Wordjanitor Strikes Again

I try to make purchase decisions based on need vs. want. I'll often see something that I really like but opt out of buying it because I don't need it. I'd rather be happy with what I have than focus on wanting things I don't. (Yes, I did need the motorcycle. For mental health reasons. Yeah, that's it.) OK, let's not get distracted by facts. Admittedly, sometimes this need/want thing goes a little far. Exhibit A: I still have a bra that the dog chewed during her awkward post-puppy supportive undergarment chewing phase. She absolutely disabled another one, but this one survived with an interesting fringe in the cleavage area. It's serviceable. It's more of a yard-work bra than an office bra, not that anyone would really know. Until now, anyway. Bonus: I smirk every time I put it on.

TG likes to explain things. All sorts of things. And he likes details. Lots of details. Like today, he didn't have a level in Soquel because he didn't bring one from home so when he went to the store with J, B, and the kids he bought a new one. I made the mistake of making a pun about "taking things to a new level." And somehow that jump-started a very detailed discussion of cabinet installation. And about 17 other things.

First, there was a question of the location of the spare toilet paper. @ couldn’t find it. He looked in the right places. I told him to check the shelf at eye level. Oops, wrong eyes. TG had put it at eye level, except it was his eye level. (Remember, the T stands for Tall… ) Even better, it was at the back of the shelf. TG's choice of TP placement brought on a discussion of whether he was opposed to @ actually using toilet paper. TG claimed he was trying to get @ to think about Star Trek. @ had to think a second… Wait, Klingons? Yep. “Stop… that’s not funny.” Somehow that brought up a question of pronunciation. Specifically, is the name of the planet pronounced yur-ay-niss or yurin-us ? Where’s the syllable emphasis? Is it a long a or a short a ? Because yur-ay-niss just sounds gross and yurin-us doesn’t sound much better and it doesn’t even make sense anyway. I mean, why would pee come out of something labeled with a word that actually has the word has anus in it? ...

You'd think I had a crapload of cash hanging out my back pocket. I had neither crap, cash, nor a crapload of cash in my pocket. I checked. The safest lane for a motorcycle is the far-left lane. Not today. Apparently, a lot of people were in a "20 miles over? meh" hurry. I stopped counting after the 97th car tried to crawl up my, err... tailpipe. (OK, I didn't count. It's just a low estimate.) And the guy who tried to read the label on my jeans for 40 miles, but refused to pass until I actually pulled into a turnout? Charmer. "Perhaps you were riding too slowly," you think. Reasonable assumption -- after all, I'm a girl on a giant tricycle, right? I checked that too. My speedometer was quite clearly in the "this could be pricey" zone. Maybe if they realized I was in the midst of a 310-mile killing spree, they would have backed off. Shown a little patience. Evidence of many satisfying splats.

First, let's be clear. I am not one of those people who has all of the holiday decorations staged and ready to put up immediately after the T-day turkey carcass has been turned to soup. Yet, there's a somewhat crazed looking eight-foot inflatable T-Rex on my lawn, complete with Santa hat, sweater, and a nifty little tree. Why? Because I wanted the Saint Bernard. As soon as I saw it, I knew I wanted it. Really, really wanted it. A nine-foot tall inflatable lawn puppy. Nine feet of awesome. Nine feet of cute. But I didn't want it because it's cute. Within minutes, maybe a few dozen seconds, I had a plan. I had it all figured out. I had a three-step plan.

Sometimes I just have to go back in time to laugh out loud. Enjoy.

This is so awesome. Sooo very awesome. I have a new title. I am now, officially, as proclaimed by my son, The Crusher of Dreams. I've earned the title over time, with many incidents proving my worthiness of it, because I am -- after all -- a parent. But my title was not until today bestowed upon me. And bestowed upon me with all of the melodrama such a title deserves. What, you ask, has brought me this honor? A piano. More accurately, parts of a piano. The disintegrating corpse of a piano currently basking in the twilight behind the middle school cafeteria on a large furniture dolly. Legless, lidless, and missing several keys, my son wants this piano for its nostalgic and historic value.

My day job is in marketing for a technology company. I've worked on a lot of projects, both as a content creator and as a reviewer. I'm sure we're not the only company that calls our "brand identity" team, the "brand police." And this video is so flippin' on the mark, it hurts :-) The video is a fantastic visualization of a post (or is it a poem?) by Kendra Eash on McSweeney's . The brand-approval process often feels more like cattle branding than I'd prefer. There's something to be said for creating a consistent image, but sometimes that effort goes further into the generic void than creative minds can stand...

I had a frightening moment while I was washing the dishes tonight. I was revisiting a conversation I'd had earlier in the evening, when I damn near dropped the scrubby brush. Holy crap, am I channeling Carol Brady? I quickly realized that it wasn't possible. And I have a bullet list to prove it: Carol Brady wouldn't have had a scrubby brush to drop. The kitchen sink was clearly Alice's turf.  I am not raising a herd of polyester-clad kids.  That much polyester would make me chafe at every physical joint of my body.  Who in the hell names a dog after a cat anyway? Proof. I have not been sucked into a mental parental Brady Bunch vortex. (And now, a word from our sponsor.       Dearest twitchy grammar nerds:      I fully realize the above list is not of parallel construction, but making it so      would bust the story's groove, so get outta my editorial grill.      Hugs, Me) Ye...

     Dear Triker Chick:      What is the appropriate bridal attire for a backwoods wedding?       Signed,      Wondering in the Woods Dearest Bambi, Wouldn't you know, this is a question I've oft asked myself. (Actually, I haven't. In fact, until tonight I didn't even know I had an answer to this question. But I thought if I demonstrated some understanding and affinity, you'd feel better about my answer.) Fear not, we have discovered a fabulous resource. Accidentally, of course. I must commend my fabulous friend Kristin for accidentally twirling me in the direction of what may be one of the raddest bridal websites ever. Ever in the history of the interwebby thing. Ever!

(Disclaimer: I work for Cisco.)  Big news! Dick Tracy has announced Microsoft’s next product . In a promotional launch event, tough, but trustworthy spokesperson Inspector Tracy demonstrated the 2-Way Wrist Phone. Welcome to 1946 everyone! Don’t worry, you can upgrade to a 2-Way Wrist TV in 1964! You’ll just need to find Sherman and Mr. Peabody for a little ride in the WABAC  machine. Recently seen on Facebook: If 17 technology vendors announce a new smartwatch by the end of the month, my pet rock will quit smoking. It’s one of the latest examples of follow-the-leader among technology vendors. Or maybe it’s not even follow-the-leader, because no one is really leading a category for an amazing device everyone no one actually seems to need. As Emmy, my neighbor’s three-year-old, might reasonably ask: “Why?” Granted, plenty of success has come from lack of need. Cue Seinfeld , a show about nothing. Enter stage right: the pet rock . And stage left: the chia...

Sprouts: More than just a garnish. Sometimes having a precocious kid is a health hazard. More specifically, sometimes having a precocious kid is a choking hazard. We're sitting at the dining room table. He's doing his homework and I'm reading Sunset magazine. He looks over at a page with a picture of a salad with a garnish of sprouts on top. "Mommy, those look like sperm." Wha? Huh?! Cough, sputter, choke... Wait, do I choke or laugh? Dammit! Wait, breathe. Now, OK mom, time to put on the card-shark face and handle this.

Admittedly, I'm pretty lousy at this whole dating thing. I was pretty clueless in my 20s and now that I'm single again at "somewhere beyond 40," I'm still in the fog. I'm not used to getting "hit on," probably because it didn't happen in my earlier life. Or if it did, I didn't notice because I was shy and pretty sure anyone interested in me was outta their damn gourd.  Somewhere along the way I escaped that way of thinking and evolved into my current goofy, relatively outgoing, more social self. I ain't bucking for Julie McCoy 's job on the The Love Boat , but ain't hiding behind plants, furniture, taller people, posts... I'm just me and I'm cool with who me is. But I just don't always pick up on those pick-up cues. I'll be in the middle of a conversation and realize, " Oh, you're hitting on me. Now I get it."

One of my newest monikers is "the mom of the kid with the tie." Because I am indeed, the mom of the kid with the tie. Friday was free dress for @'s school. Although it's a public school, they have a uniform of navy pants and white, blue, or green polo shirts. Whereas most of the other kids took the opportunity to dress down in jeans or sweats and t-shirts, @ dressed up in a button-down shirt and clip-on tie. (A little girl in his class also opted to buck the trend and wore a nice dress. Perhaps they're soulmates...) After school it was time to head over the hill and off to the woods for a mother-son camp adventure at the YMCA's Camp Campbell.

Once upon a time in history, I went to my first black-tie fund-raising dinner. The food was great. But I was more amazed at the dresses the women were wearing. It wasn't only the money that went into the dresses, it was the "enhancements" (so to speak) that also went into those expensive dresses. At the time, X and I made light of things with new tag lines like "Better Fund-Raising through Cleavage" and "Boobs for Babies." Apparently the black-tie dinner demographic is shapely.

@ had an art project at school for which he created a pot of gold. The pot was titled "I wish everyone in the world had..." and he had labeled each coin with a different thing. His choices a bed peace books a dog a tent to play in a giant excavator Practical, altruistic, while at the same time uniquely @. Sometimes he just makes me laugh out loud.

Zeek: Damien, I'm sure you're a nice guy, but you left your sock in my house and you took my grand-daughter's innocence. Here's your sock. *** *** *** Damien: Sir, I just want to let you know that I consider myself a student of philosophy. Live and let live. I mean no harm to anyone. Zeek: I am an irrational hardass with rage issues. Don't piss me off. *** *** *** Being a word geek, I appreciate good writing when I actually do sit still and watch TV. A pretty new show called Parenthood has some good writers...

A guy I work with, but whom I've never met in person, responded to my out-of-the-office auto-reply e-mail with "Are you having a baby?" Wha? Huh? Who in the h**...? My first thought was to respond, "Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. It's yours." As an absolutely hilarious comedian* I saw last winter would say, "First thought wrong..." I didn't go with the first thought. Nor did I opt for the... 2nd: see above italics 3rd: "Been there, done that. Please donate to the March of Dimes" 4th: "Have we met?" 5th: "Please be available to field calls from HR." 6th: "Please see the attached photo from my endoscopy." 7th... * Mark Lundholm .

It's tax season. And as they say, in this country anyway, the only sure things are death and taxes. But according to some smart folks in Sweden, maybe not. Pudding might solve one of those little problems. No, no really! I came across an interesting article. The all-too-generic headline, " Calcium Linked to Longer Life " is essentially the "Consumable of Some Sort Linked to Longer/Shorter Life" article du jour. In this case, my attention was suckered by the deck (that stuff under the headline designed to drag you into the rest of the article): People who get the most calcium in their diet reduce their risk of death by 25 percent, according to new research on calcium and health. Wha? Huh? Really? Bring it on! I clicked through to the article. It gets better. The editors provide immediately accessible advice under a nice little "what you can do" heading: "Boost your calcium intake by eating healthy food sources like low-fat dairy, spinach, kale…...

Should you be chased by a polar bear down Mountain View's Castro Street while on foot, simply do a u-turn and a street fair will appear. Apparently, polar bears -- or people dressed in mangy polar bear costumes, yet still frightening when chasing you -- are easily distracted by jewelry at art & wine festivals. But perhaps only the variety of art & wine festival that appears like a pond in the desert when you make an abrupt turnaround midstreet. I'm not sure. I've not experienced another polar bear chase -- costumed or otherwise -- nor encountered an apparition-type art & wine festival . It was clear, however, that the jewelry (ooooh shiny, prett-ty shiny things) is what captured the attention of the bear. The BSO strategy works again. Four more instances where Bright Shiny Objects (BSO) work well in tough situations: Presentations that are not going well -- mention some new, obscure feature or technology and watch the eyes glitter as they quickly forget the fac...