Talk about a society that probably has everything with the use of a remote control and telephone. It is almost eerily suspicious how much the producers put into knowing what, when and how to place these advertisements. They know more about humans’ mental and emotional timing, than we do!
I know this. I know about how it all works; but dang it, that Copper Brownie Pan is quite tempting.
Obviously I don’t have any desire to own a Treadmill, Oscillating Bike, or any exercise equipment. I see too many at Garage Sales. Go figure.
Next we have the diets. South Beach Diet, Dr. Phil Healthy Living, and Bob Green’s (Oprah’s Dietitian) Guide to Better Health.
Companies will even create boxes of “Fresh Foods with recipes ” so that busy people will be able to eat “healthy” at home.
I am not a chef. I hate, hate, hate onions. Plus I’m just picky about food anyway. Give me a can of Spaghettios and some Kool-Aid; I’ll be a happy girl. Plus it only cost $5.00 at most for the entire meal.
The box meals – Blue Apron for example,
cost $35-$100 depending on the company and contract you have to include.
Send me the brownies from the copper stuff instead.
I already have the coloring books and “My Pillows”
a couple of mini-cooker thing scopper socks, lipstick with flowers in it, a “Snuggie” and the list goes on.
They got me.
I didn’t even know that I needed a Winnie the Pooh Chia plant!
My husband and I are on a mission! We WILL change the channel before the “Pocket Hose” stretches itself out, and the “Flex Seal” saves the boat from sinking.
It’s almost a competition now! (Okay take out the word almost…)
Cindy Crawford and her special -yet found with regular household ingredients, makeup whatever? I will use my ninja skills, grab that remote, and change the channel before your mole stares back at me!
Props to the Psychologists who figured out the algorithm of human shopping. Your parents must be so proud.
Yep, that’s right. My email address is getting way too many messages. Anyone else in this boat?
I’m not putting this out there for bragging about or fishing for compliments. I’m putting this out there because I am not going to read them all. Any coupons, weekly ads, going out of sale ads, or relisting of items that I was outbid on previously are going to my trash and junk.
—-UPDATE—- 112 Emails as of 1:43 pm —-
I prefer emails from family or friends. There, I said it. The biggest offenders in my inbox are WalMart and GFS. Hint*. There’s only two of us and we are not interested in 5 gallons of potato salad, nor products for infants. I know, I know, I am not the only person they send ads and emails too. But they can take me off of their lists, for like, ever-ish. (That’s a word… ever-ish. I add ish to a lot of words now. Given that American English is a living language I can make up all kinds of words -if I wanted to; alas I shall stick with ish words for the time being.)
Which brings me to my main objective in this rant… if brick and mortar stores and webstores are insisting on emailing me, I would at the very least want the information to relate to either me or my husband. I know that there are algorithms that exist for this very purpose. They’re imbedded in those fun, little, member cards.
Again, don’t get me wrong… if you are a real, human, family member or friend, I promise not to put your communications in Junk. It’s bad enough that I refuse to answer my phones anymore because of the crazy spamming going on.
Honestly I am not sure about which is worse…🤔. The phone ringing incessantly or my inbox stretching itself out so much.
It’s obvious to consumer’s that sellers are desperately trying to communicate with us all. Did they all invest in the Nigerian Prince with a great opportunity? (Haha).
I know that I did not register for a trip to Bermuda, Florida, London or Paris.
I also know that I do not have a Windows based computer which needs an unsolicited computer tech.
I am aware that my credit card is doing just fine. So you must be making the error on your end.
I know that my vehicle is not under warranty and that I can purchase a new warranty or vehicle which comes with a brand new warranty.
I am not a fax machine.
The Nigerian Prince is NOT Raj from The Big Bang Theory; and neither exist in reality. (Bummer. I like the character traits of Rajesh Kuthrapoli)
Oh the list is endless at this point… Sadly so is my patience. So I shall leave you with these parting words of wisdom.
About ten years ago (+\- five years) and yet another fifteen years prior to that. This will make sense for you, (the readership in a few moments… hang in there.. I promise. Trust me.
I traveled to Arizona for a visit with my grandparents, sister and mother. It was time to find a full service, independent living, facility for my grandparents.
The three of us toured a few facilities each day until we found our ideal space for the distinguished Patriarch and Matriarch of my mothers’ side of the family. It took a lot of convincing to get them to see it, much less than the actual move from their condo to a facility we chose.
It was nice. They allowed my grandparents’ cats, furniture and even had it’s own kitchen. The forms were signed. Their condo was up for sale and I had to get back to Michigan.
Within a couple of months I got a call from my sister. She wanted to get a Tigger tattoo and wanted my opinion. I have a tattoo on my hip bone of Opus the Penguin. I got it when I was seventeen, so in my sister’s mind I must remember the experience…. eh… I didn’t. Seventeen and tattoos were common in my generation; remembering the details, not so much.
I did my best to explain it to her, but jeez that was fifteen years ago.
After many months of looking she decided to bring the multitudes of Tigger to a top three. In this process she had found a few other ideas that would be good on me and my mother.
She wanted all of us to get (at least one) matching tattoos. I laughed and questioned her rationale.
“It would be a bonding experience.”
Within the week I was getting pictures from my sister with a very noticeable Tigger tattoo on her calf. She even showed it to our grandmother for review. Apparently our grandmother approved and asked questions about it -the process, design, and pain. She and my sister often did Tigger themed things, like this cake, for instance.
The holidays had me back in AZ later that year. I laughed every time my sister brought up the “group tattoo idea”. However, by then, my mom had agreed to do it. My sister must have been quite convincing. They were going on and on about yin yang symbols, turtles, paw prints, etc. I was still holding firm on my “No.”
I had underestimated my sister because the day after Christmas she admitted something…
She had a plan.
We all had to agree on the design and body location.
We had to find a clean and reputable establishment that was handicapped accessible.
We had to go into it with a “No Regrets” mentality.
I was still not in love with the idea or plan. Besides, why did it have to be handicap accessible? So I asked.
Wait for it….
My sister continued, “…Grandma wants to go too. So we will just swing by her new nursing home, check her out for the day, let her go first with her tatt, get ours, and then grab something to eat, sign her back in to the nursing home without drawing attention to ourselves and Ta Dah. No biggie!”
“We are NOT kidnapping Grandma, tattooing her in a handicap accessible (air quotes) tattoo parlor, having a late lunch and then sneaking her back in to her nursing home without anyone noticing ‘something different’ about Grandma.”
“Awwww c’mon. She really wants whatever we’re having.”
“Are you crazy?! No! Soooo beyond no! We could get in serious trouble for that. Oh My Lord. (*sigh) Did you tell mom?”
“She liked it.”
Of course she did.
This dialogue continued back and forth for quite some time -months.
My sister stayed on this kick for awhile and is over it now (I think). Our grandmother passed away within a few years -tattoo free. My mother is still tattoo free.
Part of me wonders, did my grandmother have a seventeen year old self who always wanted a tattoo, like me? What would she have chosen at seventeen?
I don’t doubt that she entertained the idea then, or at my sister’s plan sixty years later. I can only fathom what 1945 art was acceptable for her standards. She was a nurse back then. She had seen it all, and knew the human body quite well. She would know where we could keep it hidden and respectable.
This past Autumn, my sister, mother and I were together again and I brought up the group tattoo idea. We thought about it, tossed around some ideas and then got back to our independently busy lives; somehow still remaining connected.
Maybe the next time we get the chance I can get us all to agree on a tree. More specifically The Tree of Life. It would be a Family Tree of Life!
“The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
I think that I have a friend or two who genuinely care about me and my illnesses. I believe that I have some acquaintances who would be certain to talk to me if we were in the same place, coincidently.
Thanks to Pastor Trisha Peach, blog peacht, via Hypothyroid Mom, I caught a few of her comments to be very true for me, currently.
Like this… “It makes planning nearly impossible. Many humans take for granted that they will wake up feeling “normal”, go to work, go see friends, go to their child’s sports game – same as always. 🌅👩🏻🏫👩🏼⚕️👨🏼💻👩🏻🏫👩🎤👮🏻👯♂️
For someone battling a chronic illness, you just don’t know. Instead of “planning”, it’s more like “hoping”. You “hope” you wake up feeling ok, you “hope” you can make it through work, you “hope” you can make it through your child’s play…..and each event takes its toll on your energy and health.
You cannot predict the day before how you will feel. So the world makes plans and prepares for events and you…..”hope” to be a part of them.”
She goes on to write, “It is not because you no longer care or because the event is not important to you or the person is not important to you. You are missing out because your body has given out.
In fact, your body may be 4 or 5 events PAST too many by the time you just give out. It’s like driving a car that is running out of gas….you lasted on fumes, but finally despite all your efforts, the fumes have run out. The gas pedal is all the way to the floor, but she’s not going any further.”
My doctor had requested some blood work from me…, which, upon return, explained a plethora of my health problems. She was speaking another language (Greek? Latin? Dr. Speak?), regardless I needed Google. And here I am. 🌎.
Meghan O’Rourke has an essay called “I had Autoimmune Disease and then it had me.” It was printed in The New Yorker Magazine, Aug. 26, 2013. It came up in a Google Search for Hypothyroidism. She was speaking my language.
So, for my friends, I hope to keep our plans but I need to be full; not on fumes.
The exact number of people currently watching a live cam in the stall of a very pregnant Giraffe, named April. That’s a lot of people, especially when part of the process will include the messy parts (placentas, blood, uterus, hoo hoo, etc.)
There are a few different ways to catch the live cam, YouTube, Facebook and Animal Adventure Giraffe Cam. I have the direct link saved to my desktop so that I don’t have to keep Googling it.
Don’t get me wrong… April seems very sweet. Her baby daddy (Oliver) is in the pen next to her and they canoodle, often. It’s one thing to be annoyed with canoodling couples, but these are giraffes and it’s cute. Besides, a month or so ago our minds were focused on an Eagle’s nest to watch baby eaglettes pop out of their shells.
I am truly trying to understand this societal phenomenon… Therefore my question is….
Why are so many people interested in this? I asked my mom as we were sitting together in my living room, smart phones handy (just in case).
My mom replied, “I don’t know, maybe it’s because it’s not political or mean. Maybe the rest of the folks watching just want a reason to smile or find something peaceful in the world that they can focus on for a few weeks/days/moments.”
I thought about it. She was spot on! (Get it? It’s a giraffe joke… spots on a giraffe…. lol). Anyway, it was time for dinner, but afterwards, we went back to the live cam on April. I really like what my mom had to say. Kudos Caldwell!
#giraffe #thankyou #KudosCaldwell
Now, reality check. I have seen some really nasty remarks on April’s fb page. This is one of a few things that is out of your control; I get it. You are so busy with your “real world” and find this useless… blah blah blah.
To those people, I wish that I could say, “What the hell is your problem? If you don’t like it, don’t watch it! Don’t ruin this for people who find respite in the innocent way that we all can rely on for just a few minutes -a mental break. Geez try to find a little bit of joy and wonder within yourself.”
I demolished my basement and left it like that for about two months. Before that, I had destroyed my bedroom by “cleaning out my closet ” and putting it all (my closet inhabitants ex: pants, tops, sweaters, leggings, shoes and glitter) in my garden tub. That took me about three months to go through and figure out which pieces I wanted to keep.
This current demolition even got me raised eyebrows from one of my doctors. My husband said he didn’t mind if it took me a week or so… Hello, March! My doctor who raised her eyebrows at me said, “Well it’s obvious that you’re ummm, errrr, (deep breath, sigh …) punishing the things that you own. How much did you give away to your various charities?”
I donated a lot. Like, a lot-a lot. My husband has been a good sport with the garden tub. But the basement, not so much. We have carpet, I swear! It’s just, like, not visible.
He got really frustrated when he couldn’t get to the laundry room without using a mini path I made for him. He stepped on one of my tall black boots (often) which has a wood 3 ” heel.
I just couldn’t bring myself to putting it back together. Was I punishing the basement or myself? So far I had only touched my stuff. I wonder if my husband was worried about his own stuff.
I avoided the basement at all costs; kinda like I’m avoiding the nasty banana’s on my kitchen counter. If I acknowledge them, then I’ll become Betty Crocker of banana bread. Booooooooooo
It’s Sunday and I have been napping off and on all day. One of two things needs to happen today so that I don’t feel like a loser slug. 1. Basement. 2. Banana bread.
I’m voting for oats, banana bread, no nuts. There’s only one corner left to fix in the main basement/office area. The guest room on the other hand…. duh, duh, dunnnnnnn.