her them.

I got nervous for the outcome as it dawned on me while I sat in the chair that I was in the hands of a lady who herself also needed a makeover. I didn’t get foundation that day, but I did get a valuable lesson – never get a makeover from a lady who looks like a clown.

My search continues.

I’ll be right back – four words you never want to hear my husband say. It used to be if the whole family was going out, we’d all pile into the car and my husband would stop and say, “I’ll be right back,” and off he would go to get whatever he forgot. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he had started the car or left the keys, but he always took them, leaving me and the kids to sit and sweat or freeze depending on the season.

And since the man has ADD his I’ll be right back was a lie. On his way to get his wallet he may see the bread on the counter and make himself a sandwich.  And since he is easily distracted by shiny objects his quick return may be thirty minutes later. His late returns always had everyone boiling (and not just from the sun) mad.

It got to the point when we go out I make sure he gets in the car first and then the kids and I follow. It’s clockwork precision as we can’t wait to long as we can’t risk him getting distracted (on account of his ADD) by a pretty bird and taking off after it. If that happened I don’t think he’d be right back.

A story in my local newspaper reported a dog that went missing four years ago was recently reunited with his family thanks to a microchip. Can you imagine wandering around for four years?

I think the microchip is great and should be used in humans. Placed under the skin it’ll be invisible to the naked eye. I know my husband could use one as the man is constantly wandering off. If we go together to a store I make sure our cell phones are working as he’ll wander off and I’ll have to track him down by calling.

The other day I sent him to get my daughter who was at neighbors’ house. It was sunny out when he left. When nighttime fell I went next door to get him and my daughter.

It was like the ‘Family Circus’ cartoon where one kid is sent to find another, when they don’t come back another kid is sent to find both of them. The cycle continues.

My husband is the reason I think microchips should be human friendly. Plant one in his butt and I’d never have to look for him again. I’ll know exactly where he is.

It’s the New Year and like millions of others I’ve made a resolution. My resolution is to stop looking at my wrist. Sounds odd? Let me explain. Recently my watch died and being a creature of habit I find myself constantly looking at my wrist to check the time. From the time I could tell I’ve worn a watch. I’ve worn Minnie Mouse to Timex which keeps on ticking.

In this time of cell phones and electronics which display the time I feel I shouldn’t want to wear a watch as it’s old fashioned and nobody needs one anymore. My kids don’t wear a watch, except my little one who can’t wait to tell time and when she learns she’ll probably ditch her watch, realizing she doesn’t need it.

Maybe I’ll replace the watch with something else… but what?

Or may be I’ll go to Penny’s which is having a one day sale on all their watches;

gotta go before time runs out.

My husband and I went to Bonefish Grille, a restaurant highly recommended by friends. We were seated in a corner, by a window, next to the restroom door. When we arrived it was still light out and the restaurant interior was still glowing from the brilliant sunshine streaming in thru the windows. While we ate the sun set and darkness descended upon the restaurant. When the darkness crept slowly in, casting its shadow, new meaning was given to ‘dim lighting.’

The lighting was dim and the music loud. Soft lighting creates an atmosphere of ambiance, but when you need a flashlight to see your food, it’s a little to dim.

At one point I looked at my husband ( at least I think it was him) and suggested we eat next to the restroom door as we were guaranteed light every time the door opened and we’d be able to see our food.

I know the perks to dim lighting is your companion can’t see the food stuck between your front teeth and you can’t see your son pick up his nose, but I’d like to be able see if what he picks from his nose lands in my food.

All things considered I’d rather have soft music and bright lights.