May your stockings be full, your fruit cakes fruity and your time off enjoyed!
HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!
Friday, December 21, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
A Puff of Smoke...
Legend has it that when I was born, I popped out accompanied with a puff of smoke, top hat, magician’s cape and cane – well, the hat, cape and cane are an exaggeration, but the smoke is NOT. To this day, my mom will gladly share this story with whoever will listen, and I personally can never hear it enough – according to her, immediately after a little Stephanie tapped danced into the world, the resident physician in the delivery room suddenly had a wide, gaping stare. Not knowing whether to be offended or scared, my mom demanded to know what was going on “down there” and the physician, who continued to stare in awe, kept asking the nurses around him, “did you see that?! Did you see that?! There was a puff of smoke!” Everyone just laughed it off and assumed that perhaps this delusional doctor has accidentally received some of the delivery pain medication, but he looked my mom straight in the eye and said directly, “I swear, I saw it.”
Since then, my life, however short it has been, has been chock full of medical mysteries with the puff smoking representing my eventual need to be my own magician to make pain and physical illness disappear. It has become an ongoing joke among my friends, family and colleagues how I seem to get hit with the most random, sometimes unknown, illnesses and medical issues. Most recently this week, I was diagnosed with a very cute (note the sarcasm) case of eczema that planted itself on the back of my neck and crept its way up into my scalp. Never before have I had any type of skin condition, let alone one that will require a lifetime of attention as eczema does, but lo and behold, I will forever have to worry about “flare-ups” of this malady on the nape of neck which looks like a deranged hickey. All I can say is thank God I’ve bagged myself a man, because the continued onset of my strange ailments is definitely not an attractive mating call.
Not too long before this eczema incident, I was perched on the exact same examining table because I had the most random, gruesome looking rash on my right hand. It was this isolated patch of skin that looked far more painful that it actually was and the strangest part is that my doctor couldn’t conclude what it was or what could have caused it – and now I’m left with a permanent scar of what could potentially have been a flesh eating disease transported from an African monkey who got loose in the plant where my hand lotion is manufactured. Alas, I have been unable to confirm this theory.
And who can forget my vertigo incident during college? I woke up one morning unable to stand straight and felt like I was trapped in a snow globe that was being violently shaken with no relief in sight. I soon found myself in the ER and it was determined that I caught the “vertigo virus”, which caused crystallized masses to form on my inner ear causing my balance to be thrown off. To remedy it, I was given a horse sized shot directly into my butt check, which to this day, I can still feel the burn from, and then the ER doc proceeded to shake my head to apparently dislodge these so called “crystals”. I then half excepted him to break out incense and a voodoo dance, but unfortunately, after another minute of jostling my noggin, he then only prescribed me ultra strength motion sickness medicine and told me I would feel like I was at sea for the next week or so. Ahoy.
And then there is my sleeping disorder and this is a fun one. Ever since I was a wee one, my mom would come to wake me up for the morning to find a G-rated crime scene... pillow cases would be off pillows, sheets would be wrapped around a bed post, beloved stuffed animals were catapulted across the room and there I would lay, distorted into a pretzel position, one sock on and the other being grasped in my little hand. At first, my parents assumed I was an “active sleeper” and would jokingly ask me who I “fought” in my sleep that night; however, this was the only the beginning of what become a diagnosed condition called “parasomnia”.
After years and years of being painfully exhausted and being granted my own king size bed on vacations because my entire family was too scared to share a bed with me knowing they would endure a night of violent kicking, my parents sent me to sleep clinic where it was found that my brain doesn’t emit the proper brain waves for deep, REM sleep. Basically, my mind is always awake even when my body is not, thus I physically act out dreams which result in extreme sleep walking and talking. And here’s a fun fact: In 1981 a Scottsdale, Arizona man was accused of murdering his wife with a kitchen knife and admitted to stabbing her 26 times, but claimed he did it in his sleep. After extensive sleep tests, it was proven that the man suffered from parasomnia and was found not guilty and walked away a free man. To my boyfriend: be afraid, be very afraid.
This is just a snapshot of my random ailments and I’m sure I have something brewing as we speak, which will soon rear its ugly head during another inconvenient time in my life. However, I take each ache and pain in stride always keeping in mind that afterall, I WAS born with a “puff of smoke”, so its only obvious that I was destined to handle such mystery in my life. And the magical support of my family and friends, along with a little humor, helps me face each mystery head on with my magician’s cape, hat and cane in tow.
Since then, my life, however short it has been, has been chock full of medical mysteries with the puff smoking representing my eventual need to be my own magician to make pain and physical illness disappear. It has become an ongoing joke among my friends, family and colleagues how I seem to get hit with the most random, sometimes unknown, illnesses and medical issues. Most recently this week, I was diagnosed with a very cute (note the sarcasm) case of eczema that planted itself on the back of my neck and crept its way up into my scalp. Never before have I had any type of skin condition, let alone one that will require a lifetime of attention as eczema does, but lo and behold, I will forever have to worry about “flare-ups” of this malady on the nape of neck which looks like a deranged hickey. All I can say is thank God I’ve bagged myself a man, because the continued onset of my strange ailments is definitely not an attractive mating call.
Not too long before this eczema incident, I was perched on the exact same examining table because I had the most random, gruesome looking rash on my right hand. It was this isolated patch of skin that looked far more painful that it actually was and the strangest part is that my doctor couldn’t conclude what it was or what could have caused it – and now I’m left with a permanent scar of what could potentially have been a flesh eating disease transported from an African monkey who got loose in the plant where my hand lotion is manufactured. Alas, I have been unable to confirm this theory.
And who can forget my vertigo incident during college? I woke up one morning unable to stand straight and felt like I was trapped in a snow globe that was being violently shaken with no relief in sight. I soon found myself in the ER and it was determined that I caught the “vertigo virus”, which caused crystallized masses to form on my inner ear causing my balance to be thrown off. To remedy it, I was given a horse sized shot directly into my butt check, which to this day, I can still feel the burn from, and then the ER doc proceeded to shake my head to apparently dislodge these so called “crystals”. I then half excepted him to break out incense and a voodoo dance, but unfortunately, after another minute of jostling my noggin, he then only prescribed me ultra strength motion sickness medicine and told me I would feel like I was at sea for the next week or so. Ahoy.
And then there is my sleeping disorder and this is a fun one. Ever since I was a wee one, my mom would come to wake me up for the morning to find a G-rated crime scene... pillow cases would be off pillows, sheets would be wrapped around a bed post, beloved stuffed animals were catapulted across the room and there I would lay, distorted into a pretzel position, one sock on and the other being grasped in my little hand. At first, my parents assumed I was an “active sleeper” and would jokingly ask me who I “fought” in my sleep that night; however, this was the only the beginning of what become a diagnosed condition called “parasomnia”.
After years and years of being painfully exhausted and being granted my own king size bed on vacations because my entire family was too scared to share a bed with me knowing they would endure a night of violent kicking, my parents sent me to sleep clinic where it was found that my brain doesn’t emit the proper brain waves for deep, REM sleep. Basically, my mind is always awake even when my body is not, thus I physically act out dreams which result in extreme sleep walking and talking. And here’s a fun fact: In 1981 a Scottsdale, Arizona man was accused of murdering his wife with a kitchen knife and admitted to stabbing her 26 times, but claimed he did it in his sleep. After extensive sleep tests, it was proven that the man suffered from parasomnia and was found not guilty and walked away a free man. To my boyfriend: be afraid, be very afraid.
This is just a snapshot of my random ailments and I’m sure I have something brewing as we speak, which will soon rear its ugly head during another inconvenient time in my life. However, I take each ache and pain in stride always keeping in mind that afterall, I WAS born with a “puff of smoke”, so its only obvious that I was destined to handle such mystery in my life. And the magical support of my family and friends, along with a little humor, helps me face each mystery head on with my magician’s cape, hat and cane in tow.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
A Hair Raising Transformation
I recently gave everyone a HAIR raising surprise... you guessed it... I dyed my hair, which has created an unanticipated stir. I swear, I could have come to work naked and people would have been less shocked, so this unforeseen response to my new do has made me question why hair is such a beloved entity in our society.
Admit it, you’ve cried at least once after getting a “bad” haircut and then cried some more when your mom told you “its just HAIR”. Just hair?! To most people, hair is a treasured possession that’s power must not be underestimated. And its not just women who obsess over their tresses –hair is something universal that people of any sex, race or age have (or have had) at some point, which is why I feel a majority of people get so attached to it.
If you want to see a public display of our societies’ obsession with hair, tune into any makeover show... when the fashion victims sit in a salon chair they act as if it’s an electric chair, crying about the fact that they are going to lose 3 feet of that horse’s tail they call a hairstyle, and as the stylist begins to snip away at their mane, they scream out in pain as if a dagger is stabbing through their heart. Hair has turned into something that identifies us – “dumb blonde”, “feisty red head”, “boring brunette”, the list goes on. I even jumped on the band wagon a few years back and bought a t-shirt that proudly dispels the “myth” and declares that “Brunettes Have More Fun”.
Born a dark brunette, my personal hair fixation started in high school, when I so desperately wanted to be a blonde because apparently blondes had is SO much better. To transform my look, I turned to every hair stylists’ worst nightmare: Sun-In. I used an entire bottle in about a week followed by a regimen of squeezing lemon juice all over my head as I fried myself in the sun to develop a tan to compliment my lighter locks – not only did my skin turn red from the UV rays and smell like a burnt piece of citrus, my hair turned a brassy orange; however, being the delusional 17 year old that I was, I thought I looked HOT... my mom, on the other hand, did not agree and with senior class pictures only weeks away, I was whisked away to the salon and forced to dye my hair a boring brown. Alas, my blonde ambitions were crushed.
After that experience, I decided to leave the fate of my hair in the hands of professionals and for the past six years of my life, my hair has been on a color rollercoaster, mostly staying in the spectrum between a dirty blonde and a lighter brunette; however, a few weeks ago, I decided I was fed up with the cost of maintaining my unnatural color and even more importantly, I wanted to give my hair a break from the color abuse it has endured for years... I feel like Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest, but instead of beating my locks with a hanger, my cruelty tool of choice is a brush saturated in bleach followed by foils and extreme heat. This hurts me more than it hurts you, damaged hair.
So I went back to my natural roots, well, I smidge darker than natural, and BOY did I get a reaction, which is to be expected because one day I’m “Sunny Stephanie” and the next I’m, “Stephanie: Dark Seductress”. Some people liked it immediately, while others reacted with an “OH” paired with undertones of I’m not sure its “YOU”, when little do they know that this natural color couldn’t be more “ME”, literally. I will admit that the reaction to my apparent “hair” raising change was a little disappointing only because when you make a beauty transformation, you’re hoping for a better response – it’s like walking down the aisle on your wedding day and people saying “OH.”
But soon enough, my dry, abused hair will slowly begin to fade as it sucks up the dye faster than a Dyson in a dust storm, and I’m sure the novelty of my natural color will also begin to fade and I’ll be back to being Mommie Dearest, forcing my hair to endure the vain pain of achieving a color that was never wired in my DNA. What a vicious cycle, but as I spend years of my life changing my hair color, balding men will spend years investing in hair growth fads, gray hairs will continue to be plucked and people with an attachment to their long locks will fight off scissors with an eternal passion.
Hair is so many things to so many people – it can be a canvas, a statement, a security blanket or a burden – hair is seems to be the one thing we all have in common, so the fixation society has with it is only natural... just like my hair color.
Admit it, you’ve cried at least once after getting a “bad” haircut and then cried some more when your mom told you “its just HAIR”. Just hair?! To most people, hair is a treasured possession that’s power must not be underestimated. And its not just women who obsess over their tresses –hair is something universal that people of any sex, race or age have (or have had) at some point, which is why I feel a majority of people get so attached to it.
If you want to see a public display of our societies’ obsession with hair, tune into any makeover show... when the fashion victims sit in a salon chair they act as if it’s an electric chair, crying about the fact that they are going to lose 3 feet of that horse’s tail they call a hairstyle, and as the stylist begins to snip away at their mane, they scream out in pain as if a dagger is stabbing through their heart. Hair has turned into something that identifies us – “dumb blonde”, “feisty red head”, “boring brunette”, the list goes on. I even jumped on the band wagon a few years back and bought a t-shirt that proudly dispels the “myth” and declares that “Brunettes Have More Fun”.
Born a dark brunette, my personal hair fixation started in high school, when I so desperately wanted to be a blonde because apparently blondes had is SO much better. To transform my look, I turned to every hair stylists’ worst nightmare: Sun-In. I used an entire bottle in about a week followed by a regimen of squeezing lemon juice all over my head as I fried myself in the sun to develop a tan to compliment my lighter locks – not only did my skin turn red from the UV rays and smell like a burnt piece of citrus, my hair turned a brassy orange; however, being the delusional 17 year old that I was, I thought I looked HOT... my mom, on the other hand, did not agree and with senior class pictures only weeks away, I was whisked away to the salon and forced to dye my hair a boring brown. Alas, my blonde ambitions were crushed.
After that experience, I decided to leave the fate of my hair in the hands of professionals and for the past six years of my life, my hair has been on a color rollercoaster, mostly staying in the spectrum between a dirty blonde and a lighter brunette; however, a few weeks ago, I decided I was fed up with the cost of maintaining my unnatural color and even more importantly, I wanted to give my hair a break from the color abuse it has endured for years... I feel like Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest, but instead of beating my locks with a hanger, my cruelty tool of choice is a brush saturated in bleach followed by foils and extreme heat. This hurts me more than it hurts you, damaged hair.
So I went back to my natural roots, well, I smidge darker than natural, and BOY did I get a reaction, which is to be expected because one day I’m “Sunny Stephanie” and the next I’m, “Stephanie: Dark Seductress”. Some people liked it immediately, while others reacted with an “OH” paired with undertones of I’m not sure its “YOU”, when little do they know that this natural color couldn’t be more “ME”, literally. I will admit that the reaction to my apparent “hair” raising change was a little disappointing only because when you make a beauty transformation, you’re hoping for a better response – it’s like walking down the aisle on your wedding day and people saying “OH.”
But soon enough, my dry, abused hair will slowly begin to fade as it sucks up the dye faster than a Dyson in a dust storm, and I’m sure the novelty of my natural color will also begin to fade and I’ll be back to being Mommie Dearest, forcing my hair to endure the vain pain of achieving a color that was never wired in my DNA. What a vicious cycle, but as I spend years of my life changing my hair color, balding men will spend years investing in hair growth fads, gray hairs will continue to be plucked and people with an attachment to their long locks will fight off scissors with an eternal passion.
Hair is so many things to so many people – it can be a canvas, a statement, a security blanket or a burden – hair is seems to be the one thing we all have in common, so the fixation society has with it is only natural... just like my hair color.
Monday, December 10, 2007
The Ugly Christmas Sweater - Your Joke, Someone Else's Favorite Outfit
As the holiday season rolls on, a few of my friends have gone to “Ugly Christmas Sweater Parties”... you know, those parties that require you to put on your holiday finest, shoulder pads and all. There you stand, winter cocktail in hand, sporting a wool blend died a vibrant red and green with Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer smiling at fellow party goers who have also adorned themselves in pure holiday tackiness.
These parties always make for a good, festive laugh, but the more pictures I see of my friends wearing obnoxious, oversized Christmas sweaters (paired with equally obnoxious jingle bell accessories), I wonder what the people who SERIOUSLY wear those ugly Christmas sweaters think about the drunken mocking of their fashion sense, because to them, those sweaters aren’t ugly, they are pieces of holiday spirit embodied in the form of a turtle neck or cardigan, something to be cherished and not ridiculed.
I personally was once a proud owner of an infamous “ugly Christmas sweater” and at the time (circa 1995) I would have been considered a part of the “serious” Christmas sweater wearing population. My fashion ode to the holiday was a cardigan made of a heavy wool, died a kelly green, adorned with little bears wearing Santa hats throwing snowballs at one another, which were represented in high-tech 3D with little cotton balls glued onto the fabric. Those interactive snowballs really made the sweater - what a cutting edge look.
As I wore my Christmas sweater with pride that year, I don’t think I would have ever guessed that I would be digging for it over a decade later just to mock it. If I had grown up to be the type of person who found Christmas sweaters as an appropriate fashion statement, I think I would be down right offended by those who hosted parties poking fun at my decision to wear snowball-throwing bears in homage of the season. (Unfortunately, I recently remembered that I had willingly donated my festive sweater to charity a few years back, so although I won’t be a hit at any upcoming holiday gathering, at least I can take solace in knowing that I made someone a lot less fortunate, a lot more tacky.)
A friend of mine, who recently donned a tacky ensemble for an “Ugly Christmas Sweater Party”, showed her mom the obnoxious garb she was planning to wear and her mom’s response? “I don’t get it.” Her mom found the sweater to be “cute” and “seasonal”; however, my friend would be sporting this “cute”, “seasonal” sweater to a gathering of people intoxicated by large quantities of egg nog and peppermint Schnapps, which would only help fuel the jokes that serious ugly Christmas sweater wearers must endure behind their bright, gaudy, holiday infused backs.
I feel that those people who wear holiday sweaters are similar to those people who are keeping the mullet alive, but fortunately enough, ugly Christmas sweater wearers only fall victim to fashion during the holidays, while mullet models tend to display their allegiance to the “business in the front, party in the back” hairstyle 365 days a year. But who I am to judge?! I’m sure somewhere there is party being hosted right now by ugly Christmas sweater wearing/mullet sporting people who find my conservative tastes more bland than a wool holiday cardigan not wired with blinking lights.
So whatever you do, please wear your holiday sweaters responsibly this season and remember that what is your joke, may be someone’s favorite outfit. And to whoever is wearing my wool, snowball-throwing bear cardigan this holiday, please be as kind to it as it was to me.
These parties always make for a good, festive laugh, but the more pictures I see of my friends wearing obnoxious, oversized Christmas sweaters (paired with equally obnoxious jingle bell accessories), I wonder what the people who SERIOUSLY wear those ugly Christmas sweaters think about the drunken mocking of their fashion sense, because to them, those sweaters aren’t ugly, they are pieces of holiday spirit embodied in the form of a turtle neck or cardigan, something to be cherished and not ridiculed.
I personally was once a proud owner of an infamous “ugly Christmas sweater” and at the time (circa 1995) I would have been considered a part of the “serious” Christmas sweater wearing population. My fashion ode to the holiday was a cardigan made of a heavy wool, died a kelly green, adorned with little bears wearing Santa hats throwing snowballs at one another, which were represented in high-tech 3D with little cotton balls glued onto the fabric. Those interactive snowballs really made the sweater - what a cutting edge look.
As I wore my Christmas sweater with pride that year, I don’t think I would have ever guessed that I would be digging for it over a decade later just to mock it. If I had grown up to be the type of person who found Christmas sweaters as an appropriate fashion statement, I think I would be down right offended by those who hosted parties poking fun at my decision to wear snowball-throwing bears in homage of the season. (Unfortunately, I recently remembered that I had willingly donated my festive sweater to charity a few years back, so although I won’t be a hit at any upcoming holiday gathering, at least I can take solace in knowing that I made someone a lot less fortunate, a lot more tacky.)
A friend of mine, who recently donned a tacky ensemble for an “Ugly Christmas Sweater Party”, showed her mom the obnoxious garb she was planning to wear and her mom’s response? “I don’t get it.” Her mom found the sweater to be “cute” and “seasonal”; however, my friend would be sporting this “cute”, “seasonal” sweater to a gathering of people intoxicated by large quantities of egg nog and peppermint Schnapps, which would only help fuel the jokes that serious ugly Christmas sweater wearers must endure behind their bright, gaudy, holiday infused backs.
I feel that those people who wear holiday sweaters are similar to those people who are keeping the mullet alive, but fortunately enough, ugly Christmas sweater wearers only fall victim to fashion during the holidays, while mullet models tend to display their allegiance to the “business in the front, party in the back” hairstyle 365 days a year. But who I am to judge?! I’m sure somewhere there is party being hosted right now by ugly Christmas sweater wearing/mullet sporting people who find my conservative tastes more bland than a wool holiday cardigan not wired with blinking lights.
So whatever you do, please wear your holiday sweaters responsibly this season and remember that what is your joke, may be someone’s favorite outfit. And to whoever is wearing my wool, snowball-throwing bear cardigan this holiday, please be as kind to it as it was to me.
Friday, December 7, 2007
The Blog Must Go On!
My loyal readers and fans (all 12 of you) -
As you may have noticed, my recent posts have not been as frequent nor have they been as clever and thought provoking as past entries (okay, I know my posts aren't THAT great, but admit it, you've had some good laughs over the past couple months listening to Stejamoe speak - am I right? Am I right? Huh?).
I must confess that the past couple of weeks have been an tornado of wrapping paper, work deadlines, gift basket making, snow advisories and car issues, which have kept me from thinking about anything clever, consequently preventing me from cleverly blogging! However, adding to my whirlwind of stresses, are the constant reminders I get from you, my loyal readers and fans, that the show must go on and demand to be entertained!
So to satiate some your appetites for the weekend, I must take the easy way out and share something I received via email that gave me a good giggle. I promise I will be back in action and better than ever soon!
(My personal favorite is #6)
-------------------------------------------------------
Ten Rules for Getting Through the Holidays:
1. Avoid carrot sticks. Anyone who puts carrots on a holiday buffet table knows nothing of the Christmas spirit. In fact, if you see carrots, leave immediately. Go next door, where they're serving rum balls.
2. Drink as much eggnog as you can; and quickly. Like fine single-malt scotch, it's rare. In fact, it's even rarer than single-malt scotch. You can't find it any other time of year but now. So drink up! Who cares that it has 10,000 calories in every sip? It's not as if you're going to turn into an eggnog-aholic or something. It's a treat. Enjoy it. Have one for me. Have two. It's later than you think. It's Christmas!
3. If something comes with gravy, use it. That's the whole point of gravy. Gravy does not stand alone. Pour it on. Make a volcano out of your mashed potatoes. Fill it with gravy. Eat the volcano. Repeat.
4. As for mashed potatoes, always ask if they're made with skim milk or whole milk. If it's skim, pass. Why bother? It's like buying a sports car with an automatic transmission.
5. Do not have a snack before going to a party in an effort to control your eating. The whole point of going to a Christmas party is to eat other people's food for free. Lots of it. Hello?
6. Under no circumstances should you exercise between now and New Year's.You can do that in January when you have nothing else to do. This is the time for long naps, which you'll need after circling the buffet table while carrying a 10-pound plate of food and that vat of eggnog.
7. If you come across something really good at a buffet table, like frosted Christmas cookies in the shape and size of Santa, position yourself near them and don't budge. Have as many as you can before becoming the center of attention. They're like a beautiful pair of shoes. If you leave them behind, you're never going to see them again.
8. Same for pies. Apple. Pumpkin. Mincemeat. Have a slice of each. Or, if you don't like mincemeat, have two apples and one pumpkin. Always have three. When else do you get to have more than one dessert? Labor Day?
9. Did someone mention fruitcake? Granted, it's loaded with the mandatory celebratory calories, but avoid it at all cost. I mean, have some standards.
10. One final tip: If you don't feel terrible when you leave the party or get up from the table, you haven't been paying attention. Reread tips; start over, but hurry, January is just around the corner.
Remember this motto to live by: "Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand,eggnog in the other, body thoroughly used up,totally worn out and screaming"WOO HOO what a ride!"
As you may have noticed, my recent posts have not been as frequent nor have they been as clever and thought provoking as past entries (okay, I know my posts aren't THAT great, but admit it, you've had some good laughs over the past couple months listening to Stejamoe speak - am I right? Am I right? Huh?).
I must confess that the past couple of weeks have been an tornado of wrapping paper, work deadlines, gift basket making, snow advisories and car issues, which have kept me from thinking about anything clever, consequently preventing me from cleverly blogging! However, adding to my whirlwind of stresses, are the constant reminders I get from you, my loyal readers and fans, that the show must go on and demand to be entertained!
So to satiate some your appetites for the weekend, I must take the easy way out and share something I received via email that gave me a good giggle. I promise I will be back in action and better than ever soon!
(My personal favorite is #6)
-------------------------------------------------------
Ten Rules for Getting Through the Holidays:
1. Avoid carrot sticks. Anyone who puts carrots on a holiday buffet table knows nothing of the Christmas spirit. In fact, if you see carrots, leave immediately. Go next door, where they're serving rum balls.
2. Drink as much eggnog as you can; and quickly. Like fine single-malt scotch, it's rare. In fact, it's even rarer than single-malt scotch. You can't find it any other time of year but now. So drink up! Who cares that it has 10,000 calories in every sip? It's not as if you're going to turn into an eggnog-aholic or something. It's a treat. Enjoy it. Have one for me. Have two. It's later than you think. It's Christmas!
3. If something comes with gravy, use it. That's the whole point of gravy. Gravy does not stand alone. Pour it on. Make a volcano out of your mashed potatoes. Fill it with gravy. Eat the volcano. Repeat.
4. As for mashed potatoes, always ask if they're made with skim milk or whole milk. If it's skim, pass. Why bother? It's like buying a sports car with an automatic transmission.
5. Do not have a snack before going to a party in an effort to control your eating. The whole point of going to a Christmas party is to eat other people's food for free. Lots of it. Hello?
6. Under no circumstances should you exercise between now and New Year's.You can do that in January when you have nothing else to do. This is the time for long naps, which you'll need after circling the buffet table while carrying a 10-pound plate of food and that vat of eggnog.
7. If you come across something really good at a buffet table, like frosted Christmas cookies in the shape and size of Santa, position yourself near them and don't budge. Have as many as you can before becoming the center of attention. They're like a beautiful pair of shoes. If you leave them behind, you're never going to see them again.
8. Same for pies. Apple. Pumpkin. Mincemeat. Have a slice of each. Or, if you don't like mincemeat, have two apples and one pumpkin. Always have three. When else do you get to have more than one dessert? Labor Day?
9. Did someone mention fruitcake? Granted, it's loaded with the mandatory celebratory calories, but avoid it at all cost. I mean, have some standards.
10. One final tip: If you don't feel terrible when you leave the party or get up from the table, you haven't been paying attention. Reread tips; start over, but hurry, January is just around the corner.
Remember this motto to live by: "Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand,eggnog in the other, body thoroughly used up,totally worn out and screaming"WOO HOO what a ride!"
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
"Anyone Have $.25?"
I went to school in Madison, Wisconsin, which has to be hands down the homeless capital of the world.
(Side note: Is it just me or is that strange? I’ve grown up in the Midwest my entire life and braved my share of winter storms, but nothing and I mean NOTHING, can prepare you for the winters of Wisconsin, which seem to last unusually long. It wasn’t until I started college that I understood the purpose of sweat shirt hoods, long underwear and gloves underneath mittens, but somehow homeless individuals like to establish themselves in this town where “Flip Cup” isn’t played because its fun, it’s played because the competitive beer game keeps you warm – more or less, heavy drinking in Madison is a way of winter survival.)
Anyway, the homeless population in my college town was a staple to our campus as students always had their favorite pan handler, and looking back on things, a college town, filled with preppy, often drunk kids willing to drop crisp bills at bar time with the cajoling of their equally drunk counterparts, is a very smart place for a down-and-out individual to plant their destitute roots.
I remember my favorite Madison pan handler – we called him “Anyone Have $.25 Guy”. He was a portly gentleman, about 5 feet 5 inches, who always wore baseball-like pants with knee socks. He would roam campus holding a brief case completely covered in black duct tape and would only say one phrase, “anyone have $.25?”. I personally liked him because he was no nonsense – first, he was only asking for a modest $.25 while others would corner you for 5 bucks and second, he gave no sob story and no excuses, he just laid it out there, asking for a quarter – take it or leave it.
About four years ago, right about this time of year, some close friends and I, who all had penchant for “Anyone Have $.25 Guy”, took a Styrofoam cup and filled it up with all the spare change we could find to give to our beloved campus pan handler. We dug up about 8 bucks in change, and wanted to deliver the holiday surprise before heading home for Winter break.
As we combed the streets searching for our baseball pant wearing street dweller, we saw him through a window at Pizza Hut counting pennies on the counter as an impatient employee rolled his eyes in disgust. And then, just like the Fantastic Four, my friends and I swooped into Pizza Hut, slammed the change filled cup on the counter and said, “Merry Christmas - this meal is on us!” (Actually, if I remember correctly, we were all a little unsettled by the fact that we spent about 30 minutes stalking a homeless man, so I think we just set down the cup and ran. Either way, we made our delivery, and “Anyone Have $.25 Guy” had a hot meal that night.)
And get this... the next day, we saw him standing in his usual spot, pizza stains on his shirt, asking, “Anyone have 8 bucks of change?” Just Kidding! Wouldn’t that be funny though?
I write about this memory because a) I just think it’s funny envisioning 4 college girls searching the streets of Madison for a homeless man, and b) as the winter weather hovers over the Midwest ready to pounce with frigid temperatures and buckets of snow, it’s always nice to remember how lucky you are to have a roof over your head, and although you most likely do not want to support the lifestyle of those who make the street their home, remember that during this season it can’t hurt to give someone in need just a modest $.25.
(Side note: Is it just me or is that strange? I’ve grown up in the Midwest my entire life and braved my share of winter storms, but nothing and I mean NOTHING, can prepare you for the winters of Wisconsin, which seem to last unusually long. It wasn’t until I started college that I understood the purpose of sweat shirt hoods, long underwear and gloves underneath mittens, but somehow homeless individuals like to establish themselves in this town where “Flip Cup” isn’t played because its fun, it’s played because the competitive beer game keeps you warm – more or less, heavy drinking in Madison is a way of winter survival.)
Anyway, the homeless population in my college town was a staple to our campus as students always had their favorite pan handler, and looking back on things, a college town, filled with preppy, often drunk kids willing to drop crisp bills at bar time with the cajoling of their equally drunk counterparts, is a very smart place for a down-and-out individual to plant their destitute roots.
I remember my favorite Madison pan handler – we called him “Anyone Have $.25 Guy”. He was a portly gentleman, about 5 feet 5 inches, who always wore baseball-like pants with knee socks. He would roam campus holding a brief case completely covered in black duct tape and would only say one phrase, “anyone have $.25?”. I personally liked him because he was no nonsense – first, he was only asking for a modest $.25 while others would corner you for 5 bucks and second, he gave no sob story and no excuses, he just laid it out there, asking for a quarter – take it or leave it.
About four years ago, right about this time of year, some close friends and I, who all had penchant for “Anyone Have $.25 Guy”, took a Styrofoam cup and filled it up with all the spare change we could find to give to our beloved campus pan handler. We dug up about 8 bucks in change, and wanted to deliver the holiday surprise before heading home for Winter break.
As we combed the streets searching for our baseball pant wearing street dweller, we saw him through a window at Pizza Hut counting pennies on the counter as an impatient employee rolled his eyes in disgust. And then, just like the Fantastic Four, my friends and I swooped into Pizza Hut, slammed the change filled cup on the counter and said, “Merry Christmas - this meal is on us!” (Actually, if I remember correctly, we were all a little unsettled by the fact that we spent about 30 minutes stalking a homeless man, so I think we just set down the cup and ran. Either way, we made our delivery, and “Anyone Have $.25 Guy” had a hot meal that night.)
And get this... the next day, we saw him standing in his usual spot, pizza stains on his shirt, asking, “Anyone have 8 bucks of change?” Just Kidding! Wouldn’t that be funny though?
I write about this memory because a) I just think it’s funny envisioning 4 college girls searching the streets of Madison for a homeless man, and b) as the winter weather hovers over the Midwest ready to pounce with frigid temperatures and buckets of snow, it’s always nice to remember how lucky you are to have a roof over your head, and although you most likely do not want to support the lifestyle of those who make the street their home, remember that during this season it can’t hurt to give someone in need just a modest $.25.
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