Happy Little Trees

Help! With every commercial and drop in my mailbox, I feel more pressure to buy! I've already bought a car, but I guess I might better buy another to help the econony. And I better buy lots of Old Navy sweaters while I'm at it.

I bet the automakers are using that bailout money to pay for more commercial airtime:

"I really think that the talking VW bug on the mic is going to encourage more buyers. It reminds them of Herbie the Lovebug, and before you know it, wham-o! We sold another one! German engineering saves America!"

Of course poor GM doesn't have such cool commercials. The best commercials for GM are those that make you feel more American. And it's easier to feel American in the summer (you know, 4th of July, picnics, outdoor sports, rugged outdoor adventures)--so I think sales will slow down.

I do believe that it's true that puppies and babies are the best form of advertising. Put babies and puppies on anything and it's sold.

I've been addicted to weeks now to the website with the little Shiba Inu puppies. I did turn it off when they had a poop fest, but it was hard not to watch them--even when they were sleeping.

I didn't mean to start the day out cranky.

While on a work conference call, I thought I'd check on my home internet status that I recently got through the Big Brother phone company, and I discovered that it wasn't working. So, I tried some self-troubleshooting techniques and came up with no results. Then, I called the helpline.

I gave out my phone number to two different automated voices, and then was told to wait because all representatives were currently assisting other customers. When I did get a representative, she wanted to know my phone number. I told her, and then waited while she had me perform the same troubleshooting techniques I had already performed, but I went ahead and did it all again.

Then, she gave me an alpha-numeric ticket number that has about 20 characters and might also double for the secret code to start the space shuttle. She said that if the automated number did not call me back within 24 hours, that I need to call the hotline number again.

When I got to work, I got a call on my cell phone from the automated line. Then, the automated line told me, "Thanks for calling. All our representatives are currently assisting other customers. Please stay on the line. The next available representatives will be available in ___ minutes." That puzzled me. Didn't the line call me, and then they put me on hold in automated land? To quote the Olsen twins back in their diaper days--how rude! I almost wished I had picked numero dos so I could have been listening to the automated voice en espagnol for a little variety. But I waited.

Finally, after about 12 minutes, I got a real life rep on the other line. The representative wanted to know my telephone number. I told her I didn't have my DSL number, so she said I would need to call again later. She was going to hang up when I said, "Wait! This line called me, and can't you look up my phone number?" Amazingly, she did have that highly technical ability. She told me that a representative might be calling me by tomorrow, or maybe Monday they would come to my house. I explained to her that the last time I was told a tech would visit my house, they never showed. She said that this time they would call beforehand.

It all seems like such a game. We all know that the only way the DSL line will ever work again is if someone flips up the Griswald family breaker switch in the garage. This whole game of "Call this number, wait three days inside with no food by the phone, and we might call you" is not fun. And the whole cover of "our rep will call before they visit" doesn't make sense either. Why the empty promises? Just tell me the truth which might be something like this:

"Listen, lady. We have no idea what is wrong with your DSL. I am going to finish my game of solitaire and tidy up my online chat and eBay bid, and then I am going to give you a code. It's okay if you lose it, because we'll lose it, too. There are so many people that work for this company, that even though are business is communication, we have no way to communicate with each other. Also, our company has a lot of money so you as one customer have just about as much worth to us as a squirrel on one of our telephone wires. And also we have no control over our techs. We don't know where they are either. We think maybe there at home, or sitting at a Denny's. We don't know. Best case scenario, you'll need to call us about 5 more times and be on hold for at least 3 more hours before this is solved. While you're on hold, just keep visualing Tron because that's how we transmit our automated voices. It helps pass the time. Good luck."

[The statement above is not a real portrayal and is used for entertainment purposes only.]

I ate some really good Asian food yesterday. My friend, Linda, has family members in the restaurant biz, and her sister has a new restaurant in the Galleria. We ate there for a meeting with some friends from church and gorged on dumplings and rice and steak and pad thai.

I did my very best to be respectful and not eat every one of the dumplings we all shared at the table. It took major self-control. A bible verse about being in the presence of a king and eating too much kept running through my head...but I couldn't remember the exact order of the words or the context, but I knew it meant something about not eating more than everyone else at the table, or it would be better to cut off your hand or something.

Even the thought of my bloody hand at the table did not make those dumplings any less desirable. Over and over, I kept picking up my chopsticks, and then slowly kept sitting them back down as my mind wrestled.

In the end, I actually left a few. And I even left bites of dessert. Of course, those dumplings that got thrown away and the bits of chocolate wonderfulness we didn't eat still haunt me today, but I know that there will be more dumplings in my future. And the less dumplings I eat, the less I become a dumpling.

I confess that I put my makeup on while I drive. I have learned (the hard way) not to put on mascara or eyeliner unless I am at a complete stop. When looking for cars, I tried not to secretly wish that my new car would come with a vanity table and special holders for all my makeup tools. I have found out that several other ladies I know are also makeup artist drivers. I have tried to break myself from the not-so-safe habit, but it does save time on busy mornings, and if I have a wreck, at least I will have my makeup on in the ambulance.

The other morning I was thinking about my unsafe makeup application habit, when I happened to glance over at a car next to me. The male driver beside me was brushing his teeth while waiting at the light. I don't want to know the details of how he accomplished that task, but I found it fascniating. Then, later on in the day, I casually passed a Honda Civic in a parking lot, and realized that there was an electric shaver in the console. So apparently, it's not just women who get ready in their cars. For some reason, I find comfort and acceptance of my habit in this realization.

Now if I could just figure out how to shave my legs during traffic...maybe I could borrow that electric razor...

I don't know if this happens to you, but I frequently get, "You look just like _____ from that show _______."

How often I wish that those blanks could be filled with words like Blake Lively and Gossip Girl or even Vanna White and Wheel of Forture ...but my life lives out another type of fate.

Pictured below are my lookalikes per the public:
Half-Pint

Superstar

The One on the Right

My office is having a Thanksgiving Potluck on Friday. I am supposed to bring a sidedish. I am a bit nervous about my cooking abilities. I can make some pretty good Tex-Mex dishes, but that's basically just tortillas and cheese and involves the complicated cooking technique called "melting."

As a single lady, my cooking abilities aren't tested very often. I don't have a testing team (honey and the kids) who can complain about what tastes good and what tastes bad. I could experiment on my friends, but who wants to waste valuable dinner time with experiments when we could be hitting the sushi place?

I had hopes last year of cooking one new dish a month, but I wasn't too successful. Maybe I'll take some classes this year, so I can bring a souffle next year instead of OreIda fries.

I brought my own cup to Starbucks today. I thought it would give me a 25 cent discount, but the discount was just 10 cents. And I ordered a tall (12oz), but my drink was filled to the brim in my container (16oz). Maybe there is a benefit!

Also, I have a confession. The cup wasn't really my own. It actually belongs to a friend, and I've had it for over a year trying to return it to her. I guess today marked the day when I stake claim on the cup. I felt a little guilty about drinking out of it. But it is a really cute cup.

My co-worker decided that it might be easier for her to work from our downtown office. I miss her today. And I'm pretty sad that she's thinking about leaving our little work family.

I caught myself singing a song, and I think it was a heart cry of my subconscious trying to understand what was going on. Please click on this link for the song experience.

I got a haircut Saturday, and I haven't washed it yet. I had a conditioning treatment, and I was told to wait as long as possible to wash it, and now I think I'm just lazy. The cut has lots of layers and was cut to be worn straight. I have no idea what will happen when the water hits. I like the cut, but sometimes I have moments where I feel like this with all the layers:

And at other times, the hair starts getting a life of its own and can appear like this:

Tomorrow, I'm getting my haircut. With my new hairdresser, I just sit in the chair and let him work the magic. It's nice not having to figure out what I want it to look like. Sometimes I give him some basic guidelines, but I trust his opinion.

I think years of watching TLC What Not to Wear has helped me to be more trusting in other's opinion of ways to wear my hair. It's always frustrating to me to meet someone that is stuck in a hair rut, and refuses to cut the cord of their crimping iron for a new look.

Last weekend, I noticed a mother/daughter team that both had the same bad hair. It was severely bleached with 2-3 inch black roots. The ends appeared to be fried, and the hair was hanging with no life (I realize all hair is dead--but this hair was dead-dead). This duo with blonde ambition could have looked so much lovlier with a little touching up. They were both attractive women--they just had bad hair.

Sometimes, I almost have visions of starting a non-profit to help ladies with bad hair. I don't mean to sound all high-and-mighty like I have perfect hair, but I've just noticed that we ALL go through difficult hair transition times--especially through decade changes. --and when dyeing (or lack of it) is tied in to the mix, the results can be very scary.

I think I can hear the subtle click-click-click of the Holiday rollercoaster starting to take me up the hill. And I definitely feel the anticipation stirring in my belly. Now the question is, do I raise my hands and enjoy the ride? Or do I grip the safety bar and hang on for dear life?

If George Bush changed the spelling of his name to Busch, American's might stop giving him such a hard time.

Why do more people rock the vote for American Idol than President?

I felt a little cheated when even an episode of a boring lawyer show on ABC was pushing me to vote for Obama--or I'd be uncool.

The post-election process might go better if someone was elected Miss/Mr. Congeniality.

The main thing I have learned about this historical/hysterical election through the web is that our country is still both racist and sexist. No opinion poll needed.

One vote doesn't count quite as much as two.