Idle Minds

So yesterday I had a sore throat. Since I work at a hospital, they told me to take the day off... Mind you, I wasn't SUPER sick-- I didn't have a fever or anything, but, if your work tells you not to come in, whattareyagunnado?
Hum...
Call Sis.
Wanna go shopping?
Sure.
Finish shopping.
What now?
Wanna go get tattoos?
Sure.
Explanation:
My sis and I have been talking for years of going in and getting tats together. Although over the years, my idea of what I wanted has changed, we knew we wanted them.
My sis has been crazy-mad-running this past year or so. She's done a handful of marathons and half-marathons.
Good for her.
I personally feel that the human body doesn't want to run more than 10 miles in a day. But whatevs.
For those who are unfamiliar with the history of marathons, please read my sister Jill's blog post http://jillatoz.blogspot.com/2009/07/what-is-marathon.html .
According to legend, with his last breath, Phidippides stated "Νενικήκαμεν", or "We are Victorious".
So,
this is what Nancy got:

Like a Glove

I knew from a very young age that I was different.
I remember watching movies, such as Ace Ventura, where the phrase was stated, "Like a Glove!"
Me: Discombobulated.
Rest of world: Resolute.
Cue retrospection.

I would look at my hands, and have visions of wintertimes and me trying to fit my boundless digits into confining mitts. It was like trying to stuff one of those big puffy sleeping bags into the tiny carrying bag it came with. You NEVER could get it back in there like the day you bought it.
Reluctantly, I would make do and don the gloves, dealing with the sensation of having webbed hands. After all, I only had to deal with the webbedness for about a week before my fingertips would push themselves out the top of my gloves, creating trendy fingerless gloves. It was like a person trying to deal with a pair of pants too short; Sag them down, and you have webbed-crotch. Pull them up, and your ankles despise you.
Hence, the description of fitting "Like a Glove" confounded me. Why would you ever want anything to fit like gloves fit on me? No thank you.
Fast-forward to last night. After already convertible-izing two pair of gloves this season, I went to the store to buy new ones. I was in a reflecting mood. There were decorations that reminded me of my dearly-missed grandmother. As I made my way to the "Winter Accessories" section, i saw some Isotoners. My mother has them. My grandmother had them. They must be good. But will they fit?
I perused the selection, and noted the incredible texture.. Genuine leather. Hm.. Lined with cashmere... Hmm... There was a notably sexier-than-the-rest pair, which also had lycra in the mixture. It was the only pair i could find like them, so i tried them on.

Snug.
Marvelously snug.
And my fingertips weren't crammed.
Room to breathe?
Stretchy-yet durably warm delights.
Like a glove.

Science Rocks!

So, are you like me, and are a creature of habit?
While sitting at your boring job at your boring desk, do you have a favorite ceiling tile you like to stare at?
At your place of occupation, do you have your favorite stall in the restroom?
I do.
And yes, I get irritated if someone else is occupying it when I walk in the door. I tend to choose my favorite stall very logically, and usually based on location (i.e., you never want your favorite stall to be one close to the door).
But at my current job, I based my decision on geology.
I guarantee that 99% of women that go into this stall don't even see this, because in real-life it is about the size of my pinky fingernail.
And who knew that bathroom stalls these days were even made of actual rock, and not just a combo of particle board and formica?
But anyway, it's my special treasure.

Dam Lesbians

Tonight has finally come. The anticipation is killing me. It's once again time for the Indigo Girls concert to come to Salt Lake.
I freaking LOVE the Indigo Girls. Their voices, their harmonies, their lyrics... It's all good. My sister equally loves the Indigo Girls. One year we saw them in concert up at Deer Valley, and feeling out of place among all the lesbians, we shrugged our shoulders and decided to join 'em, and spent the rest of the concert with one arm over the other's shoulder.
This memory triggers a story not told too often; perhaps not often enough.
Back in 2003 my sis and I went on a road trip to Phoenix and on the way we decided to stop at Hoover Dam. We were walking around and about 10 yards in front of us there was an old man being pushed in his wheelchair by perhaps his son. As they got nearer the old man yelled "STOP!" to his son. I swear his wheels SCREECHed to a hault. The old man pointed with his decrepit crooked finger at my sis and me and says, very matter-of-factly, as if this was an educational lesson not to be missed, "NOW THOSE ARE LESBIANS!"
My eyes grew wide. I looked at my sis and she looked at me, and we just smiled and walked past them with our arms around each other.

Get your MEK on

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls. Hold on to your hipsters.
Well over a year ago, I decided to try a brand new type of jean. They were superbly long, a dreamy combo of stiffness and stretchnessitude... They were my first MEKs.
Yes I splurged. You can't find decent pants that fit me on the clearance rack at Sears Roebuck.
I wore these jeans faithfully. They filled me up without letting me down.
I even have a girlfriend so fond of them that she wears them when she comes to town, or when I bring them when I go to visit her.
I (and my friend) wore these jeans so often that a hole started to wear in the butt pocket. It broke my heart. Domestically, I patched it.
Two weeks ago, two new holes wore through. I was crushed. My favorite pair of jeans lay lifeless, draped over my radiator until I could decide what to do with them. maybe I should cut them up and make a woobie out of them?
Then I decided that I spent way too much on these jeans to just let them "fade-out" (pardon the pun) of my life. So, I headed to the store with them in tow to see what they could do for me.
While en route, I was receiting my story to tell the sales clerk when I arrived. I wasn't making anything up; I just needed to get all my facts correct and in chronological order.
I walked in to the store to find a wonderfully cheerful salesclerk eager to meet my needs. I took a deep breath. *Ahem*. "Well, you see... I bought these pants a while ago..."
The girl didn't care. "Oh, ok!" says the girl. "Go pick out a new pair and we'll exchange them".
"Really?", I question. "So I haven't washed them since wearing them last. Should I take them home and wash them before I bring them in to exchange?"
"No, don't worry about it. Just give them to me and go over and pick yourself out a new pair".
"Well, so it has been probably at least a year since I bought these. Is this going to be ok?"
The salesclerk realized I felt uncomfortable and a little apprehensive about the whole situation. So she walks me over to the jeans section, and proverbially holds my hand while I pick out a new pair.
And boy did she pick a pair.
At the end of this experience, I was told that if I ever wanted to exchange these jeans for any reason-- maybe I get more holes in them; maybe I just get a little thicker in the midsection and they no longer fit-- just bring them in and exchange them.
You can't even get that great of a guarantee on Carharts!!
I am so impressed. Bravo, MEK. You have a customer for life.

Honk Honk!

This morning I was kind of in a groggy mood getting to work. I don't seem to be getting enough rest that my body is requesting, and all these meds I'm taking for my sinus and ear infections makes it even harder to get up in the morning.
So I got in my car to get to work today, and was grumbling about not wanting to go to work.
I got in the left turn lane to head up toward the U, and something was coming up the road to prohibit me from making my turn.
What was it?
(*squint* *squint*)
I sure needed my glasses, but had left them on my kitchen table.
Whatever it was, it was definitely running the red light.
If it was pedestrians, they needed to get out of the middle of the road and use the crosswalk!

Oh.
hee hee.
It made my day a lot better. :-)
Has anyone seen geese this big before in their life?????

Kids Say Darnedest Things, Take 2

On Sunday night, my family and I were digging through our Mount Everest of family pictures boxes. It's fun to do that every now and then. Just look at the pictures and hear everyone's memories from them.
At anyrate, I pulled one picture out, similar to this one, and said that it was one of my favorite pictures of me and my dad. I have many memories of my dad balancing me on his knee.
My nephew Truman exclaimed: I WANNA SEE!!!

So I showed him the picture, and pointed that this was Meme, and that this was PopPop.

"THAT'S PopPop?!" he exclaimed;
"He looks so... New!"

Ode to Mother's

In an earlier post, I made a comment about the upcoming holiday season, and the joy I had of anticipating eating Gingerbread Men.
Well Thanksgiving came and went, and I could not find my Gingers ANYWHERE. I went to probably 12 different store chains trying to find them.
No deal.
So I resorted to trying to order them online. Come to find out, when you google for Mother's Gingerbread Men Cookies, you can find several different news articles about Mother's Cookies, inc. being one of the many businesses to be killed by this woeful economy.
Sigh.
Mother's Cookies was established in 1914. Since that time, I can only imagine the millions of women who, like myself, would derive pleasure from decapitating Ginger Men.
But alas, today's economy has no respect for Centurian companies, or compassion for women who like to release their disdain of Men on baked male-shaped-goods.
So Mother's, with heartfelt appreciation, I bid you adieu.