I am generally unadventurous. Bungee jumping? Only if I measure the cord myself, and it measures within my armspan. Cliff diving? Uh-uh. Spelunking? Never. Creepy old house? "No thank you," you hear, my voice quickly growing faint as I run to a safe distance of 3 towns away. Leisurely cruise? Ha! I've seen Titanic. But I love myself a good thrill ride. Amusement park, state fair, or carnival, I am in line for the biggest, baddest ride I can find. Rides that made me weep with longing when I was pregnant. Rides that are high off the ground, fast, dizzying, stomach-dropping, and preferably invert my person at some point. Rides with long lines that lesser-gutted people drop out of as the anxiety overwhelms them. Rides that are terrifyingly fun. In short, the awesome ones.
If I don't choose the right company to go to the fair with, I end up riding these rides by myself, or not at all. My sister - who lives out of state, naturally - was once the only one who would go on these rides with me, but now my daughter is growing to love these rides as well. Missey's been waiting impatiently to grow tall enough to ride the bigger rides with me, and I can't wait. Even last year, she was tall enough for many of them, and she and I had a blast riding together. She has yet to learn the lesson of inviting like-minded friends to the amusement park.
For her birthday this year, she wanted to go to the amusement park, and was able to invite a friend. This friend has a season pass to the amusement park, so, Great! I thought, she'll enjoy it. I didn't know until we started deciding which rides to go on, but when Friend had warned us earlier that she doesn't like roller coasters, she meant she was afraid of heights. I couldn't help but feel bad for Missey. Since her growing efforts over the past year had paid off, she was itching to ride the bigger rides, but chose not to, because her friend wouldn't. I expected disappointment, frustration, and even a little whining, but got none of those. "If Friend isn't happy, I'm not happy," is what I got. I guess the lesson my daughter has learned - one that I didn't understand until I was much older, unfortunately - is that even if it is your birthday, when the thing you want makes someone else unhappy, you won't enjoy it.
9/16/2010
Communications Coordinator 8/18/10
I need a new phone. I'm not intimidated by technology - I worked technical support for years - but I do get easily overwhelmed with decisions. I am switching to one particular carrier, but even so there are a lot of phones to choose from. Blackberry? Windows Mobile? Android? Apps! I need apps!
My current phone has suited me fine. As with anything, there are pros and cons, but I'm not sick of my phone yet, even after two years. I just need my new phone to do everything my current phone does, and sure, I'll take an extra app or two. One more thing: can I please get phone calls this time?
I've had service with my current carrier for a few years. In that time, I have heard several times, "I tried to call you," only to realize that at the time they tried to call, my phone was sitting right next to me giving me the silent treatment (Come on, baby, I swear I barely glanced at that new iPhone, and I swore I would never do it again. Why can't you forgive me?). This issue occurred on two phones with this carrier; it has to be a service issue. I can compare phone features all day, but will still be taking a leap of faith as to whether my calls will come through with any reliability. Now that my husband is already using the carrier I will be switching to, we have discovered that he does not receive my texts, and I do not receive his calls. Ever the problem solvers, we decided that if he needs me he will have to text me, and if I need him I will have to call him. We are hoping that when I switch to his service we will have the freedom to choose our methods of communication, but until then, we will be playing phone-then-text-then-phone tag.
My current phone has suited me fine. As with anything, there are pros and cons, but I'm not sick of my phone yet, even after two years. I just need my new phone to do everything my current phone does, and sure, I'll take an extra app or two. One more thing: can I please get phone calls this time?
I've had service with my current carrier for a few years. In that time, I have heard several times, "I tried to call you," only to realize that at the time they tried to call, my phone was sitting right next to me giving me the silent treatment (Come on, baby, I swear I barely glanced at that new iPhone, and I swore I would never do it again. Why can't you forgive me?). This issue occurred on two phones with this carrier; it has to be a service issue. I can compare phone features all day, but will still be taking a leap of faith as to whether my calls will come through with any reliability. Now that my husband is already using the carrier I will be switching to, we have discovered that he does not receive my texts, and I do not receive his calls. Ever the problem solvers, we decided that if he needs me he will have to text me, and if I need him I will have to call him. We are hoping that when I switch to his service we will have the freedom to choose our methods of communication, but until then, we will be playing phone-then-text-then-phone tag.
9/10/2010
Yard Seller 8/11/10
I have junk. Lots of it. It's in my garage, and I'm pretty sure while I'm not looking it encroaches inch by inch onto the side of the garage reserved for my car when it snows. "Yard sale," I promise myself every weekend, but never act on. Until I did.
My mom knows two Internet presences: Hotmail and Craigslist. Wednesday we decided on the garage sale, and her first thought was, "We have to post it on Craigslist. SomeoneIKnow posted hers on Craigslist and had all kinds of people." This was one on me: I am always on the interweb tubes and had no idea people searched Craisglist for garage sale listings. But list our yard sale we did, complete with hours and directions. And come, people did not.
We also put up signs at the major intersections near my house. There were some customers, but it was not the bustling flea market I'd hoped it would be. The salt on the wound was that I happened to be reading a novel that opens with a yard sale in which our beloved main character pockets $1600.00. How is that even possible? In my experience, junk unloaders will sell you 5 coffee tables for a dime. We were selling clothing for a quarter per item, but it wasn't really moving. If it had, that $1600.00 would totally have been mine. If only I knew the secret formula for turning my no-longer-needed wares into glittering gems that cause those quarters to leap out of the bargain shoppers' pockets. Until then, donation will be my decluttering solution.
My mom knows two Internet presences: Hotmail and Craigslist. Wednesday we decided on the garage sale, and her first thought was, "We have to post it on Craigslist. SomeoneIKnow posted hers on Craigslist and had all kinds of people." This was one on me: I am always on the interweb tubes and had no idea people searched Craisglist for garage sale listings. But list our yard sale we did, complete with hours and directions. And come, people did not.
We also put up signs at the major intersections near my house. There were some customers, but it was not the bustling flea market I'd hoped it would be. The salt on the wound was that I happened to be reading a novel that opens with a yard sale in which our beloved main character pockets $1600.00. How is that even possible? In my experience, junk unloaders will sell you 5 coffee tables for a dime. We were selling clothing for a quarter per item, but it wasn't really moving. If it had, that $1600.00 would totally have been mine. If only I knew the secret formula for turning my no-longer-needed wares into glittering gems that cause those quarters to leap out of the bargain shoppers' pockets. Until then, donation will be my decluttering solution.
8/31/2010
Fire Marshal - 8/4/10
My address is a city address, but technically I don't live in the city. Therefore, the city fireworks restrictions don't apply to my neighborhood. Everyone in my neighborhood knows this, and takes full advantage for several days surrounding Independence Day. This practice was hair-raising when my son was afraid of the constant pop of firecrackers, but luckily now it's just nerve-wracking, waiting for the errant ember to set the house ablaze.
We were on vacation until July 3rd this year, and it was a stressful time for my son and I. As a parent, I realize my mistakes in hindsight: no naps, not enough playtime, not enough attention, no Mommy/Son quiet time, Mommy didn't leave enough room in her suitcase for patience. However, even in the best of circumstances, Bug is a handful, and his behavior was no less frustrating at the time. Add to that my husband had to extend his business trip for 3 more days, so it was just Bug and me, alone, for longer than I'd expected. I was simply worn out. Worn. Out. I was just ready for things to get back to normal, so I didn't plan on doing anything - not a single thing - on the 4th of July. If I'm being perfectly honest, July 4th is Husband's holiday - he usually plans our fireworks viewing. Given that he wasn't home, I especially wasn't motivated to go anywhere.
So we didn't. Bug and I slouched together on the couch as I introduced him to James and the Giant Peach (which, for days afterward, he would beg to watch again and again, and I secretly cheered each time). We watched the movie until Bug noticed the increasingly louder popping.
"What's that noise?" he asked me.
"Fireworks, buddy."
He runs to the window and marvels. The downstairs windows don't get the best views of the pyrotechnics going on, so we moved upstairs. I picked him up so he could see out of my bedroom window. Because these aren't professional fireworks shows, the displays can be sporadic, but they can also be quite impressive. We stood there for hours in the dark, mostly quiet but for a few naturally-curious-boy questions, oohing and aahing while I cuddled him, and enjoying how it was just the two of us slowed down in a calm, quiet moment.
The Independence Days before this one I would wonder, "Where is the fire marshal when you need one?" but this year I was only concerned with that stillness in the shared anticipation for the next big firework, and the excitement when we saw it, as I reconnected with my sweet baby boy. This was the vacation we needed.
We were on vacation until July 3rd this year, and it was a stressful time for my son and I. As a parent, I realize my mistakes in hindsight: no naps, not enough playtime, not enough attention, no Mommy/Son quiet time, Mommy didn't leave enough room in her suitcase for patience. However, even in the best of circumstances, Bug is a handful, and his behavior was no less frustrating at the time. Add to that my husband had to extend his business trip for 3 more days, so it was just Bug and me, alone, for longer than I'd expected. I was simply worn out. Worn. Out. I was just ready for things to get back to normal, so I didn't plan on doing anything - not a single thing - on the 4th of July. If I'm being perfectly honest, July 4th is Husband's holiday - he usually plans our fireworks viewing. Given that he wasn't home, I especially wasn't motivated to go anywhere.
So we didn't. Bug and I slouched together on the couch as I introduced him to James and the Giant Peach (which, for days afterward, he would beg to watch again and again, and I secretly cheered each time). We watched the movie until Bug noticed the increasingly louder popping.
"What's that noise?" he asked me.
"Fireworks, buddy."
He runs to the window and marvels. The downstairs windows don't get the best views of the pyrotechnics going on, so we moved upstairs. I picked him up so he could see out of my bedroom window. Because these aren't professional fireworks shows, the displays can be sporadic, but they can also be quite impressive. We stood there for hours in the dark, mostly quiet but for a few naturally-curious-boy questions, oohing and aahing while I cuddled him, and enjoying how it was just the two of us slowed down in a calm, quiet moment.
The Independence Days before this one I would wonder, "Where is the fire marshal when you need one?" but this year I was only concerned with that stillness in the shared anticipation for the next big firework, and the excitement when we saw it, as I reconnected with my sweet baby boy. This was the vacation we needed.
8/29/2010
Beauty Editor 7/28/10
Makeup has been on my mind a lot lately. Aside from the quest for the
perfect lip gloss that will never end, my mascara is clumping and my
concealer (unsurprisingly) runneth low. Anytime I consider buying new
beauty products, I consult a couple of magazines' "Best Of" lists. A lot
of times I end up testing the recommended product, twirling it in my
hand, reading the ingredients, mulling over the (usually high) price,
putting it in the basket...and then putting it back after I've decided
on something else. For me, the buying decision typically ends up being
based on instinct. Even when I have purchased the year's best lipstick,
I've been disappointed. Buying makeup is always a chore, and these lists are supposed to make it easier, but not for me. I really can't help but wonder what I'm doing wrong when my eyes look
like I pasted tarantulas on them after applying the latest volumizing-curling-lenghthening-strengthening formula mascara, and my undereye circles
peek out like fresh bruises under the new improved
no-more-undereye-circles-guaranteed! formula concealer.
Here's my proposition for you beauty editors out there: Stop using average people to test these products; or do, but put them in extreme conditions. Example: I am not your average shade of pale. There is Simpson in my DNA, judging by my skin tone, only paler, like if Lisa ever discovered WoW and had only the glow of her monitor to bask in for 7 months. Let me be the judge of which eyeshadow/blush/lipstick "flatters every skin tone." Example 2: I have average skin texture at sea level, but a mile above that I turn into a Komodo dragon. It takes a heavy lotion, Olympic timing, aligning moon cycles, and witchcraft to keep my skin moisturized for any length of time. Send one of your colleagues up here to the mountains to test the latest Jergens formula and see if she isn't disappointed after 5 minutes.
I suppose there are more "average" women out there than there are women like myself, or they wouldn't be considered "average." I'm guessing. You want a large reader base, I understand, so you cater to average women. You give them affirmation, coddle them, chew their food for them. But I also suppose your average woman doesn't really have trouble walking into a drugstore, picking a shade of lipstick, and being satisfied with it. Meanwhile, the rest of us stare at ourselves in the makeup counter mirror, at the ghastly oh-so-wrong blush on our cheeks, "This is the best for fair skin?" we think incredulously, "What's their definition of 'fair?' Jennifer Lopez?" We - your not-so-average - are the ones who need help, here. So how about it, beauty editors: once a year, at testing time, round up a few testers on the extreme ends of the spectrum and publish their results. It's what I would do if I were in your shoes.
Here's my proposition for you beauty editors out there: Stop using average people to test these products; or do, but put them in extreme conditions. Example: I am not your average shade of pale. There is Simpson in my DNA, judging by my skin tone, only paler, like if Lisa ever discovered WoW and had only the glow of her monitor to bask in for 7 months. Let me be the judge of which eyeshadow/blush/lipstick "flatters every skin tone." Example 2: I have average skin texture at sea level, but a mile above that I turn into a Komodo dragon. It takes a heavy lotion, Olympic timing, aligning moon cycles, and witchcraft to keep my skin moisturized for any length of time. Send one of your colleagues up here to the mountains to test the latest Jergens formula and see if she isn't disappointed after 5 minutes.
I suppose there are more "average" women out there than there are women like myself, or they wouldn't be considered "average." I'm guessing. You want a large reader base, I understand, so you cater to average women. You give them affirmation, coddle them, chew their food for them. But I also suppose your average woman doesn't really have trouble walking into a drugstore, picking a shade of lipstick, and being satisfied with it. Meanwhile, the rest of us stare at ourselves in the makeup counter mirror, at the ghastly oh-so-wrong blush on our cheeks, "This is the best for fair skin?" we think incredulously, "What's their definition of 'fair?' Jennifer Lopez?" We - your not-so-average - are the ones who need help, here. So how about it, beauty editors: once a year, at testing time, round up a few testers on the extreme ends of the spectrum and publish their results. It's what I would do if I were in your shoes.
8/26/2010
Credit Underwriter 7/21/10
I have had a Target card for several years now. My credit limit has remained exactly the same for all those years, until recently. My credit limit went from a very reasonable discount store limit of $200.00, to a whopping, and completely unreasonable for a discount store $2,000.00. I don’t know if it’s even possible to spend that kind of money at Target. You would have to buy most of the store to even approach that figure. I would love to try, except for the whole having-to-pay-it-back-plus-interest “catch” that comes with most credit cards. I appreciate (I guess) the gesture, telling me in no mistakable terms that I am wholly trustworthy when it comes to giving money to Target. But really, who made that call, a former mortgage lender?
I've never been a credit underwriter, but are you sure that someone who racks up $2,000.00 at Target has the means to pay it all back?
I've never been a credit underwriter, but are you sure that someone who racks up $2,000.00 at Target has the means to pay it all back?
8/25/2010
Book Collector 7/14/10
I should have seen the Nook coming for Mother's Day. I'd been discussing them for a while, unsure if I really wanted one. I don't buy books for myself. I buy them for others, quite often, actually; and I read them, of course, but they are almost always borrowed when I do. To me, buying a book you've never read is like buying a DVD of a movie you've never seen. You may love the author's/director's previous work, but that doesn't guarantee you're going to like this one. So my book collection is slim. Very slim. I-don't-even-have-bookshelves slim. I only buy books that I love; books that when I am out of other reading material I don't mind revisiting. This is why I didn't buy an e-reader years ago. Fortunately, the Nook supports e-pub format, which means I get to borrow the e-books from the library. What! I know.
The surprising thing is that the Nook has actually gotten me to purchase books more. I've still done my fair share of borrowing, but since Mother's Day, I have purchased 3 books. That's about 3 times the number of books I've purchased for myself each year prior to this one. Blame it on my being a sucker for cool electronic gadgets, I guess.
I'll never be the expert who enters used book stores trying to find the first edition of an obscure 19th century novel to add to their reading room (complete with laddered bookshelves!), but I haven't minded adding to my tiny collection, even as I acknowledge I was tricked into it by a shiny novelty device.
The surprising thing is that the Nook has actually gotten me to purchase books more. I've still done my fair share of borrowing, but since Mother's Day, I have purchased 3 books. That's about 3 times the number of books I've purchased for myself each year prior to this one. Blame it on my being a sucker for cool electronic gadgets, I guess.
I'll never be the expert who enters used book stores trying to find the first edition of an obscure 19th century novel to add to their reading room (complete with laddered bookshelves!), but I haven't minded adding to my tiny collection, even as I acknowledge I was tricked into it by a shiny novelty device.
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