The Friday 4: I Am My Mother's Daughter

Sure, my mom and I differ in not a few ways - her house, for example, is spotless whereas mine is, well, very spotted - but I think that's to be expected given a 30+ year age difference. She was a skirt-wearing child of the '50s after all, and I was flipping over the handles of my ten speed wearing '90s neon. 

But my mom and I do share a lot of characteristics in common, and the number of these characteristics only seems to be increasing as I age. I'm okay with that, though, b/c my mom's pretty cool, and as long as I don't start saying "foward" instead of "forward" (like she does), I'm happy to say we're pretty similar. 

4.  We've got a lot of the same eating habits/preferences. 

Neither of us is an adventurous eater. At all. I won't get involved with run-of-the-mill things like tuna or gravy; she would never touch a piece of salmon and balks at the idea of trying any Chinese food that isn't General Tso's chicken. 

We're both obsessed with flavor. Very few things are complete without gobs of sauce, dressing (no non-fat or low-cal for these ladies), or other condiments (she likes mayo way too much). And, unless we're eating out at a restaurant, we both gravitate toward snacks - as meals - rather than, well, actual meals. My mom's idea of dinner? Cheese sticks heated up in the toaster oven. My idea of dinner? Potato chips dumped in a bowl. (I'm at least civilized about it!) See the family resemblance? 

Yum yum, love that dressing 

And for everyone who thinks it's weird that I get up at 6:30 in the morning and don't eat anything until 3 or 4 in the afternoon, let me tell you, my mom takes the cake here: she usually eats her first "meal" at 7 p.m. or so. In fact, Brad mock-gasps when we see her eating while the sun is still out. 

3.  Like her, I take the word "literal" to the next level. 

A literal crown for the Literal Queen 

My mom didn't earn the nickname "Literal Claire" for nothing. 4/5 jokes must be followed with, "That was a joke."

Well, I'm in hot pursuit of her title as Literal Queen, it seems, which is funny given that I love figurative language like nobody's business. In conversations, I just can't seem to understand what people mean when it's not exactly what they say. Is it possible I'm just tired? 

Note: while Brad finds humorous my inability to see the humor in half of the headlines/articles he shows me from The Onion, I don't think that's due to my "literal-ness." I think it's just because I actually don't get what the heck they're saying. 

2.  We both jump immediately to the worst possible conclusions. 

My mother claims to be an optimist, and maybe she is an optimist, b/c to see herself as such despite the fact that she automatically leaps to the worst possible conclusion does require an immense amount of optimism. As I've said before, I'm a realist, and I'm sticking to it. But my so-called pessimism does come out from time to time . . . 

Brad laughingly recalls a recent incident that was clearly no laughing matter: 

For a few days, he'd been suffering jaw pain. Like most men (oh, yes I did!), he verbalized his agony rather frequently, so it was in my head. Then, all of a sudden one day, I called him at work in a panic and said, "You don't have meningitis, do you?!" I was truly in an uproar. Now that I'm thinking about it, I can't remember what connection I was making b/t meningitis and sore jaws (is this a common symptom?), but it seemed like a very real possibility to me at the time. Clenching during the night had actually just made his jaw sore, so it turned out to be no biggie - easy to say after the fact. 

*A notable addition to my mother's assumption of the worst, is her physical inability to sugar-coat just to make you feel better. Conversations often go more or less like this: 

Me:  My arms hurts a little. 
Mom:  Where? 
Me:  Below my shoulder. You don't think a rare, poisonous Australian bug bit me, and this pain is a precursor to my arm turning purple and falling off, do you? 
Mom (very seriously):  I sure hope not. 

1.  Supposedly (that is, so my husband says), I tell stories increasingly more and more like she does as time passes. 

This turkey has nothing at all to do with
this post, but I like him, and Brad and
I saw a turkey the other day

Am I a little digressive in my tales? Sure - but who, I ask, is not? 

Have I been known, now and again, to include every last detail about a situation in order to paint a full, proper picture? Yes - so sue me for thoroughness. 

Do I, perhaps, at times make clear that I have something very important to share and then take 10 minutes to tell the story that gets to that important point, thereby inducing feelings of stress and worry in the listener? I will not comment on this issue, beyond stating that such a claim is slanderous! Or libelous! Or whatever-ous!

Month #6, no big news

Yep, you guessed it - still just the four of us over here. Me, Brad, and the crazy cats. We're a cool bunch, no doubt, but we'd be cooler +1. Strength in numbers, and all that jazz. (Though I'm pretty sure babies aren't all that strong, I'm sticking with my strength-in-numbers claim. I'm stubborn like that.)

Powder Room Update

Things have been quiet around here (blog and house) on the powder room front recently, mainly b/c the remaining task - actually making the sink work - sucks and takes a lot of time and effort. Time and effort Brad and I haven't been willing to devote to it. 

Somehow I got it in my head tonight that I'd just "do a little bit of it," and then we'd finish it this weekend as we have planned. Let me tell you how that went: 

First, I got all wet. 

Next, me and the floor and the wall got all wet. 

Then, Brad and the floor and the wall got all wet. 

You see where this is going. We went through about 5 dishtowels and 20 paper towels. And it's still not done. Brad did manage to fix all of the leaks (except one) with his big strong man-biceps. Now the task is figuring out how to stop that "except one" . . . .

Chiropractic: Hocus Pocus or the Magic Touch?

I've been going to the chiropractor for nearly 5 weeks now, and, for the first time in my life, I'm toying with the notion that it's actually working. But don't call me a convert just yet. 

Now, I'm no newbie to the chiro scene, and a month ago, you could've said I was a little more than skeptical. Don't get me wrong - I do believe chiropractic is effective for some people. My sister swears by it; it's helped her daughter's posture, making her a better rider of horses; and Amanda gets immediate headache relief whenever she gets adjusted. Not to mention that Brad has felt a lot better since he started going. I do question, however, its effectiveness for me. 

Dr. L., my current chiropractor, is the fourth guy I've gone to since the beginning of college, and in the past I've never been more than minorly and temporarily impressed with the results. When I made my first appointment in February, I'd had a headache every day for about a week and a half. A pretty bad headache, too. Neck and shoulders so tight it felt like there were rocks under my skin. And no matter how I stretched, used heat, rubbed; no matter how much Brad rubbed and pressed on the knots in my neck, back, and at the base of my skull, this headache wouldn't go away. 

I almost never take Advil for anything other than cramps (and even then, sparingly), but I was tossing two back several times a week just to be able to sit through class and do my work at home. Call it stress (it's stress), call it too much sitting in front of the computer with incorrect posture (it's too much sitting in front of the computer with incorrect posture), call it lack of sleep (it's lack of sleep), call it drinking insufficient water (it's that, too) - call it whatever, but man, oh man, call it wicked above all else. 

So, I was definitely willing to give the chiropractor another try (fourth time's a charm, maybe?). And it certainly didn't hurt that our insurance covers it completely - no annoying co-pay. 

At first, I didn't notice any real improvement even, as Brad (who started going around the same time as me) was feeling immediate relief. I was quite jealous. 

But I said I'd give the thing three weeks before throwing up my hands and calling bullsh*t. And, at just about that time, my shoulders started to ache less and my forehead felt less acutely in pain, although the daily terrible headache did not subside. 

Not until last Thursday. My head hurt Thursday, but not in a debilitating fashion. Friday it hurt even less. Monday was the first day in a month and a half when I didn't have a headache. And I can't tell you how amazing that felt. My shoulders and upper back are loose in a way I only ever experience during the summer - that is, when I'm not stressed beyond belief. Yes, my neck is still sore a bit, esp. on the left side, but it's a huge improvement. 

Next week, Dr. L. wants me to cut back from 3 to 2 times a week. So we'll see how this goes. I'm reserving judgement for a little while longer. But, I've got to say, the results I'm currently seeing are making a pretty good case for chiropractic.

Eight (un)Important Facts about My High School Employment

This post started out as a "Random Memory," but there's just waaaaaaaaaaaaay too much preface necessary to include everything all at once. So, instead, that memory will follow tomorrow or later this week, and right now I'm going to note some things about my third "real" job (I use that term very loosely to denote things other than my baby-sitting gigs) that should take you back in time . . . b/c we've all had ridiculous jobs . . . 

(Amanda, this one's for you.) 

1.  In eleventh grade, I worked as a sales associate at a short-lived store called the Finish Line Clearance Center. As in, we sold the reject merchandise from the Finish Line. (For more on this merchandise, see #6 below.) 

2.  I applied for said job wearing ripped jeans and a belly-showing halter top. And I applied at the urging of one of the managers. 

3.  Of the 4 managers - 1 store and 3 assistant; 3 male and 1 female - at least 2 (male and female) were stealing. And that's to say nothing of the employees (4 were definite thieves; surely there were more). 

4.  Speaking of stealing, one might characterize my primary duty as "theft prevention" rather than "sales." Which means, essentially, that I stood with my back facing the wall to "protect" the various FUBU merchandise, Timberland gear, and outdated NFL jerseys from being shoved into "shoppers" bags. 

(5.  I don't even believe in irony, but is the irony of 3 + 4 not absurd?) 

6.  The main type of merchandise we had was, of course, sneakers. Sneakers that nobody had wanted when they were in the real store. And, better yet, sneakers hooked together with the plastic zip pull things they use (or used to) at K-Mart. And, even better yet, sneakers in boxes with the lids removed or cut off, boxes lined up on folding tables like the kind they have at church functions. (I did get a cute pair of Nike trail runners that I just recently threw away - 10 years later.) 

7.  Meeting Amanda was the best thing about this job, though she escaped as soon as she could find another place that would hire her unqualified self. I, on the other hand, didn't even try getting my unqualified self hired anywhere else - though it's funny to say it, I actually didn't mind working there. The employees were nothing if not characters. Frequently hungover, sometimes drunk at work, loud, goofy - and did I mention the fact that they were all thieves? Oh, right. I did. 

8.  One of the biggest characters (and, other than Amanda, by far my favorite coworker) was Angie, a 19 year old whose boyfriend was in jail for something I cannot remember. He got locked up multiple times during my Finish Line tenure, and 16-year-old me just could not believe that I knew someone who knew someone who was in jail. It seemed surreal. 

I remember sitting on the washing machine in the backroom (why in the world was there a washing machine in there?) on my first day as Angie regaled me with her boyfriend's love letters from jail that detailed all of the sordid things he wanted to do to her. These were things I'd never even heard of, and there she was, reading them aloud, proud and confident, to someone she'd known for about 35 minutes. Let's just say that this was not the type of environment in which I'd been raised. 

But it was par for the course with Angie (who, I must say, was good people, despite her rough edges). No sooner had I first walked in the door that day and made her acquaintance than the dear thing asked me a question I dare not repeat here. Instead I offer a delicately worded paraphrase: has anyone ever used his mouth on your bottom? 

I cannot express my shock at not only learning that such a thing existed but also that people actually talked about it out loud.

A (sweet-tooth) trip down memory lane . . .

(Prepare to see a lot of pictures.) 

Today on our way home from P.F. Chang's where we met Shannon and Butcher for an early dinner, Brad and I stopped at Dairy Queen. Somehow I'd gotten a craving for an old childhood snack, something I haven't thought of in years and I wasn't even sure they'd still have. Sure enough, we pull into the drive-thru and it's not on the menu. But when Brad asks, the woman affirms they do, indeed, still carry the Misty Float. 

Growing up, we called it a Mr. Misty Float. It's like a Slush Puppy (only I'm thinking DQ doesn't have that brand - ?) with soft serve in the middle. Kennywood Park has something like it called an Iceberg, which is soft serve and Icee. Also delicious, but it can't touch the blue raspberry Mr. Misty I had today. 

This one little Mr. Misty - I haven't had one in at least a decade - really sent me spinning back to childhood in the most delightful and nostalgic way. When I was young, elementary school-age, me, my mom, and one of my sisters would stop at DQ on our way here or there, and I'd always pick a Starkiss (loved those!) or a Mr. Misty. I was little and they were simple and delicious, yet more special than a regular cone. 

Memories of the Mr. Misty then call to mind the Slush Puppy machines at convenience stores, and what a treat it was to get one when my mom or dad went in to pay for gas. And, of course, thinking about convenience stores of old has me thinking about pumpkin seeds and penny candy - Swedish fish and Sour Patch Kids and flying saucers that tasted like styrofoam (and that I still love). I'd fill up a mini-paper bag of treats while my mom (who in 2011 still pays cash for her gas) stood in line. 

Thinking about penny candy (do they even sell such a thing anymore?) brings to mind the time my dad took me to S & S Candy and Cigar Company in the South Side so I could pick out big boxes of candy; it was like penny candy on coke. I can't remember everything I got, but I do remember Sour Patch Kids Watermelon and these lollipops (they're made by Swizzels Matlow), which I never see anymore and totally forgot about until about 10 minutes ago. I now desperately want to find these wonderful, chalky treats, and if anyone knows where to get these, well, my birthday's coming up . . . 

After the candy store, my dad and I walked down to the the Pretzel Shop on E. Carson St. They make homemade pretzels, as you might have guessed - salted and unsalted, cinnamon, other flavors I can't remember. After we bought some (they put the pretzels in big paper bags), my dad asked if they'd show us the brick oven they use to make the pretzels. It was big and hot and really cool; I'd never seen anything like it. 

Thinking about this 20 years later (did I really just say that? Eeks), I realize this was very likely something they did frequently, whenever someone asked. But, as an 8-year-old, this was thrilling. My dad seemed like a superman. First, he'd taken me into the city; next he'd let me have my pick of the candy store's seemingly infinite contents; now, he was showing me some super-cool oven that no one else got to see. Now that I think of it, this has got to be one of my fondest memories of childhood. My dad and I would visit the Pretzel Shop every now and again in the ensuing years, and when Brad and I began dating, we'd often stop to pick up some pretzels on our way out of the city to my parents' house. That little shop has remained special to me for all of these years. 

There's obviously something about food that brings people together. Just look at the big Italian families with the big spreads across their tables and dining rooms filled with laughter. Simple memories like these above are really the sweetest things. They're just the kind of memories I want to make with Brad and kids of my own.

The Friday 4: Premature "Cancellations"

I'm being creative in my use of the term "cancellations" here, but it fits well enough. 

4.  Car:  Pontiac Bonneville 

Brad's looked just like this 

It's just sad that this car doesn't exist anymore (the same can be said about the whole brand). Good, old, American comfort. (Says the person who drives a Honda. But still.) I miss seeing them on the road. I also miss Brad's 2000 gold Bonneville, which he - I sigh - totaled in 2009. This, of course, is why we have the Blazer. More sighing. 

(runner-up:  Lincoln LS) 

3.  Presidential career:  Hillary Clinton

I voted for Hillary in the 2008 primaries. So did my husband. The rest of the county we were then living in, however, voted for Obama. It was a happy day for me when she accepted the Secretary of State position, but it ain't enough. I'm confident she'd be an effective, competent, and knowledgeable leader - and I'm holding out delusional hope that I'll soon have to retract this post b/c she'll be the 2012 Democratic nominee and, ultimately, our 45th president . . . I know, I know, come back to reality. I don't wanna. 

(runner-up - Bobby Kennedy) 

2.  Restauant dish:  Chili's chicken tacos 

Just seeing these saddens me 

Oh, oh, oh, I weep. Soft shells, delicious greasy sauce (what was that sauce?), chicken, lettuce, tomato, and, of couse, cheese - what's not to love? Brad and I used to split an order (plus bottomless chips and salsa) about twice a month. Until they started Menu Annihilation: the years-long process by which they replaced everything that was good and reasonable (by picky people standards) on their menu with nasty and/or tasteless and/or weird options. No more chicken tacos, no more Mushroom Jack fajitas, and they changed the recipe for the chicken Caesar salad (and the Caesar dressing). Now, we don't even bother going. 

(runner-up - Chili's chicken nachos) 

Ain't she cute? 

1.  TV show:  Veronica Mars 

I LOVE Kristen Bell. Could anybody be cuter? I think not.

Mock if you will (I did before I watched the show), but Veronica Mars is a freakin' great show. The people at the CW network were fools to cancel it. Fools! I say. Brad and I still haven't watched the third season (we only came to our senses once it was cancelled), but it's at the tip-top of the list for the summer - when we have time to watch like 6 episodes in a row and pull unreasonable and fun all-nighters. 

Veronica and Logan . . . love it! 

It's just so darn engaging. Drama, comedy, mystery, detective story - what's not to love?! Not to mention the fact that I love Logan. (What a babe!) Sure, it's completely unrealistic - no high school or college life is anything like this - but who the heck cares! People don't seem interested in shows that are like real life either (see the runner-up below), so that's not a solid strike against it. 

(runner-up - Boomtown)