Teasers of Thoughts Long Gone

Over the past few days I've started (and scrapped) multiple blog entries. My mind has been racing with just about a ba-zillion thoughts. Here are the Cliff's Notes from deleted entries:

I just finished a great biography about Howard Hughes.
Last Wednesday I appeared as "Guest Chef" of the City TV 10 show, Best of the STL.
Labor unions smack of Communism to me on many levels. I'm not judging Communism.
In my next life, I want Julia Smillie's sense of humor.
The gas grill in my back yard damned near blew my face off due to operator(my)error.
Will Ferrell is a comic genius.

Not riveting, not inspiring. Perhaps I'll get back to a few of those and expound some day.

Work Aesthetic Ethic

When I was a teenager, my first job was at a chain restaurant called Baker's Square as a seating hostess. I was terribly excited to get out into the working world at sixteen and felt so grown up to be employed.

I took on as many extra tasks as my shift supervisor would give me. I was determined to prove myself indispensible and if that meant I had to portion butter cups, dammit I was gonna do it. After one month of uniform wearing, employee meal pricing and grunt work, it was time for my "formal review."

The shift supervisor and general manager sat me in a booth as I beamed with pride, ready to receive my accolades. The manager spoke directly to my supervisor. "What do you think of Shannon's appearance?" What? Her reply was, "Well, her hair needs to be tied back tighter and sometimes her shirt is untucked." I was instructed to pay more attention to my grooming and dress...and that was all. End of meeting. My first job and the lesson learned was that being cute was more important that being competent.

So I'd like to give a shout out to those two catty, rude, insensitive wenches, wherever they are. I remember you, twenty years later. I remember you making me feel stupid, worthless and ugly. I remember you ignoring my effort. Hopefully, you're languishing in unappreciated positions and you've gained fifty or more pounds.
And finally, f you.

Really Minimalist Living

For years I've hated my living room furniture. It was passed along from someone else who also hated it. (Read: used.) Although it provided adequate seating, it was a hideous, teal/peach/pink, 1980's Florida hotel-type, plaid affair. Over the three years I had custody of it,despite vacuumming, the loveseat and couch accumulated more total pet hair than is actually on both of my dogs.

A couple of weeks ago, my significant other learned of a newly divorced person who desperately needed a couch. With mixed feelings, I sent both pieces off to their new home, accompanied by my lone coffee table. Now, we have no furniture. Not one place to sit down in the living room. I did manage to keep an old end table for my keys and sunglasses, but that is all.

In retrospect, I realize that this was, shall we say, a little hasty. Why? Because St. Louis does not have an IKEA store. And IKEA is truly the only place where I loved the furniture lines unconditionally. So now we must live, sans sofa, until I can accumulate not only enough green to purchase all new furniture but also enough to rent a huge truck, drive to Chicago, spend the day shopping, crash for some sleep and get it all home safely.

Boys and girls, this is what is known as "poor planning."

No Granny Panties

I've been going to the YMCA. I figure as a middle-aged, overweight smoker, I should make some, miniscule effort to live past 40. There are a lot of different people at the SoCo Y. All shapes and sizes and I admire anyone who actually gets off their big hump and hauls it to the pool or gym once in a while.

A few days ago, I was working on a machine located behind the steppers. An older, but very fit woman trotted up and on to the step machine directly in front of me. We've all seen women like this; heels dug in as they approach a certain age, bleached hair circa 1991, platinum membership at the Tan Company. They generally wear excessive jewelry and emulate their college aged daughters' fashion leanings.

This particular woman was wearing a tank top and coordinating shorts. Bright orange shorts. Shorts that, at first glance appeared to have been airbrushed on. I found it only a little pathetic until I noticed her thong underwear visible through and above the shorts. Butt floss! On that old woman! At the gym! It was really gross. Then, of course, I felt like some sort of creep for actually looking at her butt at all. But, I did and there it was. A Golden Ager sporting a t-bar.

There are some things I just don't want to know. Old lady underwear (particularly if they are wearing g-strings) is one of them. Anyone else's underwear is the other.

Crime, No Punishment

Original post deleted on 8/15/05 at 12:05 AM.

Changed my mind on this one, I did. Blogger's regret. It's kind of like buyer's remorse, only not.

I'll have something lighter spirited up soon.

Vanilla Mice Mice, Baby

My daughter, the champion of all lost causes, found three orphaned mice the other day. Said mice are no longer than my pinkie finger from nose to end of tail and have neither opened eyes or ears, yet. She has made these mice her mission in life.

Bless the world wide web, we know to feed them KMR (that's kitten milk replacement, to you) every two hours. Yes. That is correct. She feeds them every two hours with an eye dropper. We also know to stimulate their elimination by gently rubbing their little mousy genitals-as disturbing as that may be. Two nights ago, I was awakened by a burning, chemical smell. I learned in the morning that my dear daughter attempted at 2:30 AM to create a warming incubator by placing the mouse home (a plastic bucket) over her reading lamp. It warmed, all right. Warmed to burning a hole through the blasted thing. Note to PETA and ASPCA: No mice were injured during this event.

Sadly, they are not thriving. The littlest mouse died today and I'm brushing up on hymns for the other two. If my kid doesn't get some sleep and eat pretty soon, I suspect she'll be next. That is, if the Hanta virus doesn't get my entire family first.

Loss is hard, especially for kids, so I'm somewhat sad about the whole situation. And...they're cute little, disease carrying vectors.