Monthly Archives: February 2009

Whaaaaa?

I truly don’t know how it got to be after 6pm. Where did the day go? At 3:30 I had a phone interview. The day just led right up to it. The interview went well enough. I don’t know what to think of it. In ways I felt like I was fighting for my life and in other ways I felt like I couldn’t care enough to speak. Whatever. It’s over and I may or may not get a call back. I am just happy I didn’t spontaneously combust. That worries me from time to time.

Lisa and I are going to the gym tonight. I think we will take a yoga class. Or a spin class. Whatever has room.

I am finally feeling better. The viscosity of my mucus has changed. Thank goodness because for awhile it was just flowing like a river down my face. Pookie has been ever patient with me. I honestly think that if the tables were turned I might have run away from him gagging. He could have at times. I was gross. Let’s hope I don’t get sick again for a very very very long time.

Michelle and me

My dream last night found me back at the farm. I apparently lived there with the farmer’s wife, Doris. She was teaching me how to create latch hook rugs and I found I had great talent in this arena. Just as I was finishing a huge Cookie Monster rug, Michelle Obama showed up. She asked me to help her out with her style. I told her I would do it as long as she let me stroke her hair. She agreed to this exchange. I told her she should only wear clothes from the Gap and model herself on Jackie O and Abagail Adams. Michelle had no idea who Abagail Adams was and so I gave her a short history lesson. After the mini-class we sat down and looked over this giant book which was a print out of Facebook. Right at this point my memory grows dim and I can’t remember what happened next. I will say that the Michelle Obama of my dream was a very nice lady and she didn’t seem socialist at all.

Samoas

As I was walking into a liquor store yesterday, I was stopped by a little Girl Scout. She had a table set up right outside the Wine and Spirits selling Girl Scout cookies.
“Would you like to buy some cookies?” she asked.
There is only one answer to this question, especially if you spent a good part of your childhood as a Girl Scout.
“Give me a box of Samoas!”
“They’re called Caramel DeLights now but they’re the same thing.”
“How much?”
“$3.50.”
It amazes me how the price hasn’t changed since I was a Girl Scout. The number of cookies per box has changed. You now get about 2. I stuffed them into my face as soon as I got home. They were delicious. Later that evening I was telling some friends how I used to go door-to-door selling Girl Scout cookies.
“You went door-to-door? Kids can’t do that today! Heck, they’d get molested every third door!”
“Yeah, back in the 80’s it was a lot safer, we only got molested every fourth door.”

Remember that girl, Debbie, that tried to add me as her Facebook friend the other day and I was all like, “You go to heck, Debbie! I will never be your Facebook friend!” Well, there’s another reason I have deep disrespect for her. As all ex-Girl Scouts know, you get prizes depending on how many boxes of Girl Scout cookies you sell. And being a somewhat competitive person, I wanted to win. Oh how I wanted one of those very cute stuffed animal prizes! And every year around this time, I would go door-to-door hawking Girl Scout cookies, trying to be the top seller from my troop. I spent hours knocking on doors selling Thin Mints. But you know what? You can’t sell nearly enough cookies that way. ESPECIALLY WHEN DEBBIE’S PARENTS WOULD SELL THE COOKIES FOR HER AT THEIR RESPECTIVE OFFICES! Debbie never had to go door to door. NOooooooo! Debbie’s mom and dad sold the cookies for her! And every Thursday night at Girl Scouts, Debbie took all the prizes for selling the most cookies. I can still see her sitting there surrounded by the stuffed animals I wanted so badly. Yes, I am 34-years-old and I still feel bitter.
gotoheck

Secret: I used to wear my soccer cleats while selling Girl Scout cookies and when someone said no, I got great joy walking on their front yard kicking up clumps of their grass. My cousin Sharon taught me that one.