In my life, I've known two beings with irrational toenail trimming phobias. The first was my mom. The second is our beagle Mr. C.
When I was about 10 years old, my mom started asking me to trim her toenails for her. Weird, right!?! Well, that wasn't the weirdest part. As I would trim her nails, she would grimace, grit her teeth, and suck in air, making a hissing noise as the air passed through her gritted teeth as I trimmed. I would freak out, "Did I hurt you? Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine. I just hate having my toenails trimmed!"
What!?! Seriously, someone who hates having their nails trimmed forces their young daughter into slave labor, trimming her nails. Oh yes, now I see the logic it that. Oh wait, no I don't.
Fast forward twenty years and I find myself with a beagle who freaks out whenever anyone touches his paws, especially his toenails. We've tried differently things. Sneaking up on him when he's sleeping and getting one or two nails trimmed before he starts flopping around, kicking, and nipping at us. We've tried one of us pinning him down while the other trims. But he's such a wiggly monster even that has only marginal success. The most successful method (other than taking to the vet and letting them handle it) is cornering him in the bathroom, closing the door and sitting in front of him so he can't move too much. But, then Mr. C won't step foot in the bathroom for about two months after that, although I guess that's not the worst thing since he does tend to be fairly nosey about people's activities in the bathroom.
Currently, his nails haven't been trimmed since early May and are really long. His nails are so long, that he sits and chews on them, clearly wishing they were shorter, but even that discomfort won't cause him to tolerate a little nail trim.
I think the next time my mom visits, I'll ask her to trim Mr. C's nails. It will be sort of like payback for making me trim her nails as a kid. I'm also thinking that two beings so freaked out about toenail trims might collectively be able to overcome their fears. Sort of like toenail therapy.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Quashed Squash
Occasionally, I'll hear of a court "quashing" something or other. I'm not really sure what this means or how it happens, but it makes me chuckle a little. It makes me think that the court would have preferred to "squash" it, but that didn't sound sophisticated enough so instead they decided to "quash". If I liked cooked squash better, I think I'd try to come up with a squashed squash recipe, I think I'd need to use some type of bitter squash, and call it "quashed squash" and then invite some lawyers over to eat it.
Tips for Avoiding Awkward Public Bathroom Behavior
I'm a person who typically uses public restrooms more often than the bathroom in my home, so I've complied a little list of tips of inappropriate or awkward public restroom behavior for those who may not frequent public restrooms as often as I.
Tip # 1. Do Not Make Noises of Pleasure (or Displeasure, for that Matter)
My mom is raging extrovert and likes to bring everyone in on the fun occurrences of life (and pretty much any occurrence can be a fun occurrence), stranger or not. On more than one occasion, I've been out and about with my mom and she has waited until the last minute to find a public bathroom and then needs to make an emergency potty stop. After wincing and doing the potty dance until she makes it to the stall, she'll plop onto the pot and immediately begin saying things like "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh my goodness, that feels so good!!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" in a loud pornographic-type whisper and continues the whispering for the duration of the potty stop. This is not appropriate public restroom behavior, nor would whispers of displeasure or pain be appropriate public restroom noises.
Tip #2 Once the Stall Door Closes, all Conversation Must Cease
This isn't so much of a problem at public restrooms outside of the work place (unless you're a raging extrovert) but people don't go to the bathroom to catch up on the latest happenings. They go for one reason, and its selfish and personal. The basic rule is that once the stall door closes, all communications should stop, with the exception of a request for toilet paper if one finds herself in a stall that is not adequately stalked. Most people understand this rule, but there are a few outliers in my office. Although I'm not a huge fan of the conversation between stalls when both people are on the potty, the most awkward is when one person has finished her business and is about to exit the restroom when another person walks in and starts up a conversation while marching herself into a stall and promptly closing the door. When this happens, I find myself standing awkwardly talking to stall door and waiting impatiently for the opportunity to not-too-abruptly end the conversation and make a beeline out of the bathroom but being conflicted feeling that the chatty voice behind the stall door expects me to stay and chat (in the sometimes somewhat unpleasant smelling) bathroom while she finishes. Um, no thank you!
Tip # 3. Do Not Bring Reading Material to a Public Restroom Unless it Fits in your Pocket
In my office, the mens' and womens' bathroom are next door to each other and in the middle of a hallway at least 100 feet long. The hallway is bounded on either end by high traffic routes which means the walk to and from the bathroom can feel like the walk of shame.
Most of the time when people go to the restroom in our office, they arrive and leave (thankfully) empty handed. But this week I noticed an owner of the company taking the walk of shame and enter into the mens' room with a book in his hand. Now, it is possible, that someone could enter the bathroom, book in hand, and then plan to continue on to a meeting outside of the office or to a colleague's office and not want to backtrack after the potty stop to pick up the book. But I know a legitimate work-related book when I see one and this was not it. Now, I get it that many people read books or look at magazines when doing their business in the privacy of their own home, and that's okay. But at work when you have to take the walk of shame book in hand, please forego the book, like the rest of us. The book-in-hand-potty stop really provides too much information for those around.
Tip # 1. Do Not Make Noises of Pleasure (or Displeasure, for that Matter)
My mom is raging extrovert and likes to bring everyone in on the fun occurrences of life (and pretty much any occurrence can be a fun occurrence), stranger or not. On more than one occasion, I've been out and about with my mom and she has waited until the last minute to find a public bathroom and then needs to make an emergency potty stop. After wincing and doing the potty dance until she makes it to the stall, she'll plop onto the pot and immediately begin saying things like "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh my goodness, that feels so good!!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" in a loud pornographic-type whisper and continues the whispering for the duration of the potty stop. This is not appropriate public restroom behavior, nor would whispers of displeasure or pain be appropriate public restroom noises.
Tip #2 Once the Stall Door Closes, all Conversation Must Cease
This isn't so much of a problem at public restrooms outside of the work place (unless you're a raging extrovert) but people don't go to the bathroom to catch up on the latest happenings. They go for one reason, and its selfish and personal. The basic rule is that once the stall door closes, all communications should stop, with the exception of a request for toilet paper if one finds herself in a stall that is not adequately stalked. Most people understand this rule, but there are a few outliers in my office. Although I'm not a huge fan of the conversation between stalls when both people are on the potty, the most awkward is when one person has finished her business and is about to exit the restroom when another person walks in and starts up a conversation while marching herself into a stall and promptly closing the door. When this happens, I find myself standing awkwardly talking to stall door and waiting impatiently for the opportunity to not-too-abruptly end the conversation and make a beeline out of the bathroom but being conflicted feeling that the chatty voice behind the stall door expects me to stay and chat (in the sometimes somewhat unpleasant smelling) bathroom while she finishes. Um, no thank you!
Tip # 3. Do Not Bring Reading Material to a Public Restroom Unless it Fits in your Pocket
In my office, the mens' and womens' bathroom are next door to each other and in the middle of a hallway at least 100 feet long. The hallway is bounded on either end by high traffic routes which means the walk to and from the bathroom can feel like the walk of shame.
Most of the time when people go to the restroom in our office, they arrive and leave (thankfully) empty handed. But this week I noticed an owner of the company taking the walk of shame and enter into the mens' room with a book in his hand. Now, it is possible, that someone could enter the bathroom, book in hand, and then plan to continue on to a meeting outside of the office or to a colleague's office and not want to backtrack after the potty stop to pick up the book. But I know a legitimate work-related book when I see one and this was not it. Now, I get it that many people read books or look at magazines when doing their business in the privacy of their own home, and that's okay. But at work when you have to take the walk of shame book in hand, please forego the book, like the rest of us. The book-in-hand-potty stop really provides too much information for those around.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Back in the Saddle Again
When I finished graduate school in 2005, I declared myself to be done, done, done with school forever. There would be no further tuition payments, homework assignments, reports, quizzes, or exams. That was it. I was done.
But, exceptions must sometimes be made and my ban on further schooling is no exception. Or I guess I should say is an exception. This week, I got the husband's approval, bit the bullet, pulled out my wallet, and agreed to give up some evening and potentially weekend free time and enrolled in school again. I forked over almost $100 and when I'm finished (in about six weeks), I'll have earned a certificate of completion in my first photography class.
But, exceptions must sometimes be made and my ban on further schooling is no exception. Or I guess I should say is an exception. This week, I got the husband's approval, bit the bullet, pulled out my wallet, and agreed to give up some evening and potentially weekend free time and enrolled in school again. I forked over almost $100 and when I'm finished (in about six weeks), I'll have earned a certificate of completion in my first photography class.
The Epitome of Selfishness
One of my favorite coworkers, Andi, has an office next to mine. We have about three to five "closed door" meetings per day to catch up on the latest happenings around the office. She's my go-to person for "you won't believe what just happened" stories (I suppose some would call that gossip...). She also tolerates my proclivity to predict the ultimate outcome of coworker debacles and brainstorms with me about the likely thought processes (or lack thereof) leading up to any given debacle, such as a coworker asking the President of the company if the company would buy laptops for all the professionals (apparently, company-purchased laptops is the key to increasing productivity, who knew?). In any event, Andi provides a much-needed outlet to talk through annoying situations and people, strategize solutions to "what do I do now" problems, make and add to a list titled "coworkers who don't wash their hands after using the bathroom", and audience for the rehearsal (and rehearsal) of the "okay, this is what I'm going to say to him" speech where I confront an out-of-line coworker or boss.
Whenever Andi goes on vacation (even for just a long weekend), I feel like I'm going to die…or….explode….or die from exploding. My outlet for important news and strategizing world problems is gone.
To my misfortune, Miss Andi got married last weekend and took three days of work off before the wedding and two weeks off for her honeymoon after the wedding. So selfish, right!?! I know!!!
While she's on vacation, I've considered keeping a list of all the "happenings" around the office so I can fill her in when she returns. You know, she’ll definitely want to know important things like…like….like….like....like... As it turns out, not that much interesting actually happens around here. In any event, Andi, hurry back soon from your honeymoon so I won't be so bored. And, for goodness sake, stop being so selfish!
Whenever Andi goes on vacation (even for just a long weekend), I feel like I'm going to die…or….explode….or die from exploding. My outlet for important news and strategizing world problems is gone.
To my misfortune, Miss Andi got married last weekend and took three days of work off before the wedding and two weeks off for her honeymoon after the wedding. So selfish, right!?! I know!!!
While she's on vacation, I've considered keeping a list of all the "happenings" around the office so I can fill her in when she returns. You know, she’ll definitely want to know important things like…like….like….like....like... As it turns out, not that much interesting actually happens around here. In any event, Andi, hurry back soon from your honeymoon so I won't be so bored. And, for goodness sake, stop being so selfish!
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Reagle Beagle
A few years ago my husband and I decided to adopt a six-month old beagle. We found him online through a local dog rescue organization. His pictures were irresistible. Seriously, he was the cutest puppy I've ever seen. But, the best part was that his biography said he was house broken and crate-trained and knew how to sit and shake hands. What a deal! The worst thing about puppies is the potty training.
After filling out a detailed questionnaire, we scheduled an appointment to meet Mr. Perfect and have our house checked out for suitability. As we set up the appointment, the rescue organization mentioned that if the meeting went well, they'd just leave the puppy with us at the end of the appointment. I was thrilled!
Early on a Sunday morning, at the appointed time, a woman from the rescue organization basically showed up at our house, shoved the beagle inside, wished us well, and took off. In retrospect, I think perhaps she was a little bit too eager to get rid of the little guy.
The first 30 minutes with our new puppy, he raced in full-speed circles around the living room. Eventually he slowed down....for about one minute...just long enough to take a giant dump in the middle of the living room. And then he began running again. And continued running almost constantly for the next two years, with a few breaks here and there to destroy things, bark (a terribly loud beagley bark), or attempt escape.
Countless fights with my husband (him begging to send the puppy back and me heartbroken thinking of giving the poor little guy up) and many tears later (only a few from my husband), my husband has now accepted our beagle as a part of our family, even though either my husband or I still want to kill him at least once a day. It only took two or so years to get to that point...one chewed up cell phone, one chewed up remote control, one shredded swimsuit, at least 10 shredded towels, three chewed books, 100 destroyed tennis balls, five blankets with chewed corners, one gnawed on Bible, one $2,500 tennis-ball removal surgery, 500 more accidents in our home (including a few that seemed more purposeful than accidental) and two years to get to that point. Although, I will admit that if it weren't for his irresistible adorableness, he would have been on home number 3 (or 4 or 5, for all I know) a LONG time ago!
After filling out a detailed questionnaire, we scheduled an appointment to meet Mr. Perfect and have our house checked out for suitability. As we set up the appointment, the rescue organization mentioned that if the meeting went well, they'd just leave the puppy with us at the end of the appointment. I was thrilled!
Early on a Sunday morning, at the appointed time, a woman from the rescue organization basically showed up at our house, shoved the beagle inside, wished us well, and took off. In retrospect, I think perhaps she was a little bit too eager to get rid of the little guy.
The first 30 minutes with our new puppy, he raced in full-speed circles around the living room. Eventually he slowed down....for about one minute...just long enough to take a giant dump in the middle of the living room. And then he began running again. And continued running almost constantly for the next two years, with a few breaks here and there to destroy things, bark (a terribly loud beagley bark), or attempt escape.
Countless fights with my husband (him begging to send the puppy back and me heartbroken thinking of giving the poor little guy up) and many tears later (only a few from my husband), my husband has now accepted our beagle as a part of our family, even though either my husband or I still want to kill him at least once a day. It only took two or so years to get to that point...one chewed up cell phone, one chewed up remote control, one shredded swimsuit, at least 10 shredded towels, three chewed books, 100 destroyed tennis balls, five blankets with chewed corners, one gnawed on Bible, one $2,500 tennis-ball removal surgery, 500 more accidents in our home (including a few that seemed more purposeful than accidental) and two years to get to that point. Although, I will admit that if it weren't for his irresistible adorableness, he would have been on home number 3 (or 4 or 5, for all I know) a LONG time ago!
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Sanctioned
I sanction the use of the word "sanction." If you're wondering what I mean, then I've proved my point. How is it possible that we have one word to me two entirely opposite things?
The freedictionary.com says that "sanction" "can be used to describe tacit or explicit approval" or that it "can describe disagreement and condemnation" or a "punishment for a criminal offense." Typically, when a word means two different things, the use of the word in a sentence clears up any ambiguity. For instance, we usually know when someone means "orange" the fruit instead of "orange" the color and can usually tell the difference between the words here and hear or add and ad when used in a sentence even though they are pronounced the same way.
For a word that means either "I approve" or "I disapprove." It seems like we'd be a little more careful and not risk the potential that someone would be confused with what we meant. Perhaps Iran isn't responding to the sanctions the United States is imposing because they think we're expressing explicit approval for their actions. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanctions_against_Iran
All I know is that I wish I had known about the word sanction when I was a kid. If only I had phrased my requests for parental permission as, "Hey Mom, will you sanction my request to....?" Either way she answered, I could claim that I misunderstood her answer and proceeded with the requested activity. Clearly, I missed opportunity.
The freedictionary.com says that "sanction" "can be used to describe tacit or explicit approval" or that it "can describe disagreement and condemnation" or a "punishment for a criminal offense." Typically, when a word means two different things, the use of the word in a sentence clears up any ambiguity. For instance, we usually know when someone means "orange" the fruit instead of "orange" the color and can usually tell the difference between the words here and hear or add and ad when used in a sentence even though they are pronounced the same way.
For a word that means either "I approve" or "I disapprove." It seems like we'd be a little more careful and not risk the potential that someone would be confused with what we meant. Perhaps Iran isn't responding to the sanctions the United States is imposing because they think we're expressing explicit approval for their actions. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanctions_against_Iran
All I know is that I wish I had known about the word sanction when I was a kid. If only I had phrased my requests for parental permission as, "Hey Mom, will you sanction my request to....?" Either way she answered, I could claim that I misunderstood her answer and proceeded with the requested activity. Clearly, I missed opportunity.
Potty Problems
I work in the downtown core of a decent-sized city. Like most cities of its size, there is a substantial homeless population living in and around the city. I'm usually asked "do you have a dollar?" one or two times each day, usually when I'm on my way to or from lunch. I've mastered the limited eye-contact, "I'm sorry" response because I don't want to lie and say that I don't have a dollar, but my heart still breaks every time I'm asked or walk past someone holding a sign asking for food or money.
This week, as I was walking from my building to my parking garage after work, there was a woman on the sidewalk rearranging her belongings in a filled and overflowing shopping cart. In a somewhat panicky voice she asked me, "Do you live here?" I responded that I did not. Then in an urgent and rushed voice she said through gritted teeth, "I have to go to the bathroom so bad." Unfortunately, it was after 7 p.m. and all the nearby businesses were closed and the building I work in doesn't have any public restrooms. I tried to help her figure out where she could go she decided to head to the service station a few blocks away.
This was the first time it occurred to me that homeless people have real potty problems (although I guess I should have figured that would be the case the few times I've walked into an elevator in the parking garage and the smell made it evident that someone had used it as a urinal). There are very few public restrooms available in the city and even those that are available would require someone to leave his/her shopping cart and most of his/her worldly possessions behind to use the bathroom.
Ironically, the very next morning when I was driving to work, while I was waiting for a stoplight to turn green, I noticed out of the corner of my eye what looked like a bare bottom flashing me. I looked over to see what it was, and it was in fact a bare bottom. I was an indigent man nestled bottom first against a (very) small tree relieving himself. It was a disturbing way to start the morning, but reinforced in my mind the fact that the homeless have more problems than I knew about. Not only do they have to figure out where to sleep where they won't be caught and where to get their next meal, they have to make sure they stay close enough to a bathroom at all times so as to not be caught in a lurch, bare bottom to the world.
This week, as I was walking from my building to my parking garage after work, there was a woman on the sidewalk rearranging her belongings in a filled and overflowing shopping cart. In a somewhat panicky voice she asked me, "Do you live here?" I responded that I did not. Then in an urgent and rushed voice she said through gritted teeth, "I have to go to the bathroom so bad." Unfortunately, it was after 7 p.m. and all the nearby businesses were closed and the building I work in doesn't have any public restrooms. I tried to help her figure out where she could go she decided to head to the service station a few blocks away.
This was the first time it occurred to me that homeless people have real potty problems (although I guess I should have figured that would be the case the few times I've walked into an elevator in the parking garage and the smell made it evident that someone had used it as a urinal). There are very few public restrooms available in the city and even those that are available would require someone to leave his/her shopping cart and most of his/her worldly possessions behind to use the bathroom.
Ironically, the very next morning when I was driving to work, while I was waiting for a stoplight to turn green, I noticed out of the corner of my eye what looked like a bare bottom flashing me. I looked over to see what it was, and it was in fact a bare bottom. I was an indigent man nestled bottom first against a (very) small tree relieving himself. It was a disturbing way to start the morning, but reinforced in my mind the fact that the homeless have more problems than I knew about. Not only do they have to figure out where to sleep where they won't be caught and where to get their next meal, they have to make sure they stay close enough to a bathroom at all times so as to not be caught in a lurch, bare bottom to the world.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Best and Easiest Homemade Baguette
Few things are better than fresh-from-the-oven baguette. That's why I'm so pleased to have stumbled upon King Arthur Flour's almost-no-knead baguette receipe, thanks to a recommendation from a friend. The recipe is available at
http://www.kingarthurflour.com/recipes/the-almost-no-knead-baguette-recipe
Other than making bread in a breadmaker, I'm not much of a bread maker, but I still thought this was a super easy recipe. It only takes four ingredients (flour, water, yeast, and salt). The dough can be stored in the refrigerator for up to one week and bakes up in 30-35 minutes. One recipe makes 3 or 4 decent sized loaves.
http://www.kingarthurflour.com/recipes/the-almost-no-knead-baguette-recipe
The Christmas Stalking
Every so often, I come up with an idea or a title for the book I'm going to write someday. One of the ideas that gives me a big kick is a book titled "The Christmas Stalking." Or would it be "The Christmas Stocking?" I'm not sure.
In any event, the idea doesn't have any substance behind it and it's not actually a serious idea. I don't even know what the book would be about. Perhaps a horror story that occurs near Christmastime and culminates on Christmas Eve in front of the fireplace mantel where the Christmas stockings are hung waiting to be filled. Not really my type of book at all, but it still gives me a chuckle (as long as I don't pursue the idea in too much detail), mostly because of the use of the homophone that creates such incongruous concepts.
Last week, my dreams were crushed. I learned that not everyone pronounces "stalking" like I do. In my vocabulary the words "stalking" and "stocking" are pronounced identically and rhyme with "flocking." But, as it turns out, many people around the country pronounce the two words differently, my Midwestern-grown husband included. It makes sense, really that the "l" in "stalk" should be pronounced, I've just never heard anyone do so (although really, how often does the word "stalking" come up in conversation). So I guess it's back to the drawing board.
In any event, the idea doesn't have any substance behind it and it's not actually a serious idea. I don't even know what the book would be about. Perhaps a horror story that occurs near Christmastime and culminates on Christmas Eve in front of the fireplace mantel where the Christmas stockings are hung waiting to be filled. Not really my type of book at all, but it still gives me a chuckle (as long as I don't pursue the idea in too much detail), mostly because of the use of the homophone that creates such incongruous concepts.
Last week, my dreams were crushed. I learned that not everyone pronounces "stalking" like I do. In my vocabulary the words "stalking" and "stocking" are pronounced identically and rhyme with "flocking." But, as it turns out, many people around the country pronounce the two words differently, my Midwestern-grown husband included. It makes sense, really that the "l" in "stalk" should be pronounced, I've just never heard anyone do so (although really, how often does the word "stalking" come up in conversation). So I guess it's back to the drawing board.
The Theory of Relativity...Sort of
I don't consider myself to be profound, but sometimes I'm surprised to learn that ideas that seem commonplace to me are new ideas for others. For example, recently I had a conversation with one of my colleagues (a seasoned professional who I regard highly as one of the most practical, knowledgeable, and intelligent people at my company) was intrigued and seemed impressed when I shared my theory of relativity with him.
The theory is that the reason one year seems like an eternity for a child but a short amount of time for an adult and a blink of an eye for a senior citizen is based on the relative length of the time each person has lived. For example, one year for a three-year old is 33 percent of her life lived to that point; one year for a 30-year old is 3 percent of her life lived to that point; and one year for a 80-year-old is 1.25 percent of her life lived to that point. This means that when a person says "it feels like time is flying by" to some extent, she's right. The longer she lives, the shorter one week or one month, or even one year for that matter, seems based on the total amount of time she has lived.
The theory is that the reason one year seems like an eternity for a child but a short amount of time for an adult and a blink of an eye for a senior citizen is based on the relative length of the time each person has lived. For example, one year for a three-year old is 33 percent of her life lived to that point; one year for a 30-year old is 3 percent of her life lived to that point; and one year for a 80-year-old is 1.25 percent of her life lived to that point. This means that when a person says "it feels like time is flying by" to some extent, she's right. The longer she lives, the shorter one week or one month, or even one year for that matter, seems based on the total amount of time she has lived.
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