WE ARE SMART AND CAPABLE WOMEN!

 

Good morning!  

It happens every year.  Hubby goes on a quest to climb mountains in the autumn, and the kids and I are left to our own devices without supervision.  It's become quite the family joke, noting whatever weirdness happens when Hubby's out on vacation.

Here are some of the highlights of past years:

1) Skippy's car basically split in half...a block from home...in the pouring rain...a day before Skippy was leaving for a road trip.  (The Mighty Cube went to Nashville that year.)

2) A rat turned up dead in the garage.  Had to have the neighbor remove it because, well, the kids and I don't do dead animals.

3) Peaches shaved her head, and I had to help...even though I swore I wasn't going to.

4) My weed clearing project basically turned into an attempt to set fire to everything in the back yard.

5) My aunt died. 

I mean, seriously...you cannot make this up.

Which is why it was NO SURPRISE that last night, while Peaches and I were catching up on the new episodes of "YOU," Peaches paused the remote and said, "Tell me Rocket is playing with a toy."

We turned the lights on and then noted no... Rocket, our "mighty hunter" cat, was NOT playing with a toy. At least, not a toy we'd purchased for him.

It was a mouse.

A real live mouse.  Not one with its head torn off. Not one that died of a heart attack when it got a look of our army of cats. Not even one he found on the back porch and was toying with.  (All these things have happened.  But that's the complete list of rodent infestations we've had in the 19 years we've lived here.  So...I guess we were due.)

So there's Rocket, the mighty hunter, sitting in front of this wee critter, pawing at it every couple seconds.  In my house. In front of my television.  While I'm sitting there eating Chinese food and drinking saki.  (Okay, Peaches was drinking saki.  I'm still nursing mouth burn from my antibiotics for my ear...that's another story.)  

Now, okay, Peaches and I are not squeaky, frightened, girlie girls.  

At least, we didn't think so.

Hannah moved first.  "We are smart, capable women," she said.  

"Get a big bowl," I said.

I, of course, thought this would be like that situation in "Friends" where Rachel has to trap a pigeon.

This was not that. (Rachel and the pigeon video.)

It started out simply.  Peaches got the big popcorn bowl (we first had to decide if we wanted to use the big plastic microwave pot or the ancient mixing bowl.  I opted for the mixing bowl...but Peaches got both out, so thusly started the deconstruction of the house) I picked up the cat (no small thing, he's a chunk) and she'd slam down the bowl, trapping the mouse. We then would slide the cardboard from the bag of Chinese food under the bowl and walk the mouse out.

It worked for Rachel Green.  And, as Peaches kept saying, "we are smart, capable women."

We moved Rocket to another room.  Taco, our other cat, was comfortably perched on his cat tree, watching the whole thing without taking part.

Here's the thing though:  When dealing with a wild animal, one should be ready for anything.  Like, maybe the mouse didn't want to be trapped under a big glass bowl.  (He did not.)  Instead, he found a hiding place within the crevices of our tree stump coffee table.

Okay. This table weighs a metric ton.  Moving it, even for two smart, capable women, is a trick. And when there's a wild animal involved, one we do not want to crush (because that would be so much of a worse situation, note what I said about the dead rat.  I was not about to call the neighbor...again. I mean, it was only 8:00PM, sure, but I have yet to live down the screams of horror emitting from my face as he picked up the rat corpse and carried it out of the garage.)

We shifted the table a bit, revealing the mouse again.  This time, while we were screeching like children, he skittered across my FOOT, along the wall, and under a corner shelf.

Not the worst thing.  The worst thing is if he got under my beloved couch.  I'd never be able to sit there again.

This time, Peaches had an idea.  "Let's build a wall and funnel him to the patio door."

BRILLIANT!

So we built a bit of a mouse trail with books and whatever else we had.  I included a soft sided cat tent as part of the wall.  I mean, it's a tiny little mouse. He's not going to plow under the one small section of this brilliant wall and sneak in a direction we don't want him to go, right?  Of course not. That's crazy talk!

Once the wall was finished, Peaches lifted the corner shelf and put that to the side. The wee hunted mouse was plastered tight against the wall, not moving.  She used a long-handled cat toy and poked the mouse. "Come on buddy," she said.  "Come on...Buddy?"

Oh boy. Do we have yet another mouse that's died of fright?

But no. I could tell this one was still alive.  "Get the handle behind him, against the wall," I told Peaches.  "Poke him away from the wall."

Worked like a charm.

Except for one thing:  The minute he moved, we screeched again.  He skittered down the trail we'd built toward the door and we were screaming both from fear and amazement that we'd succeeded!  WE ARE SMART AND CAPABLE WOMEN!

And we thought we had it...until we didn't.

Remember that soft sided cat house?  Yeah, that mouse snuck right under that.  I could have trapped him with my foot. I could have. I was too busy running away screaming.

At this point, once Peaches and I regrouped, we realized the mouse was in one of two places:

1)  He escaped into the torn underlining of the footstool:

2) He was under the couch.

If he's in the footstool, we reasoned, we just put the footstool on the porch and close the porch. Done.

 

If he's under the couch, he can live quite happily given my love for snacks and my dislike for housekeeping.

"Get a scissors and cut out the lining," I say to Peaches, who is now waving a flashlight around light some kind of Republican in the Watergate Hotel.  She's got better knees than I do, so she got on the ground and started pointing the flashlight under the couch and under everything else.

I proceeded to sift through all the blankets, pillows, small pieces of furniture, and stacking them where ever I could, mostly on the couch and the big easy chair.

Hannah moved the footstool out to the patio. While out there, she studied the walls to find where this guy had gotten in.  Meanwhile, I fired off a text to Hubby, hoping for some idea how to manage this.

"Don't we have two cats?" That was his helpful suggestion.  That was followed with, "Peaches is familiar with traps."

"Hey, Peaches. So, Dad says you're familiar with traps."

She gives me what one can only describe as a "WITHERING" look.  Yes, she has set rodent traps. But she also calls her boss to come empty them when needed.  

"Traps are $12 a dozen on Amazon," was another helpful text from the Rockies.

"That doesn't help me NOW," I responded.

"Go to Walmart."

Let's ignore the fact that between the saki and the fact that we were in our jammies we were not okay to go outside the house.  I was not about to leave my domicile with Wild Kingdom running around.  Who knows how many of his little mice buddies he'd have in the house by the time we got back?

Besides, I have trauma from the days when we'd trap mice in our house growing up. I should note, my mom, also a smart and capable woman, called my dad at work to come home and dispose of the dead mouse behind the couch. So yeah, trip to Walmart was out.  But, we took a breather and scanned Amazon and decided we'd order a live trap. I know I'm able to empty a live trap rather than toss a trap full of dead mouse.  I AM A SMART AND CAPABLE WOMAN.

Peaches had an idea, "Let me call my friend Amy, she's good with animals."

Amy is a friend Peaches has had since grade school. She owns a rat and an assortment of other critters.   Peaches facetimed her.  After quite a bit of laughing, Amy had zero suggestions.  

At this point we'd been trying to trap this guy for almost an hour.  I kept saying, "I'm not sleeping in this house until we get him out of here."  Hey, I've been camping.  I've raised children.  I've babysat all manner of kids and I've owned different kinds of animals. I've probably slept in a house with an active mouse situation a hundred times.  

Peaches had another idea.  "Let's release Rocket. He'll find the mouse again."

That seemed as likely as anything else, so we did. We released the beast.  The beast who was very good at sniffing out where the mouse HAD BEEN, but not where he was.  Instead, this mighty hunter got distracted by all the rearranged furniture and blankets.  He got all caught up in exploring the new floor plan of the living room.  Useless beast.

I sat on my spot on the couch. "I guess we just wait now until he comes out again."

I was fully ready to wait the mouse out.  Let him run across my lap while I was watching TV. I would catch him.  I AM A SMART AND CAPABLE WOMAN!  But I was also quite tired of moving stuff around and I wanted to finish the episode of "YOU," we'd interrupted to catch the mouse.

We were almost settled back in our spots when Peaches glanced out the patio door.  "There he is!"

Sure enough, he'd hidden in the underlining of the footstool and was now running circles in the patio.  But he was really running circles.  Almost like...

"I hope we didn't give him a concussion!" Peaches says, fully concerned now that the wild animal was almost back where he belonged.  "How's he going to get out of the porch?"

 That was the next problem.  On Hubby's advice, I'd blocked the hole we found with a wad of steel wool. The best, easiest way for Mr. Mouse to leave was to reopen his route.  But I was not about to go out there. "I'll hold Rocket," I said.

Nope, I am not all that brave.

Peaches went out, removed the steel wool, and we closed the patio door, much to Rocket's ire.  He spent the next half hour staring out the patio door, watching the mouse run in circles.  We finally pulled the curtain closed.  Rocket snuck behind the curtain.  Honestly, I thought if he hadn't already proven to be such a waste of a hunter, I would have turned him loose on the porch and let him have the best night ever.  

As it was, the living room and parts of the kitchen looked like the dining room scene from "The Miracle Worker."

But, at least, the mouse was outside of the house and Peaches and I are still SMART AND CAPABLE WOMEN!  

We settled down and finished the episode, congratulating ourselves on getting the drama out of the way so early in Hubby's trip.  Now it'll be smooth going the whole time he's gone.

Sure.

Five for Friday; Things I'm going to need during NANOWRIMO

 

Well friends, here we are. I have no idea how we got to the last week of October already and I've blogged so little this year. Well, I mean, sure, Covid hassles stopped being funny a long time ago, and let's be honest, I never did get back into my real life groove after being in lock down. I mean, who would want to go back to a rigorous schedule of exercise and writing in the afternoons where there is SO MUCH TO WATCH on streaming services?

So yeah, I'm lazy. Completely lazy.

But it's the dawn of a new November. A new stab at National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo).  Last year I managed to complete the 50,000 word challenge and the end result was publishing "Deal With a Devil." This year, I'm way behind where I wanted to be with my next work in progress, a fantasy-dark comedy-romance-internet thriller I have lovingly called "Suburban Princess" for almost twenty years when the idea of it first came into my head.  If I can get over myself and actually write the darn thing, it might be the best thing I've ever come up with.  Certainly the cover is cool!

But soon I will be locked into another Nano challenge and I've already promised this book will be published next year.  So obviously I'm going to need some stuff from you, my readers, if I'm going to really be able to buckle down and get this book out!   

5)   COFFEE, COFFEE, and MORE COFFEE.

I don't eat while I'm writing, but I do drink. A lot. And much of it is coffee!  (Okay I drink coffee a lot anyway, but when I'm planning to sit up into the wee hours of the day, I need more coffee. 

4)  WINE!

Okay, a wise person once said (or maybe it was one of my refrigerator magnets, I get those two things confused) "Write drunk. Edit sober." Friends, I am in the meat of the writing part.  Traditionally, writers have drinking problems, this we know. And the chic writer beverage has been, historically, absinthe.  However, You can only drink so much absinthe before that green fairy becomes a bit too real.  (Which is hard to do since in the US all the fun stuff that's in old timey absinthe that made one hallucinate the green fairy  is taken out!  ((stupid FDA, harshing my fun)) . So my writing adult bevvy of choice is pinot noir. I'm not fussy. Only only cheap bottle will do. Or pricey bottles.  Did I mention I'm writing a dark-comedy-romantic-fantasy-thriller?  Hot tea is NOT going to cut it!

3)  CLEANING and COOKING services.  (OR...mystery food just delivered to my door!)

Hubby is great and all, but let's face it, he works too.  And Skippy isn't one to cook or clean just for funsies.  So, the Bradley manse is going to be a big old mess since I'm planning on ignoring housekeeping duties more than I do now.  So...you know...if you're not afraid of dirty dishes or dirty bathrooms or dirty...you get the picture.  It's going to be dirty.  And the guys are going to be hungry.  ('Cuz I'm going to COOK less than I do now...which is saying something.)  Basically, you can pretend my family 's on the prayer list at church and the guys are going to need casseroles. LOL

2) 5 star Amazon reviews for my other books!

Friends, I have 16 other books of various genres. I've always said I'm not in the writing business for the money. I don't think any author gets up in the morning (or stays up late at night) because there's a big payday at the end of a novel. There typically isn't. Unless your last name is King, Grisham, Roberts, you know, something like that.  

The authors I know get up and write because they have to.  They have stories to tell. Yes, there's a business component to everything we do, but at the end of the day, it's about the art of it. Every writer and author I know has a day job.  Every writer and author I know wishes they could make just enough money at their craft to quit their day job and write full time.  We authors, we don't dream of yachts and summer homes.  We dream of long stretches of time building worlds for others to enjoy.

A storyteller needs an audience and in this digital/internet world, the audience for book lovers is Amazon.  Amazon tracks the number of reviews a book gets and every book needs X reviews to gain visibility on Amazon so that other readers can find the book.  

I've been selling books now for more than a decade, to people who across the board have told me they love my writing.  (Not a brag, I'm just saying.) And I've been pounding away every November for the last ten years, laying the groundwork for a new book.  My reviews on amazon, while generally great, are very few and far between. So I'm putting out this plea, PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW.  

You don't need to be a best selling author to leave a book review on Amazon.  Simply click the 5 stars.  That's literally all you need. If you want to leave a comment, all you have to say is, "I really enjoyed this book."  Every review gets me closer to visibility on Amazon, closer to other readers reading my story. As a storyteller, this is the dream. Getting my stories to the biggest market possible.

And during Nano, seeing reviews for my books goes a long way to boosting me and reminding me that there is a point to what I do. People are reading my stories. They are loving my characters. I have a reason to go on!

1) Don't judge! Just send me encouragement! (But NOT on my phone!)

November is not only Nanowrimo, it's also the beginning of the holiday season. People laugh when I say I'm just about done gift shopping, but I have to be. November is all about the work.  There is nothing else.  In other years I've cut my Nano time short because of Thanksgiving, because I have to spend time with family and whatnot.

Not. This. Year.

That's how serious I am about this book.  It's going to be good. But not if I can't focus. So yes, I'm going to do some mildly social-family-holiday stuff, but I'm not planning on spending any kind of heavy duty quality time ooh-ing and ah-ing over my mom's turkey (I mean, it's not going to be good anyway, but this year I'm not even going to try and lie about it. That just takes up time. LOL)  I'm going to avoid social gatherings (more than I do now!) and I'm going to turn down invitations. Please don't judge. Just understand.

And send me messages, but not by phone. Cheer me on via Facebook or Sarah's Twitter.  Give me funny memes about writing, coffee, encouragement. Just say you wish me well.

This blog might sound like I'm going off to do something difficult and draining. I am. But it's something I love and this year...this year I'm going to put everything I have into it. And I'll be able to do it.

With a little help from my friends!

On a side note, it's NOT TOO LATE to sign up for Nanowrimo if you want to give it a go. It's FREE.  (Well, no money is involved.)  And I'll be your buddy!

Gen X-ers REJOICE! We've taken back the malls!

Can you name this movie mall?

Hello and happy Saturday to all!

Ah, the mall.   A place where teens in the 80's and early 90's would go on a Friday night or Saturday afternoon to hang out. We'd meet friends there, we'd maybe get an Orange Julius, and we'd head over to Sam Goody or Suncoast Video to check out the latest in music or movies.

Then we grew up. And had families.  And it was suddenly sort of a pain in the rump to go to the mall, what with the stroller and the diaper bag and having no money because of what was in the stroller.  We had full time jobs and we were too tired to go anywhere on a Friday and Saturdays were taken up with soccer games for our kids or some kind of volunteering at our kids' schools.

So we stopped going to the mall. And Sam Goody and Suncoast Video went out of business.  

Flash forward to 2020.  Many of us haven't make a point of hitting the malls in a long time.  The kids are grown up, they can take themselves shopping.  Target has everything a person could possibly need and whatever Target doesn't have, Amazon does, and frankly, shopping in our sweats is awesome.  We meet our friends at coffee shops and bistros now, when we have the time or the energy to leave the house.  Netflix and all of her many streaming service sisters have replaced the need to go anywhere to see a movie.  

Oh, and our musical tastes are set.  Anything new pretty much sounds like the devil's noise. 

Also, malls are full of kids, right?  We are in the process of getting ours out of the house, why on earth would we want to go where there are more noisy kids who dress weird and have no respect for their elders? 

Sears and Boston Store went out of business.

My point here is that last night Hubby and I had a minor case of cabin fever, so we did something we haven't done in a really long time. We went to the mall on a Friday night.  I gotta be honest, I don't think we've done that since we were in college, prior to the dawn of the 90's.

Not that we haven't been to a mall since 1989, we just really haven't gone to hang out and see what's going on.

Gen X-ers, I'm here to tell you, it's a real revelation! We've taken the mall back!  

Well, not the outside of the mall. If your local shopping mall is anything like ours, it's currently going through something of a renovation.  The outside of the mall is a ring of new eateries, gastropubs, and wine bars, book ended by state of the art movie theaters with their own bars and restaurants, and entertainment venues. We have something called WHIRLEYBALL, which we watched last night.  It's like bumper cars and la crosse had a baby and the younger generation is raising it now.

No, what I'm talking about is Generation X is taking back the INSIDE of the mall!  

There we were, on a Friday night, walking laps around the mall because it was cold outside and the only other people in the place were...

More Gen-Xers!

What once was the mothership for trendy teens has become the quiet locale for a cheap date night for the 40 and up crowd.  We got coffee at our local coffee shop and then headed over to the mall to get a little exercise and talk to each other.  AND WE WERE NOT THE ONLY ONES.

Hubby noticed it first.  We walked in through the back door of the mall (The back door? Yes, we came in through the doors where the storefronts are empty no one's built a restaurant yet.  Very dark, but there was a ton of parking.)  We walked in to the barely lit end of the mall and he pointed out immediately that we were not the only middle aged couple carrying coffees.

The longer we looked, the harder we were laughing.  The storefronts that were actually open (and the mall closest to us is literally dying from the inside. The outside is fine, but the actual inside of the mall is dying.) were empty of customers (Except 5 Guys burgers, which was packed with people.) but the mall area was nicely full of people.  

Tell your friends to meet you at the mall!

I must add, these were people who had little or no intention of actually buying anything.  We were there to have a nice evening with our significant others and, having spent a lifetime together, we had our coffees and each other. We didn't need movies, we didn't need more stuff, we didn't need whirleyball. 

It. Was. Awesome!

Now, did we actually stop in a store and buy something?  Well, sure. I mean, we stopped at
Barnes and Noble and it's a rare trip there that we don't find something. Sure enough, Hubby found a Hootie and Blowfish album (on vinyl...how throwback is that?) and a healthy eating cookbook (I like his optimism) so we got that.

Then we came home, fired up a couple of episode of "Man in the High Castle" on Amazon (we're in season 4 and I'm pretty sure I still have no idea what's happening) and tossed a frozen pizza in the over.  

Dinner and a movie? Not anymore. Mall walking and streaming movies.  

And, with no kids hanging around to bother us, it's PERFECTION!

"House Hunters" or Bra Shopping? Same Thing!

WARNING:  

This blog contains a frank discussion about bras and what we put in them.  You have been warned.

Wow, this month has just flown by!  I can't even blame writing this time around because it's marketing season and I'm out and about doing events instead of writing.

Oh, wait, so I have been busy!

Anyway, I was sitting down, taking a moment for myself (okay, I was lying on the couch, four hours into what would turn out to be an eight hour TV marathon of nonsense) when an episode of "House Hunters" came on.

This is the show where a couple or a family decide to move from their home to another place in the US.  (Or, you can watch my favorite alternate in the series, "House Hunters International").  At the start of the show, the home buyers sit down with a real estate agent and tell them what they want. That conversation sounds something like this:

Home buyer one:  I'd like four bedrooms, a remodeled basement so I can work on my interpretive dance, an in ground pool, out in the country but close to neighbors.

Home buyer Two:  I want to live in the city, two bedrooms, old world charm, a fully remodeled kitchen, a four car garage so I can park all my toys in there. Also, and this is a deal breaker, I must have an extra deep soaking tub in the master en suite bathroom.

Home Buyer one:  We don't need a soaking tub. I don't even care if there's a bathroom at all, as long as we are way, way out away from everyone except neighbors who live close, but not too close.

Real estate agent:  And what is your maximum price point for this?

Both homes buyers together:  $300. We absolutely refuse to pay more than that to purchase a home.

Oh yeah! And in that sexiest of all colors...beige!

Yeah, so that's a bit like my recent attempt to buy a bra.  I looked into the depths of my lingerie drawer and was underwhelmed.  To call what I own "lingerie" is...optimistic.  Face it, I'm in my 50's, I'm fluffy, the clothes I wear that people see are all about coverage and comfort. Do you think the stuff you don't see is going to somehow be glamorous?

I've talked about bra shopping before.  It's just the worst.  And yes, I've gone and gotten measured.  (Here's a hint to minimize the humiliation of that:  Go to Lane Bryant on Black Friday at about 2 in the morning.  No one is in the store and you'll get all the help you need.)  The problem is, much like everything else in a woman's fashion world, one company's size is not the same as another. And sizes can, and will vary from style to and style color to color within a company. Sort of like jeans shopping, only more naked and therefore more awful.

But how is bra shopping like "House Hunters?" you ask.  I'll tell you.

I go into a store or go online thinking:  I want a bra. I want a bra in my size with a racer back. (Because apparently women who are my size also have shoulders that are six feet wide. I do not...therefore my straps fall down unless it's an X-wing back.) I want an under wire. (To keep the glands pointing in the same direction.) I want a front closure. (Because getting into a X-wing back without a front closure involves acrobatic moves of which I am no longer capable.)  I want it lightly padded or lined with a smooth front. (I don't like "poke through" and I don't like showing off a lacy pattern through my "Be Nice to the Author or She Will Kill You in Her Next Novel" shirt.  Sort of takes away the fierceness.)

Now, if you've been in a retail clothing store lately, you know that the bra section is like a wide forest of tightly packed bras of all sizes (except mine...general retail simply doesn't carry a bra beyond a size 42 in any cup. Now, if I were a 36 but needed a triple D, well I can find fifty of those in all colors.  But I'm round all the way around...not just up front.  I'm balanced, not top heavy.) and styles.  You'd think that somewhere in there I'd find one that would work.

And you'd be wrong.

Here's a basic (very basic) chart of different styles of bra:

Go ahead, study it. I'll wait.

Women understand this, but for my male readers, let me note that this is, as I mentioned, a BASIC chart.  This does not take into account the many variations of style and structure. This is the home brewed Taster's Choice coffee of bra selections.

I've given up on retail shopping.  Victoria's Secret laughed at me when I asked then for a 46C.  They don't make anything that big. I laughed at Lane Bryant when they asked for $70 for a bra.  "These are not magical boobs," I said, "They don't do tricks. They don't need anything quite that fancy."  (Yeah, I'm a huge hit at Lane Bryant.)

So I hit the online stores, and by that I mean Amazon.  I type in all my requirements:  Racer back, 43C lined, under wire, front closure.  Under $50.  

You'd be amazed at what comes up. Hundreds and hundreds of bras.

And none of it is what I want. 

So, much like the people on "House Hunters" I have to ponder what I really, really need in a bra.  Am I willing to take the racer back without a front closure?  Can I go without under wires?  (The older I get, the more often I answer that question NO NO NO!)

Ultimately, something has to give and it's generally my patience.  Unlike "House Hunters" I don't limit my search to three places and there's no real estate agent to call and "WORK HER MAGIC" on the price when I decide I'm willing to pay an extra 50% over my stated budget because I just have to have stainless steel appliances...oh, wait, I mean...stainless steel under wire.

I envy those folks on "House Hunters" I really do. At least they solve their search in 22 minutes.  For me, finding a bra that fits what I'm looking for is taking forever!

Oh, and in case you'd like to get in on the fun (of "House Hunters" not my bra shopping.) check out this game:

Enjoy!

Try not to think of my...girl glands...the next time you watch the show.  (I know I've ruined it for at least three guys...)

Barnes and Noble is put on Sarah's Naughty List.

Hello Everyone!

I trust all my American readers made it through Thanksgiving and Black Friday just fine? This is "Shop Small Saturday"  which is a movement started by American Express (because they're a small business) for people to get out today and shop small, local stores.

Hubby and I do our "shop small" all year 'round by not eating a chain restaurants.  We look for "local flavor" the smaller the better. Love those locally owned places! And yes, I am a fan of my favorite little local bookstore Martha Merrell's Books for books and gifts of all sorts that are local to Waukesha and to Wisconsin.

When it comes to retail and grocery, I tend to shop a bit larger.  I mean, I lean toward stores that are Wisconsin based, (Kohl's, woodman's) or at the very least are Midwest Based (Meijer, Target). But for hardcore shopping, like the holidays, I reach out to good old Amazon.   

Yes,  I'll admit it, when it comes to buying gifts I tend to look online because I can shop at home in my sweats, I get it brought to my house, and I don't have to stand people lines of people who are annoying me.  (This has nothing to do with retail customer service.  I feel for those folks this time of year because they have to deal with the masses and we, the masses, tend to be rude jerks.)

 But, after my experience yesterday, I might rethink the whole "shop small."

Hubby and I spend Thanksgiving with his mom in the town where hubby grew up.  When he's back "home" he likes to get together with old friends.  So, yesterday morning, we met for coffee (Caribou Coffee, a Midwest based coffee chain.) with friends, and had a lovely time.  Afterwards, I needed to get a walk in and suggested we go to the nearby mall (note: I am 99% done with all holiday shopping and most of the shopping I'm going to do for Peaches' birthday in January.) to walk the mall and see the crowds and maybe see the dying Sears store.

That trip involved us also walking through Barnes and Noble.  

I enjoy Barnes and Noble in the way people enjoy window shopping at stores they can't afford. I tend to buy my books and media second hand, and if I am getting a gift in print, I go to my friends at Martha Merrell's. Hubby loves the store, though, as does his mother, so yes, I have been known to spend some money there.

Yesterday, however, we browsed the media area which, as those of you who shop there know, has its own security. What is purchased in the media area must be paid for in the media area.

Hubby found an album that he very much liked.  He didn't buy it, because, you know, it's Christmas, but he did go to the bathroom at an opportune time.  so I picked up the album and went to the counter and waited for the clerk to come and check me out.

And waited.

And waited.

It's Black Friday and there was no one single clerk in the media area.

I didn't want to just walk out of the area, thereby setting off the alarms and I didn't want to walk away from the album to find someone in case someone else who wanted this album picked it up and I wouldn't be able to find another copy.

But I had my phone. So I looked up the store's number online and called it.

And the phone rang. 

And rang.

And rang.

I could hear it ringing at other places in the store.

I had whipped out my pad and pen and was about to write a sternly worded note that involved an expletive and the words "get it on Amazon" when Hubby, back from the bathroom, tracked down someone who told him the register in the media area was broken and that I should go to a regular cashier.  Hubby suggested they put up a sign saying that.  The person he talked to said, "Yeah....probably," and walked away.  

I should note, the store was not busy.  It looked more like a Tuesday afternoon in there than Black Friday.  And, it should be noted, the mall, including Barnes and Noble WAS NOT open on Thanksgiving Day.  My point being...someone had time to put a magic marker to a piece of paper and write "Cash Register Out of Order go to front of store."

Or, maybe someone could have picked up the phone and answered my question.  It's not like they were busy.

We went to the nearest cashier, a young lass standing completely alone, no line at all, at a register.  She asked if I found everything I needed.  I swallowed all of my sarcastic retorts and said, "Yes, although there's no one in the media area to check anyone out."

"Yeah, the register is broken." She answered in a dreamy, just-woke-up-from-a-nap voice.

Okay, so everyone know this.  

"Maybe someone could up a note?"  I ask in my sweetest tones.

"Yeah...probably...." She handed me my bag and went back to staring into space.

Again...this store was not busy.  They'd not been open on Thanksgiving...and at that point, the store had been open for less than four hours.  The other stores we'd been to were swamped with shoppers and the yet the retail helpers were cheerful, knowledgeable, and super, super on top of stuff.  

So what I'm saying is, yes, Barnes and Noble, you're on the naughty list.

As for the rest of you:  Shop small. And when you're out and about, be nice to the retail people. They have a hard job to do this time of year.  And if you can't be nice to the retail people, just shop on Amazon in your jammies.  

'Tis the season of peace on earth and all and if that means some of us stay in our houses, I think we can all agree, that's just fine.

Sarah figures out what her drama professor was trying to tell her, and it changes nothing.

Welcome to the weekend!

So many, many, many years ago, in order to complete my English major requirements in college, I had to take a class called, "Christians Perspectives in Drama."

I'm a writer who loves movies and I just happen to be Christian. This should, I thought at the time, be the easiest course I take all year.  Just talk about how movies these days (1989) are going to hell in a hand basket because of all the sex and violence and I'm good to go.

It was a theory that had worked for me in the past.  Give them what they want and they'll give you an A...or, more likely a B because let's face it, I didn't want to work all that hard and if it's a Phys Ed class, well, then it's a C for me.

But this class was different.

The professor was...well, an interesting guy.  You remember the Hobbit movie from the 70's?   Not the energetic creepy sprite from the live action movies, no the cartoon one.  Yeah, well my professor for this course reminded me a bit of Gollum from that movie.  Sort of creepy, dim eyesight, and like a wet string of spit always sort of stretched between his upper and lower lip; never swinging free, never dropping, just sort of always there.  He also had a way of speaking that was unique; even toned, almost non inflective with a sort of musical timbre. If you can imagine Enya singing one or two notes continuously without increasing or decreasing volume or meter.

Given that I had to take this class at the end of my senior year, when most of my classmates were in their "Senior Slide" I was convinced this would be a no brainer nap time.

It wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last time, but I was wrong.  Really wrong.  The guy opened the very first class with this question:  Who has seen a movie recently?

I raised my hand. DUH. Hubby and I were pros at seeing every single movie that hit theaters within a fifteen mile radius of our campus.  We saw some movies twice, but it was a movie released between the early winter of 1986 and late spring of 1989...we saw it.

In this case the movie was "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels."  A hilarious romp of a flick with Steve Martin and Michael Caine. If you haven't seen it, find it. It's so much fun!

The professor asked me to tell him about the movie. I summarized it, as any idiot 21 year old college senior might.  I pointed out the morality issues, and how we as Christian teachers in training should be aware of this great decline in moral values and battle against it in out classroom.

Then I sat back and waited for my A.

"But who was the Christ figure in the movie?"

I didn't even blink. This wasn't a Christian movie, thought I, and therefore there was no Christ figure because that would be WRONG.  "There was none, of course, it was a comedy."

I mean, when was the last time you saw Jesus starring in a comedy?  It's "The Passion of the Christ" not the "HBO COMEDY SPECIAL OF THE CHRIST."

"Every film has a Christ figure and if you didn't find it you missed the point."

I remember nothing else from that class.

I mean, other than I had to write a play at the end to salvage my grade.

Why did I tell you this story?

Well to point out that people have very different reasons for watching movies and therefore the movie watching experience for everyone is different.  And I'm saying that in the hopes that you'll stop reading and not notice the opinion I'm about to law on you:

I think "Staying Alive" if every bit as good if not better than "Saturday Night Fever."

Okay if I haven't alienated my entire reading audience, hear me out:

First of all, I hate films made between 1968 and 1980 because the film style is non sequeter, the film lighting is overly gauzy, the dialogue often makes no sense, and the clothes are just....terrible.

Let's set aside my distaste for film styles of the 1970's because I have to admit that yes, "Saturday Night Fever" is a great commentary on the disco world in Brooklyn, following especially young Tony, who is willing to put up with his disapproving family, his terrible job, and his wildly annoying friends just so he can dance.

But 1983's sequel "Staying Alive" brings a slightly (very slightly) more mature Tony who is now living in Manhattan in the 80's. He's putting up with his disapproving family (who disapprove so completely, only one character, his mother, came back for this second film) both of his terrible jobs, is wildly annoying director and a lead dancer who is all hair and very little logic.  But he deals with it all so he can DANCE.

It's clear that Tony has the comprehension of concrete in dealing with women. In "Fever" he uses and

abuses his friend and #1 groupie Annette and he chases completely out of reach, in over her head, Stephanie.  In the end,  he hurts Annette and Stephanie uses him and hurts him.

In "Alive" he uses and abuses his friend and #1 groupie, Jackie, while he chases completely out of reach, in over her head, Laura.  In the end, and here's where it gets good, he figures out that he loves Jackie and rejects Laura after she asks him to come back.  (Oh, I didn't say Spoiler? The movie is 35 years old. BUY A VCR or something.)

So, Tony shows growth in "Staying Alive" where he shows very little in "Saturday Night Fever"  Although I wouldn't really know, because the film style of the 70's was just to string several random scenes together without prelude so it took me about four viewings to figure out what Stephanie's deal was.

The dance numbers are better because disco dancing is terrible.  Not that I'm going to buy a ticket for "Satan's Alley" any time soon because, well, it looked stupid, but the rehearsal shots for the Broadway show" were great and you know, it wasn't disco.

The clothes are better in "Staying Alive" because 80's clothes are awesome and 70's clothes are terrible.  The exception being the iconic white suit which is in both films.

Travolta's butt is better in "Staying Alive" because isn't no in polyester.  It's in denim or a really, seriously, well fit spandex dance outfit, or a loin cloth. But no sans-a-belt pants with bell bottoms!

Also the music is better.

OH FOR SHAME!  HOW CAN I SAY THAT?

Yeah, I mean the Bee Gees are great and all...but that's really all you get in "Fever."  And half the time it feels like they just said, "Well, the Bee Gees said we could use the music, so let's stick another song here."  The music montages are...painful.

Meanwhile, 80's music montages and movie music not only fit in the story, sometimes the lyrics of the songs actually tell part of the story.  Sure, very few of those songs made the top 40.  (Frank Stallone's "Far From Over" being one.)  And, fun fact, there are 18, yes 18 Bee Gees songs used in "Staying Alive."  So yeah, the music is BETTER AND it includes the Bee Gees.

Finally, the dialogue makes sense. The conversations have a point.  It's not some sexed up dudes running around saying this and that and using slang no one on the planet truly understands.  Yeah, point to "Staying Alive."

Yes, "Staying Alive" is every bit as good as, if not better than, "Saturday Night Fever."

I never did believe there's a Christ figure in every movie, but I'm pretty sure, as I read my opinions, that my professor was trying to tell me I'm a moron for not looking deeper into a movie and drawing out all the hidden meanings.

Well he's hardly the only person who thinks I'm a moron.

Sometimes a movie's just a movie and you watch it because TV is terrible.  You want good looking guys, good looking women, great music and dance numbers.  Sometimes you don't want a movie to change the world.  You want to escape the world.  Then you find the movies that take you places.

"Saturday Night Fever" didn't take me anyplace I wanted to go.  "Staying Alive" did.

Sort of makes you want to read my other movie reviews, doesn't it? I've got three collections, all right here.

Wait...Bath and Body Works...you want a tip for WHAT?

Good afternoon all!

I am a big fan of Bath and Body works hand soap. BIG FAN.  But you know how those pump soaps work when you get down to the bottom of the bottle and there's like half an inch of soap in there but it won't come out?

In the past, I would add a little water, shake it up and it worked fine.  Except for Hubby...who, inexplicably, would spray himself in the crotch every time with the soap/water mixture.  (I haven't a clue how he managed it, but it was like clockwork.  Five minutes after I added water, I'd hear him yell and stomp out of the bathroom to go change him pants.)

After doing this a few times, Hubby made me a deal:  If I NEVER added water to the soap bottles again, he'd buy me 1000 bottles of the soap.

Now, we have a joint checking account where all of our money goes, so really, there was no way to track if his money was buying my soap, but whatever.


That was a couple years ago.  At last count I'd purchased something like 55 bottles of the stuff.  My favorite place to stop is at the outlet store in Johnson Creek.    It's an easy on/easy off the freeway and it's on my way to and from my friend Marie's place in Madison, so when I go to her house I usually stop to restock.

Well, we were running low and I had no plans to see Marie any time super soon, so Hubby and I drove out to Johnson Creek for a day of shopping for soap.

Now, normally I run in and out because everything in the outlet store is clearly marked with giant signs. Oh, and I only buy one product, the hand soap, so it's not like I'm going to browse.

I was met at the door by a woman named Jenny.  Jenny was super perky and told me all about where everything was (which I knew since it was all clearly marked.)  What Jenny did NOT do, was hand me a shopping bag. Instead, she blocked my path to the shopping bags and I had to walk around her after listening to her entirely-too-long speech about specials.  (which were, again, clearly marked with giant signs all over every table.)

I filled my bag (believe me, it was full.  And heavy.)  I was about to make my way to the front to purchase my 17 bottles of soap when Jenny jumped in my path again.  "Do you need anything or do you have any questions?"

Yeah, one question:  Why are you standing in my way when all I want to do is put this massively heavy bag of soap on a counter and pay for it?

I noticed a sign next to several of the scents of soap I'd purchased that said, "Buy 3 get 3 free."  Well I had six of those bottles in my bag, and since Jenny was clearly not going to move, I said, "Does that special pertain to the soap it's sitting next to?"

"No." she said.  "It's just for the personal scents."

For the record, there were probably five shelves of soap on that table and exactly four bottles of personal scent.  But whatever.

"Okay then I'm good."  

Jenny moved out of my way and I dragged my cache to the front.  The cashier there went through the 87 questions they seem to always ask.  (By the time they're done, all I want to do is yell, "JUST LET ME PAY FOR MY CRAP AND LEAVE."

No, I don't want a credit card, yes I get your emails, yes this is my zip code....

Then the woman says, "Did someone help you today?"

Well, I'm not sure if blocking my path to the two places I really needed to go is what you'd consider help....but okay, I'll bite.  "Yes, Jenny."

"Okay, well, your total is $43 with the coupon. Now if you'd like to add a tip to that, you can right there on the screen."

Let's pause for a moment.

Do I want to leave a tip?

FOR WHAT?

Is this something new?  Are we leaving tips for random retail people now?  I mean, it's not 
like I'm in some shop on Rodeo Drive.  I don't shop retail stores where people work on commission. I'm too poor for that.

I tip my servers, I tip my hair dresser. I tip the mailman.  I've given gifts to teachers and all kinds of people as a way of thanking them for a good job done.  I am a decent tipper, I generally tip between 20 and 25%.  I'm not saying that to brag, but I think when someone does something for me that I can't or won't do for myself, they deserve a proper tip.  I enjoy tipping when it's warranted.

 But friends, I was GOBSMACKED when I asked to tip someone who had impeded my shopping experience and had answered exactly one question.  Seriously, I did more work than Jenny did to make sure I had what I wanted.  

I'm sure Jenny is a very nice person.  I'm sure she's good at her job.  And I agree, wages should be raised as a general practice. But tipping for your basic every day retail associate who says hello to you?  (Oh lord, is this why everyone at Kohl's is suddenly all on me?)

Kids, if this going to sound mean, but is how retail is going it's just making Amazon look better and better all the time!  (Those drones NEVER ask for a tip!)

Victoria may have a secret...but I don't!

Good morning!

WARNING!  Today's blog deals with women's underwear...more specifically...mine.  This blog is not suitable for any of my Sunday School students!  


You've been warned.  

Since the dawn of forever, I've been wearing one basic style of underwear.  I think it's called "High cut briefs" but honestly, I think that's just a marketing ploy for those of us not willing to admit that we wear the dreaded "Granny panties."

I know, I know, underwear is supposed to be sexy.  It's also supposed to match.  My mother trained me to wear bras and panties that matched in color.  (True, we wore pretty much only black or white, but still, they matched.)  

I don't know when it happened, but I'm going to guess right about the time the kids started picking out their own underwear  (and if you haven't watched your teens pick out underwear, I suggest you go on that outing this weekend.  It will horrify and amuse you...sort of like watching Captain Nubbin try to do anything work related on the computer.)  but at some point I sort of gave up.  I started buying these high cut briefs because they didn't ride up and they were comfortable.  I've never been a thong person.  I've got relatives and friends who tell me thongs are so comfortable no matter what size you are, but, come on.  I do all the household laundry.  If I wear thongs, I'll know where they've been and really I don't want to be handling THAT!

The pic on the right...that's not me, but those could be my panties!

A few weeks ago I decided I was going to try something new.  At 46 I'm in a weird place.  I'm really not too old to be trying new stuff, but then again, I'm not young enough to say, "Hey, let's do something crazy!" I decided to try a totally different style of underwear.

But which style to choose?  I mean, in the world of women's underwear there are half dozen completely different styles...at least half dozen.  That's what I was able to find at my local department store.  I know the thong is right out, but I could go back to the bikini I used to wear in college.  Or maybe 

Just to name a few...

a string bikini, you know, not quite thong, not quite covering anything?  I could go the other direction completely and go full on granny pantie.  

I settled on a style I'd never ever worn before:  The boy short.  I had a friend once who liked the boy short because even though she was fluffy, and the boy shorts were basically wider than they were long, they were still comfortable.

Also,the men in my house wear those boxer briefs all the time and they like them.  (I'm more apt to take underwear advice from Skippy and Hubby because, let's face it, they're closer to m y size than Peaches, who is tiny enough to be able to enjoy any style of underwear she chooses.  

I ordered the boy shorts from Amazon, mostly because I hate going underwear shopping so online is just faster and simpler.  I ordered the size that I've been wearing for a couple years, the size that matched what I thought my hips were.

I got them, and tried them on...and I don't know if you've ever just tried on underwear, but it's sort of like trying on swimsuits.  I always think it's going to look like it does on the model or the mannequin, but then I remember it's on my lumpy body...

The boy shorts fit okay, sort of drooped a bit in the back where my booty is about five sizes too big to be "bootylicious."  Then I put pants on.

I sort of expected pantie lines because the legs aren't elastic, but I didn't get pantie lines at all. It felt like I was way more covered than normal, like I had shorts on under my shorts.

What I like to think I
look like.

And let me tell you, every time I used the loo, I felt a little naughty, especially at work, because wearing those shorts feels like I'm actually wearing jammies under my clothes.  Since I don't often feel all that naughty, this is sort of a thrill for me.

How sad is my life?

I will say this:  Either I've lost some weight I'm not aware of, or my hips aren't quite as large as I thought because these shorts are really loose and when I buy them again I'll have to get a size smaller.  Another win!

Bigger fun, I put on the black ones and managed one day to coordinate them with a black bra.  Hubby was impressed, although not exactly the way I thought he'd be.  His comment:  "Are you trying out for the part of the first dead body in a horror movie?"

"I'm sorry?"  says I.

"It's always the hot chick in matching underwear that gets killed first," says he.

Good save. That's why we've stayed together almost 28 years.

All in all, this time out, change is good.  Good, comfortable, and a tiny bit naughty!