Shot Through The Heart
10 OCTOBER 2008
Thanks to Marcella Minorini for sharing the following words with Wickedly Chic readers.
————
I am blessed to have friends of many races, religions, and political views. I have always said that the more different types of people I know, the more I will know about the world. I have friends who look like me, believe in the same God as me, and who share almost all of my very liberal political views. I have friends who come from different cultures, who worship differently and are the polar opposite of me politically. How do these friendships continue to work?
I am tolerant of their beliefs and way of life and they are of mine. We carefully walk the delicate line of sharing our differing views while still respecting one another. It is a beautiful thing. One of my friends came over for dinner a few nights ago. We have been friends for years. We had very similar upbringings and at a time attended the same church. We have always been able to connect with one another about the goings on of our daily lives. Politically we just disagree. Our dinner conversation the other night turned to the current election. We were both able to share our thoughts and concerns, knowing that they would be heard with respect. I support her choice to vote for the candidate she believes in and she respects mine.
I have friends who grew up on the south side of Chicago, an hour away from my north shore suburban home, but worlds away culturally. When we talk about our childhood memories the differences amaze me. When we share time together, either in my almost all white suburb or in their almost all african american neighborhood of the city, the differences melt away. We can appreciate and respect the cultural differences and cherish the time together. It is because of our mutual respect that we are able to be so comfortable in surroundings that are different than our own.
It is my hope that the current hostile political climate in our country changes. I pray that one day we can all learn to see that there is good (and bad) in both political candidates. I dream of the day that we as a people truly recognize, celebrate, and respect the diversity of our country. I am blessed and thankful that I am surrounded by people who share these hopes and dreams with me.
3 OCTOBER 2008
I’m not much of one to speak out on politics. When I was growing up, my parents taught me that talking about politics and who you were going to vote for just was not polite. I told that to my dad last night and he rolled his eyes. I guess parents like to roll their eyes when the things that they taught their children come back around.
I’ve received a lot of email lately on the subject of the upcoming U.S. election. Vote for this one, vote for that one….it seems like who you vote for is becoming very personal. Our current economic state has many people a bit frazzled and rightfully so. Everywhere I go and everyone I talk to has an opinion…& it seems that many are getting mean. If you don’t agree with so and so’s opinion…watch out. Run. Heck…it goes with the territory…the politicians commercials really seem to beef themselves up as we press on toward the election and the jabs get more and more pointed.
And of course, we feed into this by talking about how one candidate mispronounced a word or said something that wasn’t factual or made a mistake…but the reality is this…if it were me (or you) that was running for office, can we honestly say that we would not blunder as well? Yes, when you run for office, you will have fingers pointed at you…it’s part of the program. But the flip side is that we’re all human & we all make mistakes. And nope, I am not talking about any particular candidate here. No one has been exempt. Not Barack, not Sarah, not John nor Joe. Yet no matter who you love (or don’t love), they’ve all goofed. And we all do too! Take my friend Marci who had to speak before a local chamber of commerce last week. She was using the word successful in her introductory speech. But alas…Marci got stuck. It came out…“sex, sex, sex, sex.” Good thing it wasn’t on tv or we would have had Marci talking about sex all week long!
But then I received this email from a friend and had to share it with readers. She makes some very heartfelt points that are worth pondering & I’m grateful for the kind words. Too bad I didn’t come up with them myself :)
them…who I like and want in the white house. it doesn’t lessen my
respect for them that they like blank or blank. It only saddens me if it
distances people instead of unites despite our differences.”
“People need to be more mature about these things. An open mind is where the
true living begins.”
25 SEPTEMBER 2008
Taken from one of my new favorite blogs, Dorky Dad. This soooo reminds of me of my beloved stepsons…after raising daughters, boys can come as quite a shockeroo.
Dorky Dad is very funny.
The Boy’s Chippendale Tendencies
NOTE: Dear People Who Came to this site looking for free nudity after a Google search: You are going to be sadly disappointed.
We spent our morning picking apples, because everybody in my house is an apple freak, meaning each of us consumes his or her own weight in apples daily. At least we do during apple season. Off-season apples suck. Off-season apples suck so bad that scientists have made some of them taste like grapes.
And I’m not kidding, by the way. They’re called Grapples. They make sense, in a drunk food-scientist kind-of way.
During our trip to the apple farm to buy apple-flavored apples, The Boy began giving the international sign for “I have to pee really bad but I’m having too much fun to actually go and am probably in immediate danger of wetting my pants and the floor below, thereby causing great embarrassment to myself and my parents if I’m not dragged screaming to the restroom RIGHT NOW.”
In other words: He grabbed his wiener and began dancing like an Irishman.
So I did the deed, dragging him to the porta-potties outside. I let him go by himself, and waited patiently with another father for him to finish the job.
And The Boy did, indeed, finish peeing. He walked out of the porta-potty as soon as he was finished. And by “as soon as he was finished,” I mean “the exact second upon which he completed his urinating task.” In other words: his pants were still down. Uh, yeah. Pulling your pants up is part of the job, Boy.
Unfortunately, I wish I could say that this incident surprised me. It didn’t. In fact, it would have surprised me if he didn’t emerge from the toilet with Mr. Happy waving to the crowd.
During bathroom visits, The Boy usually parades around the restroom with his pants around his ankles and his man-hose in full view. And it’s my job to catch said Boy and convince him to get his pants back up there. He does, though with a bit of disappointment that reveals a kid who, if he’s not raised the right way, could very well grow up to become a Chippendale (assuming, that is, he manages to find deep within my unused genetic material the potential for six-pack abs and tanned skin …).
(The other, simpler and more realistic explanation is that the exhibitionism is just a condition of preschoolers who haven’t yet had much exposure to societal norms. Still, I’m not taking my chances. I don’t want my boy dancing in front of a bunch of screaming old, panties-throwing women while his bloodstream is half-filled with steroids and prescription painkillers. Tempting as that sounds, his job is to make the Major Leagues and help me retire comfortably.)
So while he’s living in my house, he’ll keep the clothes on. Then, when he gets to college, he’ll probably have a few public nakedness moments that, if the college is anything like the one The Wife went to, could be captured on camera and published in the yearbook.
14 SEPTEMBER 2008
I went to the Renegade Craft Fair in Chicago last night….in the rain. It was really raining. And it was a bummer because there were over 200 booths there & the fair was supposed to go until 10:00 last night. But at 7:00, more than half of them had already closed up shop.
But I ended up with this tee shirt that makes me giddy. This is brought to you by my new friends at Cloth Moth. Consider shopping here if you’re reasonably cool. Not that I’m cool or anything. If I was, I’d be wearing this tee shirt right now instead of still in my jammies at 3:00 pm on a Sunday afternoon. Now if my husband decides to take me out to dinner (which is a real possibility considering we are child free today), I might get dressed. Perhaps he’ll come into my office and say something like, “Hey honey, put on a bra and that new tee shirt and we can go grab something to eat.”
There’s good reason to buy this bag according to our friends at Cloth Moth.
“Stop using paper OR plastic and start toting your groceries in a dangly brown sack.
If you don’t go green these days, you’re pretty much an asshole. And who wants to be an asshole? One particular guy I went to high school with (that now sells insurance) aside, not very many people. He’ll never go green, and if he does, we’ll never sell him a sack this cool.”
hehehe
*8 SEPTEMBER 2008
It seems to me that we need a tad more humor over here in Shot Through the Heart so we have a continuation of garden shop humor from our friend Rachelle over at The Country Doctor’s Wife. If you’re new…and haven’t read her other post…scroll down for more humor.
Beware The Dreaded LBS Deer!
Sometimes customers at the garden center are so determined that the problems with their plants are absolutely, impossibly, absurdly, difficult to diagnose – that you have to get a little inventive to give them a solution.
Fortunately – this is not a problem for me…
Customer – I have a strange question for you…
Me – I bet you do.
Customer – Uh… Well, I have a Little Princess Spirea…
Me – How strange!
Customer – Uh… that is not the strange part.
Me – Thank God!
Customer – Is there anyone else here that can help me?
Me – (In a high pitched mimicking tone) Is there anyone else that can help me?
Customer – Is that supposed to be funny?
Me – Are you ever going to get to your question?
Customer – Oh… okay – So I have this Little Princess Spirea and all the bottom leaves are gone!
Me – Gone?
Customer – Yes, they are gone! The top leaves are still there, but the bottom leaves have completely disappeared!
Me – Fungus?
Customer – Impossible!
Me – Insects?
Customer – Never!
Me – Disease?
Customer – Surely you jest!
Me – Too much water?
Customer – Do you think I am an imbecile?
Me – Not enough water?
Customer – Ha! Do you realize I have an advanced degree in every known horticultural science known to mankind? I think I can properly water a plant!
Me – Okay then… do you have a cat?
Customer – Absolutely not!
Me – Are there any deer in the area?
Customer – Deer eating the bottom branches of a shrub? What are you… an idiot? I think the deer would eat the top branches not the bottom branches!
Me – Yes well… have you not heard of the pygmy legless belly sliding deer?
Customer – The what?
Me – The pygmy legless belly sliding deer! Surely someone of your garden knowledge stature has heard of them? They are extremely rare – but oh how they love the Little Princess Spirea!
Customer – They do?
Me – Yes they do… and of course the poor creatures can not reach the top branches of any shrub.
Customer – Of course they can’t!
Me – Yes, because of the… you know… the legless part.
Customer – Why didn’t I think of it?
Me – That is what we are here for.
Customer – So what can I do?
Me – An infestation of the pygmy legless belly sliding deer is virtually impossible to combat.
Customer – Oh…
Me – I have heard that midnight modern dancing around a campfire sometimes helps.
Customer – Really?
Me – Uhuh – but uh… it only works if they dancer is um… is um… completely naked!
Me – Yes… buck naked AND you have to spread butter and jam all over your backside!
Customer – Well… I guess it is worth a try.
Me – Good luck!
Customer – Thanks!
I hate writing sad things in this column. But sometimes I do. I want to share this email that I received this afternoon with our readers. It’s heartbreaking & is a reminder to put some clear perspective in all of our lives. Life is short & you just never know.
I feel like I should mention that Brandon had just been dropped off at college for his freshman year. His parents had left to go back home one hour before his collapse.
Dear Carthage Parent:
We recently distributed the following news to all Carthage students, faculty and staff. We share it with you so that you may know of news that may influence your student’s state of mind in the coming days. Please keep the family and friends of
Brandon Lindsay in your thoughts and prayers.
Sincerely,
Robert Rosen
- * *
Brandon Lindsay, an 18-year-old freshman from Oak Lawn, Ill., collapsed and lost consciousness in Hedberg Library early yesterday evening. Carthage staff immediately began resuscitation efforts. Kenosha EMTs responded within six
minutes of Brandon’s collapse. Their attempts to revive Brandon were unsuccessful, and he was taken to Kenosha Hospital. Doctors there exercised heroic measures but were unable to revive him. He died at approximately 7 p.m.
While Brandon was being transported to the hospital, his parents were notified that he was experiencing a health emergency. They were in Oak Lawn when they received the news, and immediately returned to Kenosha. They learned of his death after they arrived at the hospital.
The cause of Brandon’s collapse is unknown. An autopsy will take place within the next few days. The emergency room physician and the medical examiner expressed no concerns that Brandon was suffering from any condition that would put the health of other students at risk.
Since receiving news of Brandon’s death, Carthage has been working with his family and with campus counseling personnel to prepare for student inquiries and requests for support.Counseling is available from residence hall advisors, the
counseling center, and the chapel office.
27 AUGUST 2008
I knew that Wickedly Chic readers would love this hilarious post written by Rechelle of The Country Doctor’s Wife. Head to her website. Read her often. She’s good.
CDW asks the BIG QUESTIONS
I have two questions for you. Two… burning… questions. I would much prefer to have three burning questions for you… because two makes me feel off kilter. So let’s hope I can think of another question before this post is over.
Both of my questions relate to my job, which is at a Garden Center, but I am certain that people with all sorts of different jobs will be able to chime in with some possible answers…
The first question is this…
When I am helping a customer… to find a product… or to answer a question… or to serve the customer’s needs in any way… and in the middle of being helped… the customer takes a call on their cell phone… what should I do?
How long should I stand there waiting for the customer to finish the call?
Six seconds?
Six minutes?
SIX HOURS???
I have to tell you that after having been in this very situation several times now, my first impulse is not to wait at all but instead to immediately reach for a garden shovel and hit the customer over the head with it.
But that may not be the right response.
I gotta tell you though – it is irritating. I have lots of things to do. Lots of important things. There are plants… everywhere. Plants that need care… and water… and pruning… and there are floors with dirt that need sweeping and shelves with dust that need dusting and a cash register that needs to be stared at with a gimlet eye… and a phone that needs to be answered… NOT TO MENTION OTHER CUSTOMERS TO WAIT ON…
I truly enjoy helping people and waiting on customers, but there are some limits to what I can take. And the cell phone… the cell phone… ma’am your cell phone.. and it is ALWAYS a woman with the cell phone… I don’t know if I can take your cell phone.
And while you are at it, go ahead and tell her all about how you helped your daughter move on Friday. No Friday… no we moved her on Friday… my daughter. We moved her on Friday.
And please don’t forget to tell the person on the other end of the cell phone where you are currently standing.
I am at the garden center… the garden center… I am in the garden center and I am standing by the geraniums… the red geraniums…. I am standing by the red geraniums… and I am getting ready to go and look at the hydrangeas… the HYDRANGEAS… we are going to go look at the hydrangeas… what?… I can’t hear you… where are you? Are you driving? Are you in the car? I am at the garden center. The garden center. Where am I going next? I will probably go to lunch… Lunch… Lunch at Harry’s. I said I am going to lunch at Harrys. HARRY’S! I can’t hear you very well. Are you driving? Are you still driving? I am still at the garden center. I am still here at the garden center. Are you driving? Where are you driving? No I am not driving… I am at the garden center.
I am not even making up the fascinating content of these paramount calls. Well, I am mostly not making them up, but I have stood and listened to quite a few of these calls now. Standing and waiting for the customer to get back to her question. Trying to keep my hand from reaching out and grabbing the most lethal insecticide in the store, ripping the lid off and pouring it down my throat. Oh the burn… the blessed blessed burn and the peace… the blessed blessed peace that comes after the burn… the burn…
While the customer goes on and on…
And then I am going to go to Target. To Target. I am going to go to Target. I am looking for new storage bins. New storage bins. I can’t hear you very well. Are you driving? I am at the garden center.
So tell me gentle readers – what do you think a humble employee in the retail industry should do when waiting on a customer that decides to take a call in the middle of being served.
Question #2
What do you do when you have gas at work?
Bubbly gas, ripply gas, soft feathery gas, burning gas, decroded dying animal gas, silent but deadly gas, booming gas, rubbery butt flappers, nuclear warfare gas…
What do you do when you accidentally let one rip…
I mean let one fly…
like a delicate moth…
ascending a ray of sunlight…
In front of a customer?
What is the best response?
Should I pretend that it didn’t happen?
Should I quickly drop something in an effort to disguise the racket?
Should I rapidly guide the customer to the fragrant hybrid roses?
Should I look askance at someone across the aisle as if he/she were the culprit?
Should I giggle shyly?
Should I say “Whoa?”
Should I say “Excuse me!”
Should I say “Did you hear that?”
Should I say “Holy crap was that me or was that you?”
Should I say“Barking spiders” like my dad always does?
Should I feign paralysis?
I am pretty good at feigning paralysis.
I am just wondering what to do…
Not that it has EVER happened TO ME or anything.
Which brings me to question #3… which I just now thought up…
What do you do if you are simultaneously helping a customer who is on their cell phone AND you are farting AT THE SAME TIME???
It is a nightmarish thought, isn’t it!
Dear God in Heaven, I hope that never happens to me!
I am here at the garden center… the garden center… the lady that is helping me just farted… I said she just farted… she farted…SHE FARTED! Are you driving?
If you are wondering what happened to any posts in this time frame, due to our hosting company, I lost about a week’s worth of work. It doesn’t make me happy.
12 AUGUST 2008
And here’s a message/warning from Kate over at Om Shanti.
I spent a good amount of time working up and testing my Long Day Working Bath Salts. See, I’ve long been in the habit of helping people move, and since I have a bad back (well, I never said I was smart) I tend to wind up fairly broken by the end of the day.
I also tested it on friends, many of whom also help people move, or do martial arts, or break themselves in a wide and fascinating variety of ways, but I always test my concoctions on myself, first.
And boy, am I glad I did.
Arnica oil is a wonderful and commonly-used remedy for bruises and bumps where the skin has not been broken. It’s brilliant stuff, very effective, easy to find and very safe as long as you follow the instructions printed on the package in big letters NOT TO BE TAKEN INTERNALLY.
Okay, I thought, I always whack myself into something while I’m helping people move and certainly my friends into the martial arts wind up bruised on a pretty regular basis. So why not arnica in the bath salts? It’s not like people are drinking them.
As always, I test on myself first. So I did up a batch of the arnica-less salts, added a few drops of arnica oil to one bath’s worth, and cast it forth into the delicious hot water.
It was lovely and wonderful and soothing. But wait, I was starting to feel a little anxious…my heart rate rose…what, I wondered, as I lay in the bath, was I worried about? What weighed so heavily on my mind that even a bath could not soothe it?…in fact seemed to be making it worse?
At which point I had a revelation…nay, a series of them.
I am a girl.
Girls have girl bits.
Girl bits are made of mucous membranes.
Which absorb things.
And they were exposed to, and thus absorbing, the arnica which is NOT TO BE TAKEN INTERNALLY so I drained the tub, rinsed myself off but good, and fled to the kitchen whereupon I poured water into myself while I prepared a cleansing tea (about which more later). Soon enough I was feeling sufficiently better to go to the computer and check out exactly why arnica is NOT TO BE TAKEN INTERNALLY:
The internal use of Arnica is not suggested. It can cause raised blood pressure, weakness, increased heart rate and nervous disturbances.
Yup. That’s what it did.
I still have the bottle. I’ll use it to make a bruise cream, which will be wonderful and effective and will help ease the bruises involved with helping people move and martial arts and such, and every jar I sell will say NOT TO BE TAKEN INTERNALLY.
8 AUGUST 2008
Directly from April’s mouth. Good lord. Take it away, April.
“i had tickets with my boyfriend, sean, a good looking 1/2 irishman, 1/2 mexican man with long thick dark hair that he used to let me braid in two shimmering lengths, to go to a huge outdoor concert hosted by Guinness featuring sinead oconnor, the pogues, john lee hooker singing with a gorgeous redheaded irish lass with that lyrical voice that only the irish tend to possess, the chieftains and many other of our favorite irish bands. all was well. and then, he dumped me a week before the concert. i was paralyzed. i also lived above a head shop across from the restaurant he worked at and was convinced he was also cheating on me. needless to say, i began to sleep less, eat nothing, and drink TONS. i worked at a small cafe at the time across the street from my house (a job i was always late to due to my habit of getting stoned BEFORE i got dressed for work which always ended in a room full of discarded clothing items of all color and form, and i, in what was considered at the time, an outfit that screamed “inconspicuously cool”) where i convinced a dude pal of mine to accompany me to the concert because, “i’ll be damned if that a**hole keeps me from having fun, damn it! so we went, i, a bit of a wreck, haven’t eaten or slept much in a few days or so, but my buddy, dan, is convinced we are gonna party like its 1999 which constituted beers at 10 am when we arrived. now, i am 3/4 irish, which it seems like i could hold my irish brew like the best of them, but au contrair, i have always been a lightweight, and in the 100 degree san jose heat, with a party pal, a sopping heart and a ex boyfriend roaming around, it was a recipe for disaster. after my first pint, a black and tan i believe, i ran into sean, the oh too recent ex. he had cut his hair and looked like shit, but i was still hell bent on drowning my sorrows. i faked like i was so happy without him when i saw him, all grins and fluffy adjectives and proceeded to down, guzzle, drain, 4 more black and tans before noon. one moment, i was dancing like a drunken banshee to the chieftains, the next, i literally collapsed on the spot only to awake with a guinness hat pulled over my face, a vicious sunburn and the undeniable urge to run. i stood up quickly and projectile vomited in one graceful motion. now beer and heat tend to create this amazing recipe in one’s guts, much like those vinegar and baking soda volcanos we all made in school as kids. i new it was just the beginning and acted on that urge to run. i could see the port-a-pottys in the background, and brilliantly made them my target. i held my hand over my mouth to contain the spew that was erupting from the depth of my bowels, but it seemed my fingers just make sort of a sieve in which to spray further. i thought i heard Dan call my name, so, i turned my head and barfed on a woman having a picnic with her boyfriend. once everyone around me caught on, it was like moses parting the red friggin sea to get away from the bile geyser. i barfed on people’s shoes, i barfed on an abandoned sweatshirt lying on the grass, i barfed up onto the bill of my hat and it cascaded down my front like one of those mini zen waterfalls you get at right aid. i barfed on a woman waiting in line for the port-a-potty. i barfed in my hair. and soon, i was barfing into the filthy blue water of the port-a-potty praising jesus for the shade and privacy. when i was finally empty, realizing there was NO running water in the whole fairgrounds, i used toilet paper to clean myself up. i emerged from the bathroom looking like i had been rolled in the sewer and felted with tiny cotton balls. i gathered up my dignity, apologized to my victims, drank a 10 dollar bottle of water, used the last sips to rinse off a bit, found my pal, dan, rocked out to the pogues (shane mcgowan himself was so drunk he fell off the stage, which made me feel better somehow). i heard sinead o connor being announced on the big stage, so in snuck away from dan. there i stood, under the stars, totally alone in so many ways that i was not yet used to. sinead finished her show with an a cappella version of ‘black boys on mopeds’ that ripped me in two. these are dangerous days, to say what you feel is to make your own grave… her voice resonating through the earth, up to the moon, into my soul forcing giant tears to run down my cheeks and i realized that there was so much feeling left in me still, that i will love again, damn it! and after all, tomorrow had to be better than this.”
6 AUGUST 2008
I have a new goal. Do you have a goal now that back to school time is nearly here? No, I’m not going back to school. My goal is way beyond that.
We have a Piggly Wiggly in our town. If you don’t know about the Piggly Wiggly, it’s a small-ish chain of grocery stores & my town is lucky enough to have one. It’s nothing special, really. Just a plain old nice, not too large store where I can get what I need & be in and out in a flash. When I need to escape the house, I just say, “I’m going to the Pig, be right back.”
I’m thinking about shopping there at least twice a day to increase my odds. Milk in the morning, bread at noon, gum at night.
If I win, I will tell everyone that I know & I’ll never ever forget it.
6 AUGUST 2008
Back home again.
We have an issue. Has anyone seen my husband’s nose hair trimmer? We’re all in denial in the house…the weird thing is that the nose trimmer bears a strange resemblance to a small vibrator.
2 AUGUST 2008
So…I’m on the road once again (for the last time this summer). I’m in New Jersey and yes…people go on vacation to New Jersey and there are people that are FROM New Jersey & are hatched in New Jersey and I’m one of them. And New Jersey is a perfectly nice state in case any of you have your doubts. Just sayin’.
Food seems to be a common theme as of late and that brings me to this evening’s dinner in one of the world famous New Jersey diners. I shoulda taken the kids to the one down the street. If I’d only known. But…the diner that we went to is one that I’ve already frequented and was quite happy with. But no more. Uh uh…this diner and I have officially broken up. Love affair over.
One kiddo orders a kiddie meal. The other kiddo wants a kiddie meal too. However, the other kiddo was over the age of 10 and was told that the waitress would be fired if she served her a kiddie meal. The menu did not say a thing about age. So…the over 10 kiddo orders another meal. Chicken nuggets. With a choice of fries, mashed potatoes or a baked potato. She chooses mashed.
We all ate quietly and were getting ready to end the meal when the waitress came back and asked if we wanted dessert. In answer to this question, the kiddo who had the real kids meal pointed out that her meal already came with dessert. So the waitress said, “Well, all we have is ice cream.” “And JELLO”, the little one pointed out. The waitress shook her head. Little one says, “The menu says ice cream OR jello.” Waitress replies, “We only have red jello.”. Sigh. This just isn’t going well at all.
To add to this quirky meal, when we went to the register to pay, there was a large plate of cookies. One kid asked if the cookies were free and the owner of the restaurant said, “Yes, you can take one.” With no enthusiam at all.
Sometimes I don’t know what businesses are thinking. Customer service really needs to be a top priority in this competitive and soft economy. Lots of places looking for your hard earned dollars. You’d think they’d get a clue.
Shot through the heart.
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