CrocsFest2009

I spent last weekend in Hawaii.  Honolulu to be exact.  The weather was great.  Had a fabulous time.  Saw and did many things.  

The one thing I wish I could erase from my memory is the number of people wearing Crocs.  Yes, Crocs.  You've seen them, yes?  Those rubber (plastic?) clog-esque "shoes" that come in a rainbow of colors and make your feet look positively atrosh.

I thought that it was upsetting enough to see random individuals "rocking the Crocs" but this trip exposed me to a new level of Croc-ation Nation:   Families in Crocs.  Ay dios mio...

Seriously.  I can't tell you how many times I saw this.  Mom, Dad and any number of offspring rocking the Crocs.  Sometimes they even added charms or some other personal adornment.  Um, cute?

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not saying I've never fallen victim to an awful shoe trend (don't get me started on the 80s jelly shoes) but my entire family never wore matching shoes.  What is going on here?  All I know is that it's a world I don't want to live in.  I don't think this family Croc-ation Nation is popular here in Oakland but I plan to stop looking at the ground and people's shoes just in case.  I simply can't bear the visual assault.

Is this a hint?

I was at the pharmacy next to Trader Joe's (Rockridge) yesterday.  I think it's called Pharmacia?  Pharmacaca?  Pharmaldahyde?  Whatever...

The lady (her name tag read "Regina - esthetician") working there was helping me find a facial scrub.

Then she suggests I try out some face powder.  Oh - I should have prefaced by saying I went in there totally fresh-faced.  Nothing but sunscreen and rosacea (and a pimple or two) on my face.  So, yeah - she suggests powder and I don't object.  I don't have to buy it and it can't hurt to have a dewy, shine-free finish on my skin when I head to Trader Joe's for my grocery shopping.

As Regina - esthetician is leaning over my face applying powder she says "I also do brow waxing if you're interested".  Um, OK.  How does one respond to that?  It's clear I don't currently wax my brows so she's not suggesting it as an option for "maintenance".  So clearly she's implying that my natural brows are unsightly, right?  

What's a girl to do?  I wasn't born with sparse, chola-esque brows.  Nor do I have a unibrow.  I don't think it's wrong to have natural, middle of the road brows.  Is it?

Happy birthday, Jemmy Pilsner!

Today Jemmy is another year older, another year sillier and another year closer to the inevitable Rheumatoid Thrustitis.  Shame...

What is Rheumatoid Thrustitis, you say?  You'll have to ask Elsie.  But it has something to do with being an aged teen idol, working on a cruise ship and spreading your loving around the ship...

Last night we had a delightful dinner and movie night at Loraine's house.  Unfortunately for Loraine she invited me, Jemmy and Elsie (aka The Tourette Triplets).

I can't tell you the things that came out of our mouths (though those of you in the inner circle can surely ascertain how base and grody it got).  We all laughed so hard our bellies hurt - and that's what really matters, right?

Super Broker Shuffle

Which of these brokers will be my next baby daddy? I think it's the guy who starts rapping @ 1:01. What do you think?

It's an omen!

Elsie and I went wedding dress shopping this morning. We walked into the store feeling tired, frumpy and a bit hazy (me from lack of sleep, her from cleaning up roadkill).

Moments after walking in this song came on the radio and it was like the heavens opening upon us. I squeal "OMG - it's 'She's a Bad Mamma Jamma!'" while Elsie and Dean start shaking their booties down the dress aisle.  I knew it as an omen that dress shopping would go well.  And, indeed, it did ;)

Can City

It was a great, fun, friend-filled weekend.  Curiously, the funniest thing I remember (maybe because it's the last thing that happened on Sunday night) was hearing Michael's tales of "Can City".

Well, truth be told I don't really remember what he said about Can City.  I was too stunned and awe-struck by this nickname.  Um, who knew that those in the know refer to Kansas City as Can City?!  Makes me want to hop on a plane right now and head over there.  Come on - we're talking about cans, people!  CANS!!

I don't know about you but in my world "can" refers to one of two things:  breasts or rumps.  I can't tell you how much mileage I've gotten out of the Simpsons episode where Homer appears on "Rock Bottom" talking about the babysitter's "sweet can".  Which leads me to the (sweet) can warehouse at my former employer, GCC.  Ask Jemmy - she'll tell you all about it ;)

Discrimination!

I feel I'm the victim of discrimination.  

Is it because I'm a woman?  No.  Is it because I'm a half-breed?  Nah.  Or because I'm the coolest, funniest, sassiest gal in town?  Probably (but that's not what I'm talking about today).

It's because I don't have a microwave.  That's right.  This world is geared toward microwave owners.  And not for me :(

Much to my mother's chagrin there is no microwave in my kitchen.  She brings it up every time she's cooking in my kitchen (which is not a rare occurrence).  I pooh-pooh her each time and show her how my kettle and/or saucepans can do the job in a jiffy.  And without that pesky radiation...

Trader Joe's is also not an advocate for those who live microwave-free.  A good number of their (frozen or refrigerated) products come with microwave heating instructions and nothing else.  Um, hello?!  Et tu, Trader Joe's?

And now let's talk about the Busken Bakery of Ohio.  Jemmy brings me a delightful loaf of schnecken from her visit to Ohio.  She suggests warming it up before eating.  I look at the packaging and there is a sticker with heating instructions:  slice and heat in microwave for ten seconds.  That's all they say - no other heating instructions.  AY!  (Note:  I warmed the schnecken in the oven and it was delish!).

Here's my point:  WTF?!  Throw me a bone, packaging people, and give some non-microwave heating instructions.  Dang!