I'm Lovin' It

Today I discovered another reason not to eat at McDonald's that has nothing to do with how unhealthy it is. OK, maybe a little to do with health.

I sauntered up to the counter and ordered a Crispy Chicken Ranch BLT with cheese, to which the register girl said, "I'm confused." I was confused too -- I wasn't sure how to break it down any further than that, especially since my order was taken directly from the large neon menus above my head.

I tried again: "I'd like a Ranch BLT with crispy chicken, and I'd like to add cheese to that."

"I definitely don't know what you're asking," she said. Well, at least she was definite about something.

Oddly enough, the food came to me exactly as I had envisioned it would, despite her unresolved confusion. And here's the part where I once again thought (as I have MANY times before) I have to stop eating at McDonald's. The box in which the sandwich was nestled bore a warning: Product may contain chicken and/or bacon. There are two things that worry me about this statement:

a) The existence of the warning in the first place. Picture it: you have asked for and purchased a sandwich bearing the name "Crispy Chicken Ranch BLT." Because you have spent a significant amount of time frequenting fast food joints and grills across America, you recognize that the acronym "BLT" stands for "Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato." Unlike many of life's messy experiences, this order presents a very predictable, black-and-white situation for you. Then you open up your sandwich and, to your utter surprise, the sandwhich is filled with -- what? -- chicken and bacon! But wait -- they didn't warn you -- and you're allergic to chicken and bacon -- how could you have known? Oh, the humanity.

b) The words "may" and "and/or." As explained in the above statement, when I order a sandwich with both chicken and bacon in the name, I do not expect it to be a game of Russian Roulette. I don't expect to have to consider the odds. I pretty much expect -- demand, even -- that my "product" does contain both chicken and bacon. But then again, I'm told I'm "high maintenance."

For Loser Wannabes

I wanted to give a shout out to a great book I've just finished reading: Secrets of a Former Fat Girl, by Lisa Delaney. If you've struggled with weight -- not just the physical aspects of trying to take off the pounds or dealing with life as a person of more-than-average size, but the mental hurdles of the Fat Girl psyche -- then this book is most definitely a must read. Delaney names and elaborates on seven secrets that address all the things that so often plague us Fat Girls, and her advice is practical yet also light-hearted and witty. I swear she's been spying on me for the last thirty years.


I give it 5 Caramel Sundaes (eaten stealthily, alone in your car of course)!

Link to the Future

Inspired by Helen's recent post, I have decided to finally announce my engagement. This is a picture of my soon-to-be husband. Please don't be jealous -- it took me a lifetime to find my true love.

The Care and Feeding of Teenagers

The following is a transcript of a real-life encounter with a teenager (the names have been changed to protect the guilty):

I look up from my desk when I see a football shoot across the classroom out of the corner of my eye.

ME: Chester, what are you doing? [sheepish shrug from Chester] OK, I didn't really think this is something I'd ever have to say, but please don't throw your football across the room.

CHESTER: Sorry.

I go back to my work. 30 seconds pass. I look up again when I see another type of ball shoot across the classroom out of the corner of my eye.

ME: Chester!

CHESTER: What??!! I'm not throwing a football!

ME: [flashing Chester a gimme-a-break scowl] Let me be more specific: please do not throw any kind of ball across the room.

I go back to my work. 30 seconds pass. I look up again when I see a ball of several wadded up sheets of notebook paper fly across the room and hit another student in the head, which elicits peels of laughter from the entire class.

ME: OK, let me be VERY SPECIFIC: please do not throw ANY OBJECT, ANY DISTANCE, within a 50 mile radius of me, until the END OF TIME!

CHESTER: Sorry.

I pretend to go back to my work, but really I keep a sharp eye on Chester and company. Five minutes pass. All seems well. I go back to my work. I look up to check again just as Chester completes a beautifully spiraling hail mary pass to Paul, the student he previously hit in the head with the wadded paper.

ME: [getting up and walking over to Chester's seat with my hand held out] Alright, that's it. Give me the football.

CHESTER: [hurriedly stuffing said football in his backpack] No -- I'm good. I'm good, I'm good, I promise, I'm good.

ME: I didn't ask you how you were doing. I said give me the football.

CHESTER: No seriously -- I'm good. It's gone. Won't happen again.

ME: Give me the football.

CHESTER: I'm putting it away.

ME: No, you're putting it in my hand. Now!

CHESTER: Fine. [licks the football] Still want it?

ME: Yes I do. Because I can wash my hands, while you, on the other hand, have just licked a football.

Class erupts into laughter; I take football. Game, set, match.

Give Paws a Chance

Recently I've been looking for an apartment. Yes, after three years of living on the third floor (what used to be the attic) of what used to be a very nice Victorian home but what is now best described as Pothouse Central for Responsibility Challenged Fortysomethings, I have finally decided I've had enough. I need more space. I need less stairs. I need to be able to walk into my home without getting high from second-hand cannabis fumes. This seems like a reasonable request to me.



But apparently reasonable does not translate into easily doable. So many nice place, the majority of which specify, usually in bolded, all-caps letters, NO DOGS! That brings me to my current frustration: what do you people have against dogs?? Dogs are friendly -- they're lovers, not fighters. The worst they can do is lick you to death.



Okay, so not all dogs are like that. But mine is! Indy is sweet and playful and harmless. Granted, she may get a little excited when she sees people she loves, like her grandparents or Helen Auntie, and she may jump up to say hi. But basically, she's a good puppy. I mean, how can you resist a face like this:


The overwhelming lack of tolerance for dogs leads me to believe that Burlington landlords have had consistent, serious problems with dog-owning tenants. And since behavior is not really a dog's fault, this leads me to have some very serious unresolved anger toward the mass of apparently stupid, irresponsible people out there who spoil it for the rest of us! [disclaimer: I aplogize to those who are smart and responsible and have simply been unfairly judged].


So, Burlington, if you're listening, take a chance on us!

Peppermint Patty

In th' spirit o' St. Patty's Day (often miswritten as "St. Paddy's Day" by those not in th' know), I'll be celebratin' me Irish heritage in th' followin' tribute...

LUCKY CHARMS:

If ye come across any o' dese t'day, ye can consider yerself lucky:

Leprechaun: one o' th' most well known (but also th' hardest to find) lucky charms. As ye know, Ireland is a land o' many mystical, supernatural phenomena, an' Leprechauns are just th' most fun o' dat bunch. If ye come across a Leprechaun in yer travels t'day, be sure an' ask 'em fer three wishes -- an' don't ferget t' use yer first wish t' wish fer more wishes!

Shamrock: known as th' National Flower o' Oirland (or Eire, as we natives like t' say), a shamrock brings good luck, lifetime happiness, and many Pots o' Gold (see below) t' all who have 'em. Unfortunately, shamrocks kin only be found in th' fields of Western Eire, where all th' damn Buddhists have settled, so at th' moment they got a monopoly on happiness. Dirty Jezebels.

Rainbows: as ye know, rainbows kin only be seen in Eire herself. True Rainbows (as in those over th' cloudy skies o' Eire) are formed from dat special mix o' chemicals in th' air, plus a wee bit o' Leprechaun magic. If ye get a good photo of a True Rainbow, ye'r said to be ensured o' luck in marriage and livestock. Oh, an' don't ferget th' Pot o' Gold (see below) at th' end!

Pots o' Gold: all ye hafta do t' find a Pot o' Gold is t' find th' end ofa True Rainbow. Once ye find one, ye'r sure t' have, well...lots o' gold! Good luck with dat!

And luckiest charm ofall?....

Th' oft-heard of but rarely seen 21-Leaf Clover.

If ye actually get t' hold one o' these beauties in yer hand, ye'll have a lifetime o' luck in life's most important tings: sex, sanity, an' metabolism.

I'M JUST SAYIN'

Now that ye have all th' luck ye kin stand, here's a few handy traditional Irish phrases an' stuff ye kin use t' brighten th' day of yer favorite Irishmen (and women):

Top o' th' mornin' to ye! (with enthusiasm an' emphasis on th' morn) -- dis is a highly cheerful an' appropriate ting t' say t' any friend ye meet, any time o' day. Ye'll be sure t' draw a smile with dis one!

Pog mo thoin (pronounced "pogue mahone") -- dis is a friendly Irish greetin' dat ye kin use in any situation. Roughly translated it means "pleasure t' meetya!"

Cead mile failte (pronounced "Hey!") -- quite commonly used t' insult yer friend's mum. Roughly translated it means, "a pox on yer sheep!"

***dis post is dedicated to me dear Oirish friend, Pghelinbhnmbh Volshghbhaosbh (pronounced "Helen Walsh")***

Sunrise, Sunset

And the sun sets on the Black Belt testing.

Helen and I went up to Overlook Park, in Burlington, and watched the sunset that Sunday, after my parents had gone home and the Blue Wave Winter Camp was over, and the biggest physical challenge I've ever attempted or accomplished had been conquered. Nothing speaks to my soul more than a beautiful sunset. It was the perfect ending to a pretty perfect weekend.