Waxing Porcine

So we really are a fickle people, aren't we? I believe that we ride the trends furiously, contradicting ourselves, panicking others, all the while, basking in the glow of being "in the know."

This really hit home for me this week as friends and neighbors started to exhibit various flu-like symptoms, ranging from high fever, cough, and even my favorite old standby, general malaise. Well, wouldn't you know, all these people had succumbed to the dreaded swine flu.

Yes, you heard correctly. Or I guess, read correctly.

So of course, my immediate reaction was to dig out my plastic sheeting and cases of Ensure from the basement, and prepare to shelter-in-place. I was panic stricken. Horrified. Petrified!

However, my husband couldn't be bothered. He rolled his eyes as I broke the news. I think he may have even yawned. Then I called my friend. "Oh, that's good! It's certainly not as bad as the regular flu," she said nonchalantly. Hello? Weren't we all glued to cable news, and following the CDC on Twitter just last week? Wasn't it supposed to be one of the seven signs of the Apocalypse? What's going on?

Well, it seems it's as simple as the story has run its course. It's no longer a hot topic. Everyone has already moved on to more important issues, like Jon & Kate's big announcement. And sadly, that broken marriage, and the eight innocent victims it took with it, will be yesterday's news in 5...4...3...2...1...

Teen Talk 3: Work It

So today we explore what I think may possibly be the one thing that has saved Moody Teen from boarding school... The summer job. All I can say is, in the words of the late, and somewhat heavily made up, Tammy Faye Baker, "Praise the LORD!"

Things are looking up around here. Oh, and don't fret... An exciting update to the Great Nail Polish Coup of '09 is in the works. Now go enjoy your day!

PS: It is boded, after all. 

5 Things That Could Kill Me

There have been many autobiographical obituary posts floating around the blog scene, and that got me thinking... If I were to, let's say, hypothetically, end up dead, what would be the cause? 

Way back in my youth, I was sure it would be homicide. I was very diligent about letting someone know if I had gotten into any sort of altercation with anyone, so if/when I wound up murdered in cold blood, they would know at whom to point the finger.

Now, however, in my old age, I can see my demise realistically occurring in a few other ways:

1. Splenda poisoning. It's everywhere.

2. Adult acne. Maybe it's a side effect of all the Splenda I'm ingesting, but it is only getting worse as I age. Gross.

3. Mauled and eaten by the lizard that lives upstairs.

4. Lack of Flossing. Am I the only one terrified by the repercussions of dental hygiene laziness? I've read articles that link tartar buildup to everything from Alzheimer's to obesity.

5. Homicide. My old standby. I can't rule it out, as I am still so good at enraging just about anyone.

Happy Days Are Here Again

I've had something really exciting happen to me over the past couple of days that I feel the need to share. I know I have been focused on the negative a lot lately, but that's all about to change!

On with the show...

I have actually gotten nail polish to stay on my fingers, unchipped, for almost 3 days now! I am not sure if the stars are aligned just right, if God is answering my prayer, or if I have finally struck the perfect combination of base coat, color, and top coat. Now if I could only get my cuticles under control, I might actually have hands that don't offend!

I am hosting a contest/research project with myself as the lone participant. I am finally going to nail down exactly how many paper towels I go through in a day. I have already started this morning and I am at one. I know, a bit of a let down, but it's early and I haven't really had any major catastrophes yet. So I have my little pile going, and at the end of the day, I will count them up and have the results. I am going to guess somewhere in the 25-30 vicinity, but I don't want to get my hopes up.

Finally, I hate to lean on you wonderful people more than I already do, but I need help. Am I just buying really crappy jelly or is there some sort of trick to spreading it on a PB&J sandwich? I mean, it all starts out fine, with me spooning a clump of it onto the bread, but when I go to spread it, it all just sort of stays together and rolls around in one big unit. Then I press down with the spoon, hoping to apply enough pressure to cause it to spread, which only leads to flattening the bread. So I start to kind of chop at it, which in turn, completely mutilates the bread. I usually resort to having little pieces of the initial jelly clump placed randomly across the surface area of the bread. Does that sound right?

Catty Much?

I just have to take a temporary break from shouldering the blame for my general distaste for, and inability to get along with, all other people.

I do still believe that I could do much better in the nonjudgmental and tolerance arenas, and wishing others would change is futile. But all of that boring high road crap is getting shelved today, because I just need to vent. In fact, I wrote the first draft of this post 'on location' at the neighborhood pool, scrawling maniacally on a piece of scrap paper because I was simply so annoyed and enraged by everyone around me. Dire straights, people!

Now let's observe a brief moment of silence while the claws and fangs emerge...

Either there is something in the water in my part of the country, or there is a fundamental screw loose when it comes to kids' sports and the so called "grown ups" involved. Call me a big ol' silly goose, but aren't kids' sports supposed to be for the kids? If so, why then, do parents get over-involved and super competitive? Why do they push their kids so intensely? Why the pressure? 

I have witnessed some of the most obnoxious and curious behavior, all from people who are old enough to know better. Coaxing, no, forcing their child into the water, when the child clearly was not interested. Begging the swim coach to talk their child into joining the swim team, when the child has outright stated that she doesn't want to swim, she would prefer to be on the dive team, thank you very much. Kids crying and shivering because it is 58 degrees and cloudy and are being forced by their parents to "suck it up". Parents bragging to each other about how, even though their kids are injured, these elite athletes are so dedicated, they are continuing to practice and compete, even against the doctor's advice. Shoulder injuries at 15? Hello? 

Sounds fun, doesn't it? And here I am, right square in the middle of it. Helping to lead the charge, even. Ugh. When I agreed to be the assistant team rep (basically assistant team mom), I thought I could dilute some of the intensity and bring a more relaxed, fun vibe to the scene. Clearly, I have my work cut out for me. If I want to stick to my vision, I am going to have to piss off, challenge, and confront a lot of people and a lot of bad behavior. And oh, how I detest confrontation. Double ugh.

So I am not in great shape if I am this worked up and I am only one week into it. It is going to be a long summer. And I know (sort of) that it really isn't any of my business, and I shouldn't care about the dynamic between parent and child, and just because I am not very competitive doesn't mean I should expect everyone to behave as I do. In fact, if they did, we probably wouldn't have a very good team and nothing would get done. But still... BUT STILL!

Oh, and if you just can't seem to get enough of the complete dissolution of my character, go see what other faults I am exposing over at my little sanctuary from all things upsetting, MWOB.