Why God Invented Cell Phones & Put Cameras in Them

Behold, my neighbors' driveway ...

The picture doesn't have anything to give you a sense of scale, so you'll just have to trust me that my neighbors' kids used a warm spring day, their idle hands, and some sidewalk chalk to create this masterpiece that can be viewed from low-flying aircraft. Each letter's about five feet tall. 

Their use of the exclamation point makes it all feel like an urgent command, which I find ironic, since my dog usually poops in their yard. (Yes, we pick it up.)

You Tell Me

This person completely ignored the lines due to:

a) incompetence

b) selfishness

c) obliviousness

d) other

3:44 PM

At 3:44 PM today, I was on my way home -

stopped at a light - 

facing southeast.

The sun was shining.

It was 67 degrees out.

My car windows were rolled down.

I had my sunglasses on.

I could see kids sitting at the picnic tables at the Dairy Queen.

Stevie Wonder was playing on the radio.

Sometimes life gives you a moment positively drenched in awesomeness.

This was one of those.

Love for Sale. Cheap.

Y'know how Russian Christmas is after the twenty-fifth and Chinese New Year is in late-January? Well, if there's some nationality out there that celebrates Valentine's in March, they're gettin' one heckuva deal on the sweet treats of love. 

I'm thinking of hatching a early-May Easter scheme this year. 

Discounted chocolate bunnies? 

Jelly eggs at 75% off? 

I am so there.

To Market. To Market

My husband went and did the grocery shopping for Christmas dinner yesterday. This morning, as I looked in the fridge, I realized that he had forgotten we'd need to eat some meals in the thirty-six hours or so before that meal, so I ended up braving the grocery store today. Not too bad for Christmas Eve. It'll probably reach a state of crisis there sometime after noon, I expect. 

Guess what went missing at the market?

Yes, the Hostess Fruitcake display is gone. There is no way on Earth that those things sold in the last few days, so I'm working on some conspiracy theories as to their whereabouts. My most plausible explanations are that the store manager is giving them to the employees as holiday gifts or that they've crumbled them up and put them in whipped cream and are selling them in the deli as a perverse "salad" of sorts. (I did have a coworker a few years back who brought a "salad" to the office potluck. Its ingredients: Snicker bars, pretzels, granny smith apples, and Cool Whip. So, my theory is not without precedent.) 

Aside from my chagrin at missing out on one last opportunity to take a picture of the fruitcakes on the sly, my trip to the store was rewarding, mostly due to the efforts of the bag boy in the checkout aisle next to mine. If he actually was sixteen, it was just barely, and he had that wonderfully-awkward quality about him. His clothes were a little too big, his hair was hanging in his eyes, and, if he has been shaving, it's just been practice - going through the motions until the actual whiskers arrive. Part of his job, along with remembering not to put the canned corn on top of the bread, was to tell people to have a nice day and wish them a happy holiday. 

From my vantage point in line, I could see him building up the courage to speak to each customer after packing their groceries. He'd wind up before each pitch by pursing his lips together and blinking a few times. Then he'd say it: "Have a nice day. Merry Christmas!" A look of relief and accomplishment would spread across his face. I did it! Big grin. Subtle twitch in the right hand signifying Yes! 

I loved watching this young man's confidence build each time he managed to talk to total strangers and not die from embarrassment. I had gone to the store thinking, Oh, crap. I don't want to stand in line on Christmas Eve. If I hadn't gone, though, I would have missed this little show entirely. And the sale on meatballs, of course.

Cross My Heart

Really, I'm not just posting the same picture of the Hostess Fruitcakes over and over again. I promise this is, in fact, a new photo.

I've gotten a few strange looks from other shoppers as I lurk about the display with my cell phone in hand. I try to look nonchalant, as if I'm about to do something legitimate and normal - like call home and ask if we need frozen corn, perhaps - rather than take another surreptitious photo of the fruitcakes. I go to such lengths for you!

Risky Business

Here it is, ladies. The aisle of I-am-far-enough-into-this-relationship-with-you-that I-have-to-get-you-a-gift-but-have-no-idea-what-to-buy-for-you gifts for men. These specially-packaged goodies range from stress balls with smiley faces to an automatic card shuffler. I don't believe that men really want these things. Honestly, I don't know what men, in general, want for gifts. (Based on some of the gifts I've gotten from men over the years, I'd wager there's bit of a struggle on their part as well.) Shopping for a guy is hard, especially in those early stages of a relationship, when you don't know his shirt size, and a pair of boxer shorts emblazoned with the words "Jingle Balls" feels a bit too intimate. 

My most-hearty laughter is reserved for a product on the top shelf - the personal trimmer. This is a gift that manages to be exceedingly personal - it's right there in the name - and oddly impersonal at the same time. It says, "I don't know what kind of books you read or have any sense of your musical tastes. What I do know about you is that you have a bit too much nose hair, and I'd really like if you did something about it." How's a guy supposed to react to a gift like that? Is he pleased that she wants to take care of him? Frightened that she'll be expecting him to start waxing delicate parts of himself by Valentine's?

I would argue that the whole notion of giving personal care appliances as gifts is flawed. And I just happen to have a story to illustrate my point:

I'm certain that my mother's intention was to give me a Christmas gift that would bring me joy in the upcoming year - something that would improve my life and make me think of her fondly every time I used it. So, when I was about eleven, she wrapped and ribboned a battery-powered Clearasil face-cleaning scrubby brush thing. I still remember seeing the picture of a teen model with flawless skin on the box and having the stomach-turning realization that I'd just unwrapped a gift designed to buff away my zits. 

Of course, the opening of gifts in my family was of the one-at-a-time and admire-what-everyone-got variety, so I got to open this embarrassing appliance with all my relatives looking on. I had kinda been hoping that no one would even notice that I was entering that awkward stage and that my skin had started to break out, but now my mother had pretty much announced it to the entire room. 

Though the tag on the present had my name written on it, the true gift really went to my older brother that year. You see, he found this to be the single-most hilarious thing he'd ever seen in all his fifteen years here on Earth. For several days he tormented me with questions about my "zit brush" and how it was workin' out for me. 

In my mind I picture some hapless tweenager out there today, anticipating an Xbox or a date with Zac Ephron from Santa this year. Poor kid's gonna get the full-on set of Proactiv products from a well-meaning relative. And I feel for that kid. I really do.

So, I guess what I'm saying is, "Step away from the personal care appliances!" If you are truly that flummoxed as to what to give someone this year, I've got two words for you: gift card.

Inspired

I am not often inspired to whip out my cell phone at the store to photograph the merchandise, but some of the Christmatized products I've come across have compelled me to do so, mostly so people don't think I'm making this stuff up.

Exhibit A:

 Clorox disinfecting wipes in festive holiday packaging.

In a three-pack.

The holidays are simply teeming with bacteria, you know.

Need to wipe up the salmonella from that goose you butchered on the countertop before you set out the canapes? No worries! Now you can get rid of those pesky micro-organisms without diminishing your guests' sense of the unrelenting holiday cheer that has laid siege upon your home and all who enter it.

Snotty-nosed nephews touching your remote control with wild abandon? Swoop in with a pack of these candy-striped wipes in hand, and no one will even know you're on a germ-killing mission.

Exhibit B:

It's Electrosol Powerball Tabs in playful penguin packaging! 

Seriously, doesn't everyone stash this sort of thing in a cabinet somewhere?

It's not a brand we've ever had in our home, and I honestly had to read the box to even know what this stuff was. (Okay, I knew it had something to do with dishes and cleanliness, but I wasn't sure if it was a detergent, a supplementary product, or what you use to clean the inside of your dishwasher.) But doesn't the fact that I had to work at figuring out what it is speak to the "hidden" nature of this product? It's like how I don't know what brand of shoe polish or light bulbs my friends use. There are certain products you keep out of sight, so why bother gussying them up for the holidays?