Brother-Sister

On the Ninth Day of Christmas ... I put my fingers in my ears and closed my eyes really tight

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 15:19:00 +0000

I just saw a news item talking about 30 billion dollars' worth of unused gift cards floating around, presumably after having been given as gifts. As Jerry Seinfeld once said, a gift certificate is "an I-don't-give-a-damn diploma". If you know someone so poorly, or care so little about them, that you can't find them anything, that says to me that this person should not be on your Christmas list. If the person is just really hard to buy for, then I think it's his responsibility to present gift options, sort of like a bridal registry. If he can't think of anything, then he's just waived his claim on a present.

In our family, after years of mutually-agonizing attempts to Christmas shop among four hard-to-buy-for people, I finally talked the rest of them into doing away with the whole gift thing. The others were skeptical, but eventually admitted it was a good idea.

I don't understand why more people don't do this. I keep seeing all this commentary about how stressful and expensive Christmas is... people going thousands of dollars into debt... people having nervous breakdowns... people getting in steak-knife fights over their Christmas dinner because Uncle Dave and Cousin Alice can't stand each others' politics, spousal choices, religions, or favorite sports teams... and every year I wonder WHY THE HELL DO YOU PEOPLE DO THIS TO YOURSELVES???

Spent too much on Christmas last year? No problem! Send out a blanket email to everyone, stating "I'm not doing Christmas this year. Don't get me anything, I won't get you anything." If anyone is stubborn enough to get you a present anyway, give it to the poor.

Family gatherings too stressful? Don't go! The effort of making your advance apologies to everyone will be a lot less than the effort of patching up the hostility resulting from the annual arguments.

Too much work to decorate and cook and shop and groom and otherwise do the whole "Martha Stewart on amphetamines" thing? Don't! Like Nancy Reagan used to say about drugs -- JUST SAY NO!

For Christians, recall that the magi brought gifts for Jesus... NOT for Joseph, Mary, the innkeeper, each other, the local Roman garrison, the census staff, the people in Bethlehem to be counted in the census, and the various animals in the manger. Just for Jesus -- and that was, obviously, something of a special case. If you know anyone who might be the second coming of the Savior, feel free to get him a gift.

For non-Christians, this isn't even your holiday. Enjoy your free days off work, or the Christmas snacks people bring in to work, and don't get involved otherwise. That's what I do, and my many Christian friends don't seem upset about it.

Stop tormenting yourselves and others, stop sending billions of dollars into the pockets of the foreign corporations that make your lead-coated Christmas purchases, and stop driving us sensible people nutty with your chaos.

Goodbye to Milo, my best little friend

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 21:21:00 +0000

Dyson

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Sat, 26 Jun 2010 21:03:00 +0000

I was in a mall bathroom yesterday, where I encountered an interesting gadget called a Dyson Airblade. It sounds like it should be an extreme sport, but it's for drying your hands after you wash them.

Anyone who knows me will tell you I'm fairly old-fashioned, and would probably guess, correctly, that I'm a paper-towel man when it comes to public bathrooms. I find the only good use of a hot-air dryer to be warming up my hands on a cold day, but after examining the Dyson and deciding that it probably couldn't hurt me, I tried it out.

There's a narrow slot to put the hands in ... too narrow. My hands aren't especially large, but I kept brushing the housing, which means I was trading germs with the previous guy and leaving my own for the next one.

The high-speed airflow comes out in a thin, blade-like stream which doesn't dry hands nearly as well as you'd think. It isn't warm,either, so all things considered, it's a step backward from the already-inadequate dryers we've been using. I still ended up finishing my bathroom visit by wiping my hands on my pants.

I understand Dyson vacuum cleaners are pretty popular - maybe he sucks better than he blows.

The Fine Folks at...

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 01:00:00 +0000

...whatever company took over Haloscan comments removed Haloscan from the blog template I sent them just as they promised to do on their website.

So, all the old comments are gone. That leaves me more than a little sad.

While You Wait

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 02:37:00 +0000

While you're waiting to see what happens to this blog and its comments, I'll tell you what I've been doing when I shouldn't have been neglecting this blog:

One of Brother's last posts might have you believe I've been engaging in political activity designed to anger him, but no, not that--I've been all caught up in my new bicycle.

If "all caught up in" makes it sound like love, that's not far from the truth. I got my new bike in early March and within days I think I told TZM, "If my new bike was a person, I'd marry it!"

Why do I love my new bike so much? I didn't know riding a bicycle could be so comfortable--I don't know why I never got a cruiser-style one before. And, I feel about 8 years old when I ride it. It's just too much fun pedaling around on it. I've ridden it to work, to stores, to the local library, to the park, to everywhere!

Between my bike and the bus, I can imagine being car free. And, I'm thinking other people should aspire to being car free more and more of the time, especially with the latest oil spill mess in the Gulf. Hey, maybe this is an activity which will anger Brother! But he's way too interested in physical fitness to ever be completely against something that offers some exercise.

Maybe this is a good reason to move.

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Sat, 29 May 2010 17:01:00 +0000

Maybe my comment fiasco is a good excuse to move to Wordpress or to create a new blog on Blogger for us. Anyone have any thoughts on that?

Crap!

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Sat, 29 May 2010 16:15:00 +0000

Haloscan comments died on Feb. 10, 2010. I knew that but didn't do anything about it while I could. Now I think I'm going to lose ALL the old comments and have to start fresh. @#$%!

If you ever commented here--you 4 or 5 people know who you are!--please know I appreciated your comments and wish I could keep them attached to the blog posts, but I don't think it's going to work out that way.

I'm sure there's a lesson for me here about not abandoning a blog....

Born in the USA?

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Tue, 11 May 2010 03:26:00 +0000

No, this isn t about presidential eligibility -- that s being fought over by people much more qualified than me. I m talking about the song.

I was riding in a car with a much-younger co-worker when Springsteen came on the radio. She had somehow never heard the song (had only a vague idea who The Boss was, in fact), and I got to talking about how popular the song was, way back in the Eighties when my friend was a toddler.

The thing that has always seemed weird about that song was its popularity as a sort of patriotic anthem, which makes no sense at all when you actually LISTEN to the depressing lyrics about the mistreatment of returning Vietnam veterans. I told my young friend that Springsteen was lucky he was so poor at enunciating his words... people really just liked the one line they could understand -- born in the USA .

Brother Surprises You...

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Sat, 01 May 2010 02:06:00 +0000

I m still here. One reason I don t post more often is that Sister and I disagree violently on a range of subjects, and it has generally been our unspoken policy to avoid discussing them here. Most of what occupies my attention lately falls into that category.

Blowin' in the Wind

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 02:53:00 +0000

While my bus stopped at the mall this morning, I watched a lawn (more like parking lot) maintenance person blow leaves from one curb to another with his leaf blower.

What's the point of using a leaf blower in a mall parking lot?
What's the point of using a leaf blower at all?

Wouldn't the best way to remove leaves from the parking lot (or from anywhere) be to rake them up?

I am contiguous myself

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 02:26:00 +0000

Last week leaving the dressing room of a Ross store, I stopped to hand the dressing room attendant my number tag. She said to me, "Yo me linda." I smiled automatically and wandered away as I tried to figure out what the "me" meant in that sentence--I've always had trouble with sentences like that: "Me gusta," "Te gusta"......what?! why?!

I finally decided the dressing room attendant was either telling me she thought I was pretty...or that she thought she was pretty. Either way, I suppose, a smile was not an inappropriate response, although it was a bit inadequate for either situation. (If you're reading this Ross dressing room attendant, I'd like to say either, "Muchas gracias. Yo me linda tambien" or "Bien.")

I asked TZM later what he thought "yo me linda" meant and he said the former translation. Out of curiosity I typed it into Babelfish. That suggested the attendant was telling me, "I am contiguous myself".....what?! why?! I think it's almost certain Babelfish has trouble with the position of "me" also.

I've often thought people don't give each other enough compliments. For some reason, it's always so much easier to make a complaint. When I make a complaint about something, I really get wound up and feel like I'm doing something....I feel righteous.

On the other hand, offering a compliment? Hey, that doesn't make me feel righteous and worked up at all. But, I know it feels so good to receive a nice compliment. So, why don't I do it more often? Why don't you?

Back

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 03:59:00 +0000

I took a break of almost nine months from this, but here I am...back. I think I'm back. Brother still doesn't have a computer or Internet access at home so I don't think he'll be back...but he might surprise us.

What have I been doing?
Would you believe I've been blogging for my place of work? On a blog almost no one reads, but there I am giving my best blogging...and amusing only myself.

Even without a bookbag...

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Fri, 01 May 2009 15:37:00 +0000

I was amused by Sister's post of two days ago, which you should now stop to read....

It seems odd to me that she's so fixated on the idea of looking like a prostitute. Sister is not nearly trashy enough or unhealthy-looking enough to be a prostitute -- unless she's really let herself go since late December -- and I doubt her workplace encourages the wearing of slutty outfits. I can think of several more probable explanations for the incident described:

1. He might have been trying to be nice. I know, you find that inconcievable, but there ARE people out there who have failed to catch the exaggerated paranoia that infests modern culture, and who honestly don't realize that some of you might be frightened by them.
(Personally, I find it inconceivable that so many of you are terrified of being attacked, and yet still choose to walk around unaccompanied, unarmed, unfit, distracted by your cell-phones, and wearing shoes that prevent you from running. You're getting a "worst of both worlds" situation there.)

2. He might have been trying to pick up a woman who DIDN'T look like a prostitute. He can't very well offer to buy you a drink when you're not in a bar, can he? As Jerry Seinfeld once pointed out, most men really have no idea how to meet women, and will often try things pretty much at random. "You know that guy honking his car horn at women in the street?" Jerry asked. "This is a man who is out of ideas!"
(When I was in college, girls tried to pick me up a couple of times by asking if I needed a ride somewhere... I don't think I looked like a prostitute, even without a bookbag.)

3. He may have been a homicidal psychopath, and you happened to fit his profile. I find his low-skill strategy somewhat pathetic -- sure, that works on little kids, but you're not going to transfer it to adult women just by removing the offer of candy. Clearly, he has no real talent or experience at this, and you should be glad you avoided the embarrassment of being ritualistically disemboweled by a complete amateur.

If not for my book bag....

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 02:05:00 +0000

This morning I was two long strides away from my bus stop (a glass shelter with a bench) when I heard a honk and saw a car had stopped in the road, even with the shelter. The driver--a man--pointed and sort of gestured at me. I thought maybe he needed directions or wanted to ask which buses came by the stop. (People always seem to pick me to ask for directions. I almost always know where I am and how to get to wherever, but I fear my typical style of giving directions is an incomprehensible mixture of "turn somewhere near the big chicken" and "travel exactly 2.43579 miles west.")

I took one more big step in the direction of the bus shelter and the car and leaned down a bit so I could see the driver's face and maybe hear him. He said, as he started moving things off his passenger seat, "Do you need a ride? Where are you going?" Ummm, what?!! I responded, "No. I'm fine, thanks," and waved him away with my hand. He drove on.

So, while I waited for the bus, I started thinking, "What thirtysomething woman (in her right mind) gets in some strange man's car?" When I got to work, I told a co-worker what had happened. I said to her, "Who would get in a strange man's car? Do you think he thought I was a prostitute?" She said, "Did you have your book bag with you?" "Yes, my book bag and my lunch bag." "Well, then, he wouldn't have thought you were a prostitute."

Now, logic was a bit of a struggle for me in college* and I often leave the logic puzzles in those big books of games--the ones that come from the grocery store--blank, but I think from the exchange with my coworker we can make two conclusions:

1. I usually look like a prostitute--however it is that a prostitute looks.
2. My book bag is the only thing that makes me not look like a prostitute.

Great. Just. Perfect.

*This is what I remember most from my semester of logic: The philosophy professor who taught the class had a completely bald--maybe shaved--head and wore a black leather cap. Oh, and arguing against an idea by exclaiming, "That's a logical fallacy!" is really satisfying. Unfortunately, the only logical fallacy I can reliably recognize is ad hominem, so I don't get to say it very often.

House... no, not the TV doctor

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 18:28:00 +0000

I moved into my new house last week. Well, that's not technically correct, since the house isn't actually new, and I didn't have a house to begin with, so it's not like there's my "old" house and my "new" house. I moved into the house I recently bought, how's that?

I had no idea I had so much stuff to be moved... my father criticized my decision to get the 17-foot Uhaul truck, but after we got all the stuff in, he changed his mind and realized I had been right. Now, of course, I'll be slowly unpacking for weeks, as I gradually find that I need this or that item which is still in a box.

Can I be a czar, too?

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 00:26:00 +0000

I just heard on the news the U.S. now has a "Border Czar." I told TZM that I'd like to have a job with a title that included the word "czar." (I'd be fine with "tsar," too.)

I told TZM that the appointment of this new "Border Czar" job reminded me of when former Florida governor Bob Martinez was named "Drug Czar."

By the way, I think the word "czar" used to describe anyone but a Russian ruler sounds illicit.

At the time of Martinez's appointment, I thought, "Why is the news media reporting this? A former governor has had to turn to heading a drug cartel? This isn't good!" Of course, now I know what "Drug Czar" means, but I believed for several months that the former governor had turned to a life of crime.

I explained to TZM that I was quite young at the time--thus, my confusion. But, Wikipedia suggests I was actually about 18. I think it's pretty clear I should never be the Politics Czar or Current Affairs Czar.

Happy Anniversary, Blog!

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 00:13:00 +0000

Tomorrow is our blog's 5th anniversary. I believe that means a gift of wood. Brother will be closing on a home this month--a LOG home--so I think that covers the gift. Next year, the 6th anniversary, the traditional gift is candy. I'll handle that--no problem.

I've been trying to remember where I was (physically and mentally) on each of the past April 8's:

2004: Man, was I ever unhappy in 2004! I didn't realize it then, but that year "ate it," as TZM would say.
2005: By April 2005, I'd moved somewhere then moved back to almost the same location I was in 2004. I had a new job that was nearly the same job (only full-time instead of part-time) I'd had in 2002. Looking back, it seems I hadn't really grown in any aspect of my life.
2006: By April 2006, I'd ditched my new-old job, had a new-new job, and moved to a new city. I had new friends and was about 2 months away from having to get a new car. New, new, new! Everything was new.
2007: In April 2007, I was really happy. Nothing major that I can remember happened. Oh, yes, that's right...I showed Tizzy that I could open a beer bottle on the edge of a trash can. It was a formative experience in my life.
2008: In April 2008 I was in the midst of what TZM and I call "the long, national nightmare" of dental work. The roots (ha-ha) of said dental work can be found here and also here and then again here and should have rightfully been mentioned 100 more times to equal the number of dental appointments I had by the time 2008 was over. Despite all that "open, open a little wider, hold open just a little longer" time, 2008 turned out to be a good year. TZM and I declared ourselves engaged (secretly) not long after April 2008 and married in July.
2009: Most of 2009 is left so I can't comment much, but I finally realized how important it is to floss!

Quick update...

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 19:45:00 +0000

I suppose the big news is that I'm buying a house. One of my friends insists that this is the cause of the recent rally in the stock market -- my cheapness has obviously attained quasi-legendary status among my peers, although my complete inability to navigate still gets more comment.

It took me a long time to find something that suited my preferences. If anybody's read "Black Order" by James Rollins, that mansion in South Africa toward the end is right up my alley -- hidden in the middle of an unexplored jungle (under a forest canopy so dense that satellites can't get infrared images through it) which itself is in the middle of a huge wildlife preserve in a district controlled by officials who are mostly in the pay of the house owners. Oh, and surrounded by aggressive wildlife and bands of unsociable tribesmen. With something like this as an ideal, you can imagine the multitude of compromises I have to make when trying to pick something within my price range and driving distance from work.

My new alarm clock is smarter than your honor student.

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 05:07:00 +0000

I bought myself a birthday present: a new alarm clock.

Maybe that doesn't sound like much of a self-present--why not a massage? or some shoes? or a whole box of chocolates just for me to eat? That stuff pales in comparison to this clock. It's by far the best self-present....maybe ever.

When I started dating TZM, I was using my cellphone as my alarm clock. Right after we moved in together, I cancelled my cellphone. TZM had brought his alarm clock into the relationship so I continued to be awakened in the morning at the correct time. By the way, the clock was on his side of the bed--that detail is important in the next paragraph.

Almost eight months ago, TZM retired. Not long after that he told me he thought the alarm clock should be on my side of the bed so it would be easier for me in the mornings. "Okay, whatever," I thought. "Big deal." Well....oh. my. god. "Big deal" is right because that alarm clock was THE most frustrating, confounding piece of....crap! If I had to write a review for overstock.com, you know I'd call it "The Devil's Alarm Clock."

I'll give the clock its due: it told time, the alarm sounded when needed, and the display was not so bright that it could double as an airport runway light. But, changing the alarm time and the regular time was a nightmare. The little buttons that controlled the hours and minutes required a particular amount of pressure on one specific part of the button. Too much pressure or too little pressure in the wrong spot, and nothing happened. On top of that, I'm positive the pressure and spot to push changed EACH TIME.

Sometimes I got up earlier than I needed to just to avoid having to fool with the alarm time. "Spring ahead" and "fall back": I dreaded those words each year because that meant I'd have to reset the time. And when the electricity went out.....ARGHHH!....time to reset the &$%@#!$ clock! (I have my suspicions TZM retired so he'd have a good reason to move the clock from his side to my side of the bed. Clever.)

Now maybe you can understand why I decided a new alarm clock was the best present I could give myself. It may not be as great as Brother's old clock, the Optimus Prime....I mean Spartus Neptune*......but it's pretty great:

The new alarm clock has two alarms that will remember on which days I want them to sound: weekdays, weekend days, or both. I can forget turning the alarm off on the weekends because the new alarm clock knows I don't want it to wake me up.
The new alarm clock has one, simple up/down button for setting the hours and minutes.
The new alarm clock has a little battery inside it that helps it remember things, like the time and date when the electricity goes out. (I'm afraid to imagine what else the new alarm clock may be storing.)
And, oh yeah, the new alarm clock's display is so bright I have to cover it up at night. ("My [new alarm clock's] so bright, I gotta wear shades.") That's a negative, but I think I can live with it.
Added 3-8-09: The new alarm clock remembered to spring me ahead an hour even though I had forgotten about the time change.

I keep asking myself why I put up with that clock for a year and a half. It was made out of plastic not gold. And TZM admitted--after moving the clock to me, of course--that he hated it, too. I think I forgot there was a better way to live.

*Turns out the "Tale of the Spartus Neptune" is one of Brother's most commented upon posts!

The Decorating of Hill House

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 19:18:00 +0000

Yesterday, I went looking at houses with my realtor. Most houses are about as boring as you'd expect a big featureless box on a large square of grass to be, but this time we saw one that was interesting by virtue of being eye-searingly tacky.

First of all, it was pink. Seriously. A pink house. Not hot pink, or Owens-Corning fiberglass insulation pink, but still a very distinct "Hello Kitty" sort of pink... pretty much the same shade as ninety percent of the surfaces in the bedroom of my friend's five-year-old. The porch floor was something like British Racing green, and the various railings and spindles were Velveeta yellow.

Indoors, most of the walls were also pink, except where they were about the same shade of yellow as Tweety Bird from the old Saturday morning cartoons. That was where we could SEE the walls, of course, as most of the wall space was covered with.... stuff.

Pictures... artwork... macrame things of one shape or another... giant wooden spoons with cartoon farm animals painted on their bowls... ceramic dolls in elaborate Victorian-style dresses... plates both commemorative and not... certificates earned by various grandchildren in various programs... sconces... if it could be hung on a wall, these people had it -- usually in an offensive color.

Every flat surface in the house was ALSO covered with stuff, including bowls, teacups, lamps, figurines, candles in elaborate holders, ashtrays that had surely never felt the touch of a cigarette, more dolls, more photos, more artwork, more certificates... more of pretty much everything you can think of. If you told me there was also a gold-plated crankshaft from a Chevy small-block, set with semi-precious stones and tiny crystal figurines of kittens, I'd be willing to believe it.

The realtor and I just wandered through this house in amazement, trying to figure out what sort of demented people would want to live like this. I had to hold my arms in close to my body and look around carefully before moving, in order to avoid knocking over some potentially priceless whatchamacallit that would look like junk to me but probably sell for thousands on "Antiques Roadshow".

Everywhere we looked, there was more stuff -- even in the spaces between stuff. The place reminded me of one of those fractal patterns that continue to look the same no matter how much you magnify them. We couldn't imagine how anyone could overcome the sensory overload long enough to actually consider buying the house.

Usually, my realtor says "Well, are you ready to go see the next one?". This time, she was already headed toward the door as she said "Let's get the hell out of here!"

Happy Birthday!

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 04:18:00 +0000

It's almost not my birthday anymore. While some birthday remains, I'll recap:

Opened my present from TZM at 12:05 a.m. (Yes, I stayed up until it was my birthday so I could open my present--I'm that silly.)
Slept.
Awoke and got ready for work. (I thought my dress was probably about an inch too short to be work appropriate, but decided to wear it anyway.)
Worked, then was feted with a cake by my boss and co-workers.
Gave a presentation to a group of new employees. (I'm pretty sure I'm not the worst speaker/presenter in the world, but I'm always overcome by doubts and worries about my performance afterwards. I think, "Oh, god, I'm insufferable.")
Worked.
Came home and was served shrimp and a wonderful shrimp-Gorgonzola pizza courtesy of TZM. "It's your 'special' day."
Candles and more cake from TZM.

Overall, it has been a very happy birthday!

"'Cause you were all yellow"

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 02:20:00 +0000

This evening--bopping down the street from my office to the chi-chi grocery store by the bus stop--a man strolling by said, "Well, yellow is your color. . . . cute legs, too."

I had on yellow tights and a yellow scarf with white polka dots.

There was a time when I would have been outraged by his comments and condemned him as an objectifier, wielding his "male gaze" like a weapon. But, now I'm just happy someone noticed the effort I'd made to try to look cute. (And, I'm glad he didn't add, "You're kind of squat, aren't you? And, what's with the huge calves?")

I just said, "Thank you" to both comments and kept on walking. He didn't mean any harm. Besides he was old enough to be my dad....or, oh, yeah...my husband!

You heard it here first, sort of...

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 19:31:00 +0000

A couple of weeks ago, I posted derisively about the peculiar blanket-coat hybrid known to insomniac local TV viewers as the Snuggie. Well, I was sent this just yesterday, read it:

http://www.usatoday.com/life/lifestyle/2009-01-27-snuggie_N.htm

Keep a lookout for the next product I mock here... and, apparently, buy stock in it!

From the Devil's Closet*

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 02:59:00 +0000

Today I wore the most uncomfortable shoes....in the entire world!

They don't look evil--low, wedge-heeled, slingback, black leather peep-toed shoes--but they are....they are! Too bad I didn't know that before putting them on this morning. I'm lucky to still have toes!

At lunchtime I hobbled two blocks to a thrift/consignment store to find some other shoes, any other shoes--although they had to match my outfit, of course--to buy to wear instead. It's saying a lot that a pair of three inch heels, 1/2 size larger than ideal was 4.7 million times more comfortable than those shoes, those Devil's shoes! I asked the cashier to please cut the tag off because the shoes I had on were killing me. She did and I put them on right there at the cash register.

Thank god the evil shoes were also originally from the thrift store and weren't expensive...I think I understand now why they were there.....

Now my dilemma is whether they should go back there. Don't worry, I'm not thinking of keeping them! But should I donate them in case there's someone in this world with the feet for them? Or just throw them away and save someone else the agony I experienced?

*I know, "What?!": Tizzy ordered a kitchen mixer from an online store with customer reviews. She found a review that said the mixer was surely from the "Devil's Home" because it sprayed liquid all over her kitchen or maybe it was her family or perhaps it ruined her entire xmas by chopping instead of mushing. Whatever that mixer did, it was bad enough to make her think it must have come from hell.

5 things you may not know about Sister (me!)

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 03:22:00 +0000

I heard that John Updike tried to write at least 3 pages per day, every day....so, surely I can write more blog posts....and lists are a good place to start.

Here are some things you may not know about me:

1. I have a large head.

Although that could, perhaps, be taken figuratively, I mean it literally. Most people are shocked when they find out my hat size. I won't list the size here since the number is too large to fit on the blog. I heard my mother and TZM talking about my head during our xmas visit. Mom remembers that I saw an episode of Oprah (a long time ago, obviously, because I haven't been able to stand watching Oprah for decades) in which she talked about her own large head and mentioned her head circumference. I immediately went and measured my own head, then said, "My head is the same size as Oprah's!" I've told TZM he's cleared to use "pumpkinhead" as an endearment.

2. I have disproportionately large calves.

Maybe this is only an assumption on my part. All I know is that I've spent 2 years trying to find a pair of zippered knee-high boots that will actually zip over my calves: it can't be done. Those boots are being worn by somebody, but maybe most women have this problem, too. Yes?

3. When I'm out in public, I often think, "What if that person there could read my mind?"

That thought usually comes right after I've thought something unkind about someone, but lately I'm preoccupied with what it would be like to be able to read minds.

4. I don't read many books anymore.

Shouldn't I be reading all the time? I'm a librarian!
But, yeah, no...I read a lot of stuff online, but when I get home, end up not reading many books. But, I love books and check out stacks and stacks of things I'd like to read.

5. I buy PowerBall tickets.

I had never bought a lottery ticket...ever...until about 3 weeks ago when I bought a ticket for the first Florida PowerBall drawing. You know, you've got to be "in it to win it."