Archive | January, 2013

Contest: Guess what I’m thinking…

29 Jan

I’m testing out the idea of a new contest, called “Guess What I’m Thinking.” Perhaps you guessed that from this post’s title? Then you might just want to play this game, because you’re good at it.

Also: there actually aren’t any prizes, so you just get bragging rights. (I bet I can guess what you’re thinking: No prizes? What kind of contest is this, anyway? The answer is: the awesome kind. Because who doesn’t like to brag?)

So here’s the idea. When I’m feeling lazy, instead of publishing a full post, I’ll just provide a graphic that indicates what I’m thinking of posting. If you guess correctly, it will spare me the agony of writing something up. If you invent something better that what I was thinking of posting, then we’ll all be amused AND it will spare me the agony of writing something up. And if you don’t guess or if your guesses suck, then I’ll share the real explanation and berate you for not playing my reindeer game.

Basically, I’m looking for a short-cut here. Fine, I’ll say it: I’d like to post something without having to actually write anything.

So let’s test this idea out…

This summarizes the post I’m thinking of writing. What’s it going to be about?

Image Source: pithypants 2013

I put the “ass” in “nam-as-te.”

26 Jan

Image Source:

Remember last month, when I made fun of that girl at the Diner who was showing a full two inches of her butt crack? Let’s just agree, karma is a bitch. (I mean that both literally and figuratively – Alan’s parents’ dog is named Karma, and she is technically a bitch. True story.)

Anyway… my covert photo-taking of the DinerGirl came back to haunt me in yoga.

When doing laundry the other week, I realized the Item that dictates when I need to do a load is my fleece pants. I practically live in them all winter and I only have one pair I consider perfection. (I have two other pairs that are runners-up, but they aren’t even in the same ballpark as my favorites.)

I had a moment of panic: What will I do when this pair wears out??? 

You know what I’m talking about.

I decided to guard against disaster. I went to (where I’d purchased this pair six years ago), praying they still stocked them. Alas, they didn’t, but they had something similar. On sale. So – still reeling from the thought that I might have to live without my favorite pants – I ordered three pairs. Did I mention they were on sale? It’s like fate WANTED me to be clad in fleece. (Did you hear that, Alan?)

Some three days later, they arrived at my door and I did backflips to realize they fit perfectly. The waistband was a bit lower than my favorites, but not exactly low riders. I thought nothing of it. (You should though, because I started this story talking about karma coming back to bite me in the ass.)

So last week I headed to yoga in my new fleece pants. It wasn’t ideal – I’m generally too hot to wear anything but light capris, but I was running late and didn’t have time to change. “They’ll work,” I told myself.

Image Source: See Course Deliverables TabAnd they did – until I did my first Down Dog.

You know how sometimes your shoes eat your socks? With every step they tug your socks down a half-inch, until your sock is smushed like an accordion between your arch and your heel? Well, that’s kind of what my pants were doing.

As I stretched in my Down Dog, I felt air on my lower back. I slid my hand around to check, and – sure enough – my pants had tugged down a bit and were riding just on the top of my hips. When we stood back up, I tugged them back up. But my underwear didn’t come with them.

Let’s repeat this move a few more times. Within ten minutes, my underwear were bunched up on my thighs, not even remotely covering my ass. I imagine it looked like I had a diaper on. And still, every time we ended in a Down Dog (which – in case you’re not familiar, is pretty much every other move when it comes to yoga), my pants were creeping lower.

I kept pulling them up, but there was more than one time when I reached back and found that we were entering Plumber’s Territory.

I considered leaving class rather than endure an hour of tug-of-war with my waistband. But in the end I decided my workout was more important than grossing out the women behind me. Mainly because I’m that dedicated. But also because prissy yogis get on my nerves.

Namaste, suckers.


[In somewhat related news, Alan arrived home one night to find me wearing my blouse from the office paired with my new fleece pants because I’d stalled out halfway through changing clothes. In full seriousness, he said, “You look nice. Did you stay dressed up for me?” Which either proves that men can’t tell the difference between flannel and foulard, or that Alan is clearly a breast-man, or that I’ve completely broken his spirit.]

I’m clearly not going to be an astronaut. And it’s a good thing I’m not a teacher.

24 Jan
But I'll be damned if I can name them...

But I’ll be damned if I can name them…

Apparently I didn’t pay good attention during astronomy lessons as a child. This was highlighted the other night when I had to ask Alan, “Which one isn’t a planet any more? Jupiter or Pluto?”

He started giggling. “You’re joking, right?”

I was not.

“Unless it’s the Earth, Mars or Saturn, I don’t really have time for it,” I told him.

This made him laugh even harder. “You don’t ‘have time for it’? What does that even mean?” He paused. “Wait – you do know all the planets, don’t you?” he asked.

“Duh,” I nodded. “Every fourth grader knows the planets. Just don’t ask me to say them in order.”

My mind started to think back to the mnemonic we’d been taught to remember the order of the planets. “My mom makes pizza every Tuesday.”

Image Source: felt 90% confident, but thought perhaps I’d left out some descriptors. When I tried to puzzle out the planets, I came up with, “Mars, Mercury, Mmmm, Pluto, Earth, Tttth.” Which didn’t sound exactly right.

I tried again. “My mom makes delicious pizza at noon every Tuesday in June?”

Clearly, now that I’ve looked up the answer, that looks ridiculous. What planet did I think started with the letter T? Or D? And – now that I think of it – where’s the “S” for Saturn?

(In retrospect, I’ll admit – I think the phrase, “See you next Tuesday,” crept into this and confused me. If you don’t know what that means, try saying it to people and see if you get any raised eyebrows.)

Fortunately, Alan couldn’t hear my internal monologue and didn’t challenge me to name the planets. But he again seemed amused when – a few days later – we walked past the Smithsonian’s Air & Space Museum and I pointed out the planets they’ve constructed (to scale) in front of the building. “I wonder if they’ve yanked down the statue for Jupiter at the end.” I commented. Then amended, “Or is it Pluto?”

He shook his head, exasperated.

“Wait,” I said. “Let’s look at this line-up so I can get it straight.” So we started with the sun… and then walked to Mercury… and then walked to Venus… and then Earth… and then Mars…

“Whoa,” I stopped. “So we’ve been doing these expeditions to Mars?” Alan nodded. “Looks to me like Venus is much closer. Why don’t we go there instead?” I suggested, feeling brilliant for discovering a shortcut the so-called “scientists” at NASA had overlooked.

Again, Alan looked at me as if I were a stranger. “Perhaps because Venus has a surface temperature around 800 degrees?” he offered. “And an atmospheric pressure almost 100 times greater than Earth’s?”

“Riiiiiight,” I conceded. “That probably wouldn’t be good.” I thought for a moment.

Image Source:“Speaking of – we’re only the third planet from the sun? That’s a lot closer than I was thinking.”

“Hence the television show ‘Third Rock’ with Jonathan Lithgow,” Alan prompted.

Indeed. (Though to be fair, I never watched that show because I thought it was a sci-fi show about aliens who lived on a rock. I had no idea it was actually set on the Earth.)

So clearly I’m a dumb-ass when it comes to astronomy. In case you are too, I thought I’d share the mnemonics I discovered to keep the planets straight. Apparently the one I learned has been obliterated since Pluto has been demoted. Here are the new versions:

My Very Educated Mother Just Saw Uncle Nick
My Very Energetic Mother Just Served Ur Nan
My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nuts

I would like to point out: these make NO sense. Why does your mom have to be educated to see Uncle Nick or serve us nuts? And what’s with “Ur Nan?” Is that a kind of bread? And why must your mom be energetic to do that?

So here are the phrases from when Pluto was considered a planet (pre-2006):

My Very Excellent Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas
My very exquisite mother just served us nine pizzas
My very energetic mum swam under north pole

I’m going to guess a MOM created all of these since the “E” adjectives are all very flattering. And I’m going to guess that – like me – no one actually remembered them since they weren’t very vivid. Had I been the teacher, a generation of pupils might have memorized the following:

My Very Eager Mother Just Serviced Uncle Nick’s Peter

Aaaaand… that’s probably why I didn’t become a teacher.

You’re welcome. 

I Don’t Think I’m Alone on This One…

21 Jan
Borrowed from "The Onion"

Borrowed from “The Onion”

Skimming the news this weekend, an article caught my eye.

“Did you know they’re removing some of the scanners from the airports?” I asked Alan.

“Oh yeah? The invasive scanners?” he clarified. “Not a surprise.”

“Invasive? What do you mean?”

“You know, the ones that show you naked,” he prodded.

I shook my head. “I thought that was a wives’ tale. I mean, they don’t actually show you naked.” I paused. “Do they?”

He nodded. “Do a Google image search. You’ll see.”

I thought he was surely pulling my leg. I mean, I fly ALL the time. There’s no way they’d allow TSA officers to take naked scans of me, would they?

I searched. Images like this came up:

Image Source:

“Are you serious? This is what it really looks like?” I asked, incredulous.

Alan nodded. “You seem freaked out.”

“I am,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t know they could actually see my naked body!”

“What would you have done?” Alan asked.

“Um, probably stood taller. And definitely sucked my tummy in.”

He started laughing. “So what did you think the scan looked like, if not a naked photo of your body?”

“I don’t know,” I said, flipping through more images. “I guess something like this…”

Image Source:

At this point, Alan was convulsing. “You thought people were up in arms because they resembled gingerbread men on the scanner?”

Good point.

I hate it when he’s right. 

List: Acceptable Christmas Creep

11 Jan
Holidays: Creating more AwkwardFamilyPhotos than school picture day.

This is NOT the kind of Christmas Creep I’m talking about. 

I’m squarely in the camp that thinks the Christmas season should begin after Thanksgiving and end on New Year’s Day. Even one day in either direction and I’ll judge you if you have holiday lights up. And every year, I get a bit more judgmental.

However, now that Christmas is behind us, there are a few things I kind of miss. I might be willing to make a few exceptions to the “acceptable holiday window” if it meant I could find these seven things outside of December:

  1. Envelopes in my mailbox that don’t contain bills. It’s like a month of freakin’ summer camp, coming home to find real mail in there every day. Now? Back to my crappy pen pals: AmEx, Pepco and Wells Fargo. Bleh. 
  2. Pretzel Chips in holiday flavors. If you haven’t tried them, you really need to hunt down a bag of dark chocolate + peppermint bits. Two words: Holy. Shit. Actually, on second thought – HORRIBLE idea. I would need a forklift to get me off the couch if these were available year-round. (Note: Being a hoarder, I currently have four bags of these in my cupboard. Which should last me until approximately Friday.) 
  3. People helping each other out. Sure, it’s great that people tend to hop in and help out the less fortunate in December, donating Christmas meals or gifts for families or volunteering at soup kitchens. But think how powerful it would be if we acted that way all year round?
  4. Trees in our living rooms. I often think, “If aliens ever landed on Earth in December, how would we explain that a fair chunk of the population has randomly chopped down trees and dragged them into their homes?”  Anything you couldn’t explain to an alien is, well, kind of awesome. 
  5. Random airings of classic holiday movies. Basically, I’m talking about National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and Christmas Story. A random scene here and there is like comfort food. Although – what am I talking about? I don’t even own a television.
  6. Party lights! I don’t even put up a Christmas tree, but I do love my little string of white lights. In fact, I love their little glow more than that of the table lamp on the other end of my couch. Perhaps I should just adopt party lights as a year-round means of lighting my place. Oh wait. I did that in college. To accentuate my beer can pyramid. Nevermind. 
  7. Cinnamon Brooms at the door of Whole Foods. Definitely beats the smell of urine that usually greets me. Frankly, I think hanging even ONE cinnamon broom near the entrance would help.

That is all. Now pardon me as I go string my MLK Day lights. And decorate my Valentine’s Day tree.