It'll Rot Your Brain

We have reached the inevitable* point in which Jooj starts understanding commercials. When asked, this year, what she wants for Christmas, I am going to just respond "Anything that is on television."

I know all of the things I am supposed to think about commercials; they can be pandering, blatantly false, promote stereotypes, etc.

But, really, I still have some fond memories of commercials from when I was a kid. Please to observe:

Cal Worthington and his Dog Spot
This was a huge local ad in Southern California. He did a million commercials, and his "dog" was never a dog. It was always fun to see what he would do next. As I was searching for a clip, a bunch came up from Oklahoma, Sacramento, and Washington, leading me to believe that Cal Worthington is the richest man alive, and possibly a member of The Pentaverite.



Pete Ellis Dodge
If you ever want to see if someone is being truthful about hailing from Southern California in the 1970s and 1980s, just sing the words "Pete Ellis Dodge..." If they can't finish the jingle, they are lying about their roots.



Shasta
I wanna Pop pop pop pop pop pop...



Anti-Drug PSAs
Man, if W and I don't reference this one at least once a month, it is a fluke. Chime in.



C&R Clothiers
Oh, my great good gravy, this series was phenomenal. They took these "grubby" (read: "sweaty and delicious") men and then put them in suits. It took everyone by storm. And they were all gay. And it was a big deal.



What about you? What commercials shaped your childhood?

*Yes, I know that people who don't watch TV don't have kids watching commercials. They also don't go to heaven.

Threeve

The other night, when I was up at three AM nursing the gaping maw that is The Boy, I started to think about blogging.

I know.

I was like "I should blog."

Then I was like "I bet I could sound rad with an Auto Tuner"

Then I was like "Where did the baby go?"

Then I was like "This nipple shield is a pain."

Then I was like "I don't like the word 'bf' (which is the Twitter hashtag for breast feeding.) It sounds lame."

Then I was like "Bffff Bbbbfffff"

Then I was like "Why don't I do a quick post where I ask people to tell me what words they dislike?"

Then I was like "They will all say 'moist.' And that is so 2009. Everybody hates 'moist.'"

Then I remembered this:





Then I woke up all covered in milk. It was moist.

My Grocery List + Gratuitous Baby Pic

onions
hummus
OJ
Oreo pie crust
milk(not that kind.)



Also, your moment of zen.


PS: Who wants to get together for a meet up in P-Town next Monday?

New Year Traditions

I am not going to stay up til midnight. Not going to happen.
BUT
I want to do something interesting.
With food.
What do you eat on New Year's Eve?
Appetizers are sounding good. Any ideas?
Guide me, senseis.

A Question for the Blog-Masses

Why do people who don't like things think that it is helpful when they leave comments saying as much?

I have noticed this a few times in the past month (and MANY times before that) and am stumped.

When I do not like a blog post I ignore it. Unless it is specifically directed AT ME. ("That La Yen is less than awesome.")

If I am reading a blog for the first time, and I don't like the tone or the topic of the piece, then I may or may not read another one. If I still don't like it, then I JUST MOVE ON. For this reason I do not read some blogs that you may read, just because I don't like them. Do I let the writer know that? No. Why? Because they don't care that I don't enjoy their work. Maybe if their parents or children or Spiritual Advisor told them that they were too snarky/irreverent/unattractive/busty then they would care. But probably not.

So who are these people? Are they you? Am I missing some part of something that I don't understand? Have you done this? What are your thoughts?

PS. Not done baking. Sorry to turn the internet into a house of lies.

Support the Troop's Wife

For my Christmas gift this year, I want to you tell me one (or more) of the things that make you great. Serious things--none of this "I am excellent at ignoring my housework" or "I beat my child better than anyone around." No back-handed compliments this time. Unlurk yourself.

I'll start:

I am really, truly good at serving others. I just am. Even when I don't want to, even when I wish I wasn't doing it, I serve others. And I am good at it.

Your turn.

Test Balloon

Where do you draw the line for helping out another woman? (Let's make this denominational and say "another sister in your RS?") Meals, house help, whatever you do. What is your limit? Anything less than hospitalization? Out-patient and above? What about elective plastic enhancements? What about non-physical ailments?

Deal Breakers

What are your deal breakers? The things that, no excuses, would make you throw in the towel? Here are some of mine:

If my therapist takes a phone call in the middle of my intake for severe clinical depression and talks to his tennis partner for fifteen minutes, I leave.

If people tell me what I believe or who I hate, I leave (at least mentally, if I can't do it physically).

Staying awake for more than 20 hours. Can't do it. Not to win a million dollars, even. Complete deal breaker.

The Twilight series. Don't ask me to be involved. It will be a deal breaker.

Hearing about someone's "Mucus Plug." Deal breaker. Sorry. (Unless it is a sweet band you are in, called Mucus Plug. I can do that.)

Any situation involving the phrase "My Bad." I immediately want to punch you in the throat.

Asking me to take sides between my parents or other family (or Ecktons.) You are going to lose, and there will be no deal.

Spumoni ice cream (not only a deal breaker, but almost a table-thrower-over). I would leave a free dinner if I had to eat Spumoni.

Maybe I should get me a Jitterbug?

One of my new favorite bloggers, Fig, reminded me to ask the universe a question:

Why Twitter?

Do you really need to know my every thought/action/whatever whenever my thumbs feel agile?

If I were to Twitter, here is what you would look forward to:

Eating Dale & Thomas Butter Toffee and Walnut Crunch

Spore is a fun game, but less fun in the Civilization stage

Fred Armison makes the greatest Penny Marshall I have ever seen

I have popcorn in my teeth

And a rug burn from falling down the stairs

The Boarder moved out

I really need to go to bed.

There--did you want to know all of that? Don't you think our relationship would be better with a little privacy? Don't you WANT me to keep the bathroom door closed when I am peeing? (Figuratively. I am totally peeing when I blog.)

Maybe I am just a spoilsport, but I am already too tied to the internet from blogging, the Google Reader, the three comics that I read every day, and playing stupid games. I don't even like to check Facebook, because I already got in touch with the two people I wanted to reunite with, so that train has shipped out. Or something.

Why would I want to update every little facet of my life? And why would you want to read it?

(And what is with the music these days? You kids and your rap.)

Help Requested (If You Aren't Too Busy With Your Children)

Have you seen the commercial for Dixie Paper Plate Products?
It starts with a sunshiney, beautiful mom saying something like "Because I have too much fun playing with my family," followed by another sunshiney mom saying something like "Because I don't want to spend another minute away from giving my children my undivided attention because I am a great mother", followed by a third sunshiney mom saying "Because I am not defined by the amount of dishes I do."

And it turns out that it is a commercial for paper plates.

I absolutely HATE this commercial. It makes me foam at the mouth. And I even USE paper plates. But I can't express WHY I hate it. Because I am too busy being angry about it (and, probably, by being defined by the amount of dishes I do.)

Can you help me understand why I hate it so much? In big-people words? Thanks. It would be a serio solid.

Meh, whatever

My favorite baker has been writing about things she likes (soup, talking about soup) and dislikes (not having soup) which led to some introspection on my part: I just don't care about most things.

So here is a sampler--and it is even (possibly) grammatically correct!

Things In Which I am Not Invested

1. American Idol. Don't care. Doesn't matter to me.
2. Saving the Earth. Ambivalent.
3. Celebrity Babies. I have even tried to get involved. Still don't care.
4. Teaching the Primary kids songs. Sadly, it is my calling. Sadly, they haven't noticed I don't really care.
5. Planning and executing activities for the ward. Sadly, it is my calling. Sadly, they haven't noticed I don't really care.
6. Poetry. I just don't care. Splash.
   
7. Getting pregnant. Or adopting another baby. I am fine either way. Or neither way. Meh.
8. Teaching Jooj the alphabet. She is learning it from TV. Fine by me
9. Hollister/Gap/Banana/Abercrombie/etc. Whatever.
10. Having a tenth item. This can count. Or not.
    

What don't you give a rat's about? (And the apostrophe is there because "bunsies" is implied.)

Taking A Stand

So Jooj and I went to the early voting place at the local strip mall, and I voted for a candidate, and not much else. And I thought about how I was, essentially, choosing the least douchey of three douchebags.

And then I thought about how, in the olden days, people (not necessarily me) had opinions that mattered to them. They protested and sat-in, and all sorts of things like that. My biggest issue, these days, is getting ticked off when it is so windy that the satellite gets knocked out right in the middle of Passions. (Theresa just got eaten by a shark! And the demon midget elf is back to cause mischief!)
And then I thought, I should let my voice be heard. I should speak out for things that I believe in, and should be not afraid to make my opinions known.

1. Con: If you have bunions do not get a tatoo on your toe. It makes us all have to look at your bunions.

2. Pro: I won some Dropps cleaning products and love them. They are the greatest thing ever made for my washing machine.

3. Con: You should not lock your kids out of the house and refuse to let them back in. Kick them outside to play, by all means. But don't deny them entry. Home is a place of refuge where we are always welcome. By the same token, none of this "Okay, if you are not coming, I will leave you..." at the store nonsense. Kids should never ever have to worry, even for a second, that their folks are going to leave them. Sorry to disagree.

4. Pro: Parsnips. Delicious.

5. Con: labeling the Easter peanut butter eggs from Reeses as "Reester Eggs." Because I want a little more gonorrhea with my chocolate.

6: Pro: Legal immigration. Come on in, pay some taxes, follow the rules, buy our stuff.

7. Cons: Socialized health care. I spent this weekend in the ER for 10 hours. I can't believe that people who think that there should be government-given health care for all have ever been to the ER for any amount of time on a weekend. It is the most horrible, ridiculous place ever. And if more people have socialized medicine, more people will be waiting for a flu shot at 3 am.

8. Pro: Dr Who.

9. Con: Dr Scholl's commercials where they repeat "I'm Gellin."

Are you fer it, or agin it? Let me know!

A Question for the Masses:

Today I have been thinking a lot about monikers--particularly good ones. Maybe it is because Lohan is getting out of rehab, maybe it is because I got a new car, maybe it is because it is 90 degrees in October, maybe it is because my ovaries are pumping out another useless little egg. Who knows why these things are in my head--who knows, I ask? (But not really. I mean, YOU can't possibly know, unless you are the ghost whisperer. And really, that is just a stupid show that should be taken off of the air, so if you ARE the ghost whisperer, then hari kari yourself.)

Anyhoo, back to nicknames. I have been daydreaming about what the press would call me if I were a serial killer or sonesings.
The two best ones I have ever heard of are already taken:
Long Island Lolita
OJ

Any suggestions? What would you like your Lifetime movie to refer to you as?

I thought I had mono once; it turns out I was just really bored.

About seven years ago I was working for a mega shoe conglomerate that once featured designs by Star Jones (pre-bypass). I was also getting my Master's Degree. And I was commuting to Salt Lake City for both. And W was gone somewheres. Probably Kuwait. Or Georgia. Or UVSC. Somewheres.

I was really really tired. A lot.

Let me back up for a minute:

I have clinical depression. And panic attacks. Not like Donny Osmond where I can't be Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor DreamCoat because the walls are closing in on me (although I get those every now and then when I think about Jooj not wanting me to be her mother but deciding that she would be better off with her "real mother"), but ones that are almost seizures. They are generally in response to over-stressing and over-stimulating, and sometimes just in response to whatever. Nachos or Target or sitting in the living room. I have had these things since I was in seventh grade. (Not the seizurey attacks, those have escalated in the past fifteen years or so. Thanks, W!) I can remember my first panic attack, in YL (Home of the Richard Nixon Library), in my room, and thinking that I was going crazy. I even checked out a couple of books about crazy people so I would know what to expect. I never once thought of telling anyone about it--who would believe me? And I spent a lot of time being exhausted, hating myself, and crying. Because I was depressed. Get it?

Anyhoo, I had an AMAZING caffeine tolerance in those years. I would go to Denny's and drink about fifteen cups of black crappy coffee at night while I did homework and then go home and fall asleep. Easily. I had about five Super Big Gulps a day, starting at 5:30 am on the way to seminary. It was what was keeping me functioning. It was self-medication. It was delicious.

Back to the shoe conglomerate:

I cut back on the caffeine a lot because I was at BYU and was trying to be better at following rules, and caffeine is bad for skin, and makes you retain water. I was a lot more sad, a lot more panicky, and a lot more tired without it. But I thought that was just from being married and working retail. (Not that marriage isn't awesome. But it can make one cranky and tired, at times. So I have been told.) I would drink one or two 20 oz Cokes a day, at the most. But this one day I drank, like, five in two hours. Because the shoe conglomerate was breaking me down, man. It was back to school time. And snow boot season. And I had this guy who called once a week, like clockwork, and tried to be obscene over the phone. ("I like to wear women's shoes. I get the heels scratched when I drive. Does that shock you?" "No. Because you call me every week and say the same thing.")

That night I could not go to sleep. I was at the point where I was praying for just three hours of sleep. Just two hours. Just 45 minutes. Just 20 minutes of REM. And I realized that I knew better than that, that I was being ridiculous by asking for Heavenly Father to counteract a natural consequence of something I knew better than to do, but did anyway. So I told Him that I wouldn't drink anymore caffeine, because I knew better.

A year or two later I got medicated, and realized that I would always be on medication, and would be a much better person for it. I wish I had had it in the womb. I maintain that I would have been a Rhodes Scholar if I had been on them in college. I love my pills. I woke up the first morning that they worked and thought "This is how other people must feel every day! This is how I am SUPPOSED to feel!"

Fast forward to 2007:

I haven't had any caffeine since that fateful night, but once a quarter or so find the need to take a little tablet that contains, among other things, caffeine. (It starts with a Mi and ends with a Dol.) And when I take it, I get SO MUCH DONE! The floors get vaccuumed! I am patient with Jooj! I am happy! I don't fall asleep at three pm! And whenever I take this little dose I think "Maybe I should drink Caffeine again. Maybe I am not depressed, just lazy."

And now I am wondering if I should rethink my standing on the caffeinated beverages. What do you think? Am I weak? Am I just a sucker?

Question:

I desperately wish I could be fancy and fabulous, but I have NO idea how. I read design mom and NieNie's blogs, I look at my Real Simple, I even subscribed to Martha for a while. None of this helps. I star and circle and dog-ear and highlight my Ballard Design catalog. Still doesn't translate. I can make a house a home through love and welcoming and blahbitty-blah, but it still doesn't make my home look pretty. I have been married for almost eleven years and still don't have anything that matches. What do I do? What is the first step?