Gotta Love High School

Ah, high school. That iconic time when emotions make our decisions for us and even the smallest things hold astronomical weight in our world. It was a time when we really believed in things, no matter how inconsequential they may have really been. Our label was everything; where we fit into the crowd and how that shaped who we were and who we would become. In honor of high school, and of the 80s, this is one of my favorite clips from one of my favorite movies. Just see if it doesn't get to you a little.

Dead Ant, Dead Ant

I have a love-hate relationship with throwing things away. When it comes to "stuff", like knickknacks and things I thought I might use someday, I can't wait to dispose of them. Things like bananas, on the other hand, they are far beyond the banana bread stage and working themselves right up to science experiment before I am willing to part with them. This is similar with my cough drops.

I am a fan of Ricola cough drops. Not because they work, but because they taste good. While it takes about 20 Ricolas to do the work of one Halls, I would take the lemony, herby, non-numbing goodness of a Ricola any day.

Several years ago while I was living in an ostrich egg incubating shed that had been converted into a living quarters, my Ricolas were invaded by marauding sugar ants. Apparently I have not had a cough in several years because when I developed one of late, I turned to these previously ant-infested cough drops. Like I said, I cannot throw things away. And what harm is a sugar ant, really?

So I open each cough drop, testing it for how badly it has been eaten. If it's not so bad, and only has one ant or two on it, I brush it off and enjoy it's lemony, herby goodness. I rest in the solace of knowing that once I get through this ant filled bag of drops, new, insect-free drops are on the horizon.

Gettin' Jiggly Wi' It

Arm flab. This is the one aspect of not being in my 20s anymore that I have not fully come to terms with. I have decided that the gray hairs give my hair some sparkly highlights and some kick that it would not otherwise have. The dimply cellulite on my backside and thighs can just be ignored because hey, it's on the back. The vertical lines running up and down my right cheek when I get of bed in the morning, well, I just don't look in a mirror as closely or too often. Because laugh lines are not just for laughing anymore. And I have decided that the sun damage to my face gives me kind of an earthy look. Or maybe people just think my face is dirty all the time.

I think I take it all in stride for the most part. But not with arm flab. For one thing, why, of all places, is there flab on my arms? I get the stomach, the backside, the thighs, the double chin. But the upper arms seem obscure to me. Furthermore, it is impossible for me to ignore this flabby inundation. I can cover  it. I can not look at it. But I can't deny it.

Like when I am peppering my food. I like pepper. I figure the more pepper, the better, but everything has its limits. Even pepper. So there I am, peppering away, and my flab is jiggling. Then I think, well that's an odd sensation, so I pepper some more, just to try to figure out what is going on with the backs of my arms. Before I know it, the food is over peppered. And this is all because of arm flab.

Arm flab can cause you to overdo other things too. Vigorously shaking someone's hand for instance. Or waving at people on the streets. Before I know it, I am going to be known for having spastic arms. Maybe that's cool though. I'm not in my 20s anymore, and its about time I adopt some idiosyncratic quirk of the aging.

Hey Baby, What's Your Sign?

My friend Andrea has been hit with a barrage of bizarre pickup lines lately. Among them: "Nice braces", smoothly crooned to her by the gas station attendant loitering outside her car window while waiting for the gas to pump. After a list of getting to know you questions, he expertly whipped out a pad of paper and a pen (presumably which he owns for this precise purpose), writing down his name and number so she could "call him sometime" and they could "go out for coffee." Unfortunately for him, Andrea does not drink coffee. Apparently this gas station dude should add "do you drink coffee?" to his question repertoire. Another great line was "If you want", spoken to Andrea by a fellow college student as he dropped a note down on the table in front of her. "If I want what?" she asked, breaking out of her reverie of study to blink up at this guy she had never spoken to before. "Well, read it," he tells her, gesturing to the note. Same scenario. A note with his name and number and the proposed coffee date. Another, much older classmate has been using creepy emails as a way to vie for Andrea's attention. And a young and clueless lad felt that spilling his entire life story in the grocery store parking lot and then asking for a hug was a surefire way into Andrea's heart. 

Here is Andrea, looking like a model on the ski slopes, so I can't blame these poor boys. And it's not like I'm a huge Emily Post fan or anything, but what ever happened to some etiquette? I'm pretty sure "nice braces" does not fall under the 10 most popular conversation starters in anyone's book. I guess I gotta give the guys credit for trying though.

The Bread Box

I have noticed a trend of edible options out on the streets: various types of breads. Lewis has inhaled pizza crusts, bread sticks, crutons, bagettes, garlic bread, french bread, bread slices, bread crumbs, saltines, goldfish, rolls, muffins, cupcakes, cakes slices, croissants, and the list goes on. Why do people throw these bits of bread out onto the streets? Never before have I been walking down a city street, eating a muffin, and decided, "I don't want this muffin anymore, I'm just going to drop it on the street." Never have I been driving down the road, eating a slice of pizza and tossed an unwanted crust out the window. Never before have I eaten half a handful of goldfish and dropped the rest on the sidewalk. I must meet these bread-discarding marauders. I must understand their motives. My rotator cuff is getting sore from hauling Lewis away from snacks on the street. Perhaps we can come to some understanding. Can they not save the muffin half for later? Share it with a friend perhaps? Cut the crust off the pizza before they snack on it while taking a walk? Not eat bread products outside of their house at all? Surely there must be an answer to this overload of bread on the streets. Or maybe I have the answer. Maybe it is a vacuum by the name of Lewis.

Corgi Cuisine

Over the course of my life, my family has always had a dog or two. When I was a kid, we lived in the country and had dogs that just kind of came and went as they pleased. Then we moved to the suburbs, and our dog at the time decided that she belonged to my mom and my mom alone, so I essentially ignored her. Maybe it was just because I wasn't paying attention, or maybe our family dogs actually were more fastidious. Whatever the case then, I have noticed something since I have had my own dogs. Corgis eat disgusting things. Not only do Corgis eat disgusting things that they happen across, but they go out of their way to seek out disgusting things to eat. Among Lewis's favorite disgusting cuisine options are the poopsicle and kitty rocha. The poopsicle, as you can imagine, occurs during the winter months. A cat will leave some deposit in the previously soft earth, and it will freeze in the winter, only to be unearthed by a Corgi looking for disgusting things. Fortunately for me, the poopsicle is, well, frozen, so the aforementioned Corgi can not swallow it quickly and will have to drop it. This is another trick of the Corgi trade: look like you are not interested in anything, quickly grab the disgusting thing in your mouth, and as your owner is hysterically trying to get you to drop it, swallow it as fast as you can. Unlike the poopsicle, kitty rocha can be swallowed with lightening speed. A treat found in dirt, sand, gravel, or a litter box; soft on the inside, crunchy on the outside, kitty rocha can be quickly consumed on the fly. No need to spit it out! Hopefully taller, more sophisticated dogs are not prone to these habits. Surely their owners can walk them in peace, knowing their mouths are a safe distance from the ground and the offending cuisine options. May they rest peacefully at night, knowing their faces will not be licked by a canine who has recently partaken in Corgi cuisine.

Water for Dogs

My poor dog Lewis, despite his aggressive demeanor, is embarrassingly afraid of his water dish. Take on a Pit Bull? No problem. Violently attack German Shepherds? Check. Drink water? I'M GOING TO DIE!!!! Having had Lewis for going on 11 years, I understand what he wants fairly easily. He will be sacked out on his bed, dead to the world. Suddenly, his head springs up, his lips pulled back in a half smile, stuck to his gums on one side. He looks around, licks his lips, and tries to go back to sleep. But thirst pulls him. He repeats the above scenario several times. Then, he gets up and goes to the water dish. . . And stares at it. He lays down next to it. He comes over to me and stares at me. He goes back to the dish. He licks his lips. He whines. Comes and stares at me some more. I could be deeply entrenched in my 47th viewing of The Proposal, and does he care? Indeed he does not. And all I have to do is go stand around near the water dish. So long as I'm standing around near the dish, he happily laps away, like this whole "I don't want to go near the water dish without you because I think the thing is going to jump up and eat me" thing never happened. Yet day in and day out, it's this way. When I come home from work on a lunch break, he runs for the dish, having staved off thirst for hours, waiting for me to stand around by the dish. My friends think I am crazy to enable him this way. They say he will drink. Eventually. When he gets thirsty enough. And he may very well do that. But he's a dog. And he's 11. And he won't be alive for many more years. And one day I will miss him needing my help so he can drink water. So if it helps him to have me standing around by the dish, I guess I'll do so. For as many years as he will let me.