Every body's waiting for the man with the bag

And I would be too, but it depends on the bag.  If it's from Anthropologie or Ann Taylor, I'm on the doorstep.  If it's from the diaper pail, it's on the doorstep.  So, what kind of bag are we really talking about here.  Does this mean he got left holding the bag?  And wasn't that supposed to be a bad thing at one time?  So, then if everyone is waiting for the man with the bag, why did they leave him holding it in the first place?  They should've just gone out, paid the waiter, or whoever it was that needs the bag, and then the waiting would be over.  See, what good is it to give someone a bag to hold, leave them there, then wait.  Go get it yourself! It'll be faster.  I hate waiting.  And, yet, it is one of life's eternal lessons that really turns into a lecture from the dark side that you wish you could just skip out of, but you already came to class, and now you're stuck listening to a lecture on patience that you've heard umpteen million times before, and it really isn't doing any good but to make you more impatient to get the lecture or lesson over with.  And even when you have learned the lesson, it still shows up, reminding you that the waiting game never ends.  You will be forever stuck in the perpetual patient zone, lessons learned or not, waiting for a man with a bag, whose bag it is or what is in it we don't really know, unless we take it.  But this bag scenario, the man with it anyway, he's really just a hypothetical type, who in reality has already left us, waiting, (while he is happily in fiction-ville), to decide what goes in the bag, then acquire the contents of the bag, then distribute the contents to the rightful recipients.  Talk about delegation.  Good plan.  And we take that delegated role, year after year, and happy to do it (myself included), and perpetuate the wait over and over again.   And since I really did all the work, why does the man with the bag get all the credit? Oh wait, (I hate waiting), looks like we really got left holding the bag. 

I break (brake) for brownies

And it shows. Right around the hip and tummy area. See, here's the issue: I brake for brownies meaning that they stop me, I would like to pause and eat one, or two or three. But then here comes the conflict. If I brake for the brownie(s), then I will end up wearing it (them) around my hips for the next 10 years. And so I have to use this horrible thing called self-denial and refuse the beautiful brownie bites in order to not break my size. Causing me heart-break. Hence, both I brake and break for brownies because of the inner conflict of wanting yet not wanting to have this lovely taste of decadence. This struggle arrests me daily. It is relentless because it doesn't stop at brownies. Anything sweet and chocolatey tempts and tries my greatest self-restraint. I confess I give in more than I should, but not more than I want. I play tug-of-war with my tastebuds constantly. And I am often losing the battle. Yet, with what is left of my broken-down will power, I rise again the next day attempting to resist this most pleasurable of tasting sensations. What a pleasant, yet trying problem to have. I am a tortured soul. I need a break.

Waxing philosophical in the front seat

well, really in the seat in front of the computer. But the thought came to me in the front seat of the car. Passenger side. Not on cell phone. No distracted driving here. Just in case you were wondering.

So, what's the philosophical part? Actually, it's tragic to mention, but all too typical due to mothering mania, I can't remember the philosophy. Besides, that word is hard to type. My fingers type it so unceremoniously! So, if you were expecting some great philsophiclllall (spelling?) insight this morning, I'm afraid I've misplaced it. Maybe you could offer one since, phyllosaughphiickallie (spelling???) speaking, I'm needing simplified spelling.

But back to the phyllahsoph...-the thought. I really did have one. Now what was it? You know when I'll remember? It's after I post this. Isn't that how it always happens? You can't remember something until after you need it. You can't find something until you ask someone for it, then just as you ask, you find it yourself.

So, for the sake of my waning memory and phillasohooey--oh you know what I mean, I will leave you with the wisest words that I never created: Use the force, Luke!

Till next time...

cheesecake

can bring world peace. I've said that for years. Think about it. A piece of Dulce de Leche Caramel Cheesecake can soften the hardest of hearts. Oh, oh, and who's the kid with the Oreo Cheesecake? Or the Cookie Dough Cheesecake? Desires for a second childhood find fulfillment there. Life is so much smoother through Chocolate Mousse cheesecake, and we'd all be richer from Godiva Chocolate Cheesecake. Maybe even choruses of "Pineapple Upside Down Cheesecake is the thing to do" to the tune of Mele Kaliki Maka or Chocolate Coconut Cream Cheesecake for the financially free feelings of tropical delights. Chocolate Tuxedo Cream Cheesecake for nights out, Mixed Berry Custard Almond Crunch Cheesecake for nights in. Tiramisu for the daring, Key Lime for the coconuts (and mix them both up), Vanilla Bean for the standards, and 6 carb original for the guilt free! Not to mention the Lemon Rasberry for summer, Chocolate Raspberry Truffle for winter. What could possibly go wrong with any of these options? Surely solutions can be found in the thoughts evoked from tasting wonder and divinity. Yes, cheesecake could very well be ambrosia. I believe that if we could all sit down and share a beautiful cheesecake, instant harmony would arise. I know it works for me.

So I believe the Cheesecake Factory owes it to the world to hand out free cheesecake in the name of world peace. And we owe it to ourselves to support the cause and serve cheesecake at all board meetings, work functions, special or unspecial events, school lunches, bah mitvahs, church dances, book clubs, hoa meetings, birthdays (those two should never be adjacent, in the name of peace, of course) and seminars. And we could finally experience a taste of world peace. But don't go to their website unless you are going to act on your impulses. Because looking at the cheesecake doesn't do anything for the cause of peace. In fact, looking only creates longing, and just as we long for cheesecake and peace, alas eyes never could lift a finger. It's only the eating, the tasting, the actual action that brings the feelings of euphoria, a willingness to collaborate, to cooperate, to hug, dance, sing choruses of kum ba ya. So don't look at their website unless you are willing to do and going to do something about world peace. Like eat. Cheesecake.

110 degrees in the truck will melt chocolate

And why am I in here? That's what I thought when I drove the hour communte from Mesa to Phoenix for about 6 months during my first pregnancy. And the truck had no ac. I had a good hour to wrestle with heat invoked dry heaving while maintaining a clutch in stop and go traffic. And that was one way. It makes me nauseaus to write about it. Sympathy pains for myself. But I had a craving one day for peanut m&m's. As I was sitting at my very grey and uninspiring cubicle, a sudden panic hit for the chocolate wonders with a very pleasant crunch. And there was no free agency left. Mission: I must obtain peanut m&m's or I shall go mad. And pursuit began. With a wrist flick, unsuspecting coins resting peacefully at the bottom of my desk drawer were suddenly clawed up for active duty, and within moments my coin-filled fist fired at at the innocent vending machine. It instantly surrendered the yellow booty bag, and I had my satiation satisfied. And it was just a small bag, maybe what 7 oz. or whatever that size was. I thought I was being entirely unrestrained and gluttonous when I ate that bag in two bites. I was ravenous. But it worked and I craved no more that day. I had no real idea what real craving was, until I had two children. Then I realized that severe cravings come after pregnancy. One day -two children later- I ate an entire family size bag of the candy endorphins by myself. And that day, I earned it. But this day, I'm paying for it with 20 lbs that refuse to leave me alone. Yes, I have a food storage. It's on the middle shelf right under the rib cage. Okay, maybe not food storage, but definitely left overs.

Lesson: leaving yourself unsatisfied only causes binging. But unrestraint inevitably brings remorse. You must fill yourself with good things so there is no craving for the bad.

It's been a long August

Busy, but well worth the effort. With school begun and routines in check, I'm back. Full of interruptions and ideas. And while we're on the interruptions idea, that's what my afternoon was sparkled with. Little ideas that interrupt regular routines that require immediate action. So that's what I did. I interrupted my layer 1 (dishes) with a sparkling new thought of a song. I haven't written a song since college. I've tried, but the right brain connection is often unhooked since the left brain is in such strong demand. And if the right brain ever does get hooked back on the train, there's static and stones on the tracks. Dizzying thoughts, yes? Or just more static electricity that needs good channelling, really. And no, this does not follow normal trains of thoughts, if you are asking yourself why you are reading this and if it should make sense. It makes sense to me on my train of thought, but my stream of consciousness thought train often derails and lands just there, in the stream. It feels great to get all refreshed from the dip, though. So, could I offer you a lift?

I love Target.

I could be a spokesperson for that company. And I should make a commission. I just got back and had to brag to my dh about my "fabuless" purchases of 50% off eyeshadow, flashlights, and bungee cords. What's the thrill here? Why the high? Seriously, I come home from shopping and feel so useful, like I've accomplished something. Probably because I have. I can have my need to accomplish something gratified by purchasing 32 bars of soap (bulk pack-zest energize scent-smells so clean). I feel purposeful and useful because I have solved a need for my home. Instant gratification. And I need this instant gratification of accomplishment because that sense of accomplishment is not so instant when I am maintaining the status quo on the home front. At home, I work in layers. My responsibilities stack on top of each other, and I must do layer 1 in order to even attempt layer 2 and so on. I am lucky to reach layer #1 (dishes and laundry) on any given day. Layers 2, 3, & 4 (mopping, dusting, showering, shampooing carpets, cleaning windows, lunch, the laundry list goes on, but I shall spare you) lay dormant, aching for acknowledgement and attention. No wonder women like to shop so much. It satisfies the inate desire of being useful, the "look what I did" urge, and satisfies it quickly. Hence, the rise of the shopping gene. I was born that way. I, therefore, find no shame in shopping, even at the risk of offending the men we love and serve. I have a proud heritage and image to maintain. I shall not wax lackadaisical. I will hold my head high, though my arms drag with bags. My sense of accomplishment rests in a bottle of Mountain Rain Purex. Ahh, smell the satisfaction.

so there i was

when all of a sudden, out of nowhere...
Again, another random comment that has nothing to do with the post. This, of course, is in keeping with the tradition I've begun of writing titles that really don't relate to the subject at all. This, then, requires that you read the entire post to catch the entire meaning. This, of course, is what you want to do, since all of my (two) random posts are of the utmost relevance to normalcy of living. But this, the normalcy thing, will no doubt provide hours of endless subjects to post upon since so many things are normal and all normal things, including myself, love words, good words, said about them. They, nor I won't mind a bit that I blog on and on. You, dear reader, I hope, will add to the lovely words being said about normal things.

Today's normal subject: Oh, you can't really expect me to be so plain and predictable as to actually type it out. Where is the mystery in that? Normalcy--yes, mystery--missing. The search for the meaning in my words could cause critics to go crazy in hopes of finding double meanings or hidden messages in my writing (which, if you look long and hard enough, will find), thinking they will answer the antiquated, overrated, underestimated, often promulgated secret of life. When, or if, they find it in these words, (which if they look long and hard enough, could find), it will merely accentuate the beauty and mystery in normalcy, the joy of normal living, where all good things, good words, good works, good manners, good books, good looks, good cooks, good, honest people really do exist, but often go unnoticed, being nestled in plain and predictable patterns of meaningful living.

Dare I divulge the location of such normal, interesting people? Or has the curiousity peaked and you have begun your own search to find such relics and sages as normal people. Such a search leads to great discovery hiding under the name of "normal." We know that each person is fighting a hard battle, and each of us has something "normal" that adds authenticity, variation, and interest to our plain and predictable lives. So, there we are, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, we, the normal, endless subject providing normal people, just might have discovered the secret of life. To our swords! No, Better yet, to our words!

the cat: day 751

The title on this blog really has nothing to do with my day. I just remember it from a humorous door mat that began that way and I immediately thought of Bernie, a fat grey grumpy cat who was respected by the neighborhood pet community and left alone.

I on the other hand, am a not a fat grey grumpy cat, and I prefer to be alone only on rare occasions. Most of the time, company delights me, good company, and I am satisfied with that.

I don't know why I started a blog. I guess I just wanted more company, good company, to make my 751 normal days more satisfying. I have always loved to write. I know I am not alone in that, too, and that is also satisfying. And I am hoping that others who like to write and like company, good company, will enjoy a blog of normal no point conversations that may bring a bit of satisfaction to other normal 751 days of other normal lives.

I find satisfaction in that.