There is a man outside my window right now using a Weed Whacker. It's music to my ears.
I just realized that the grass is green. And that there IS grass. And the sun is out. And the birds are chirping.
My boss thinks I'm nipping at a little something behind my desk.
But it's just spring!
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Monday, April 7, 2008
Why? Cuss we like you!
Apparently, this is 91% less than other websites who took this test (read: derelict expletive-laden filth mongers).
However, if I'm aiming for Six Sigma defect standards, I have some gosh darn diddly arn work to do.
Created by OnePlusYou.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Pimp My Cart
Last night, I ran into the Pittsford Mega-Wegs for some quick dinner items. I'm not a big grocery shopper and rarely relish the experience (again with the bad puns. must. stop.). However, yesterday I got a rare treat: somebody pimped my cart.
I'm no industrial designer but I'm guessing there was a bolt missing that keeps the basket firmly attached to the legs/wheels. As I went over the bumps on the floor -- especially the area near the cheese shop that is tiled! -- my cart undulated with style.
To add an even greater sense of the surreal to the entire encounter, Foghat's Slow Ride was playing over the store speakers. No one else seemed to find that music selection bizarre. Or at least others did not have incredulous smirks on their faces. Since when is grocery shopping supposed to whisk you back into your Dazed and Confused days of yesteryear?
But seriously, I think I'm onto the prototype cart of the future. My realization (in technical terms) is that carts don't need to be so blinking herky-jerky or unwieldy. Alas, I wish I had flagged it somehow so I could find it on my next journey into the wilds of Weggies. It made the entire experience so much smoooooother.
If there's a next time with the cart-of-my-dreams, I hope to hear Low Rider. And I'll plan to buy some Colt 45.
I'm no industrial designer but I'm guessing there was a bolt missing that keeps the basket firmly attached to the legs/wheels. As I went over the bumps on the floor -- especially the area near the cheese shop that is tiled! -- my cart undulated with style.
To add an even greater sense of the surreal to the entire encounter, Foghat's Slow Ride was playing over the store speakers. No one else seemed to find that music selection bizarre. Or at least others did not have incredulous smirks on their faces. Since when is grocery shopping supposed to whisk you back into your Dazed and Confused days of yesteryear?
But seriously, I think I'm onto the prototype cart of the future. My realization (in technical terms) is that carts don't need to be so blinking herky-jerky or unwieldy. Alas, I wish I had flagged it somehow so I could find it on my next journey into the wilds of Weggies. It made the entire experience so much smoooooother.
If there's a next time with the cart-of-my-dreams, I hope to hear Low Rider. And I'll plan to buy some Colt 45.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Gotta dime? Call someone who cares.
Went to IHOP this a.m. with Son #2 because he wanted Horton Hears a Who pancakes and a Beezlenut Splash drink. This is the stuff that dreams are made of for kids. And dentists.
On the way out the door, there were a couple of phone booths.
Son #2: "Whoa, look mama! They have phone booths here."
Me: "Tell me you've never seen a phone booth before!?"
Unreal.
Sometimes it's easy to forget just how much the world has changed.
On the way out the door, there were a couple of phone booths.
Son #2: "Whoa, look mama! They have phone booths here."
Me: "Tell me you've never seen a phone booth before!?"
Unreal.
Sometimes it's easy to forget just how much the world has changed.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Better than the Betty
My brother and his family just got back from a fabulous vacation at La Quinta Resort & Club outside of Palm Springs.
As beautiful as it appears, I have to question: Is 41 pools and 53 hot spas enough? Gosh, what on earth would we do all day long? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. Sounds soooo good to me on this chilly, drab day.
The only time I have ever been in that area was for a regional sales meeting when I worked at American Express which took place at the Hyatt Grand Champions Resort in Indian Wells. (No, contrary to public opinion, I haven't been to the Betty Ford Clinic -- yet.) Because we played marginally instrumental roles in facilitating the sales meetings that year, a co-worker and I were placed (unbeknownst to us until we arrived) in our own, side-by-side, two bedroom villas complete with fireplaces, private backyards and spas. Apparently the hotel was filled to capacity and we were the primary recipients of the luxurious benefit. Who am I to complain?
When I arrived, I called the hubby to let him know I was safe and sound. During our call, I heard a knock so I put the phone down and answered the door. It was Charles, my butler (!), checking in to see if there was anything I needed. Nope! I think I'm okay!
When I got back to the phone, my ever-so-lovely husband, who overheard the brief conversation, put the phone up to his butt and proceeded to let one rip. What the . . ? His response, "I just wanted to remind you of what you were coming home to." Yeah, sadly that realization has never escaped me!
A moment later, Monique came to get me for dinner and noticed that I had a piece of chocolate on each pillow across my beds. She joked with her butler on the way out the door, "Hey, why don't I have chocolate on my pillows"? He appeared to be just as surprised as she was and apologized profusely.
Upon arriving back later that evening, she came rushing into my villa, "You HAVE to come see this." Her butler had taken hundreds of pieces of chocolate and placed them roughly an inch apart from one another completely covering her beds. She was ecstatic.
Now that's what I call service.
As beautiful as it appears, I have to question: Is 41 pools and 53 hot spas enough? Gosh, what on earth would we do all day long? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. Sounds soooo good to me on this chilly, drab day.
The only time I have ever been in that area was for a regional sales meeting when I worked at American Express which took place at the Hyatt Grand Champions Resort in Indian Wells. (No, contrary to public opinion, I haven't been to the Betty Ford Clinic -- yet.) Because we played marginally instrumental roles in facilitating the sales meetings that year, a co-worker and I were placed (unbeknownst to us until we arrived) in our own, side-by-side, two bedroom villas complete with fireplaces, private backyards and spas. Apparently the hotel was filled to capacity and we were the primary recipients of the luxurious benefit. Who am I to complain?
When I arrived, I called the hubby to let him know I was safe and sound. During our call, I heard a knock so I put the phone down and answered the door. It was Charles, my butler (!), checking in to see if there was anything I needed. Nope! I think I'm okay!
When I got back to the phone, my ever-so-lovely husband, who overheard the brief conversation, put the phone up to his butt and proceeded to let one rip. What the . . ? His response, "I just wanted to remind you of what you were coming home to." Yeah, sadly that realization has never escaped me!
A moment later, Monique came to get me for dinner and noticed that I had a piece of chocolate on each pillow across my beds. She joked with her butler on the way out the door, "Hey, why don't I have chocolate on my pillows"? He appeared to be just as surprised as she was and apologized profusely.
Upon arriving back later that evening, she came rushing into my villa, "You HAVE to come see this." Her butler had taken hundreds of pieces of chocolate and placed them roughly an inch apart from one another completely covering her beds. She was ecstatic.
Now that's what I call service.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Mommy Cash
"Boy, you're just screaming 'springtime' today," said my husband to me this a.m. as I was leaving the house wearing a black blazer, black shirt, black skirt, black tights, black jacket and black heels while carrying a black purse.
Well at least I'm not in boots nor am I wearing a wool coat!
And, for whatever it's worth, my lipstick is light pink.
Over the past few years I have come to terms with the fact that I have morphed into my mother--who we used to call "Mommy Cash" when we were younger for her myriad black-on-black ensembles. I have somehow become the same woman who would frown upon purchasing, for example, an orange sweater as it would be very impractical.
My mom refused to buy the blue plaid polyester uniform for me when I was in grade school because it was tacky; however, she never seemed to mind that I was the only kid still wearing the "old school" (pun intended?) gray plaid wool uniform a) well into spring and b) when I had grown so much that it had become a micro-mini. (I actually had to wear shorts underneath to avoid showing my skivvies.)
From a fashion perspective, it shouldn't take too much for me to transition into becoming a nun during retirement. This black has become a habit . . .
Oh, I slay myself.
Well at least I'm not in boots nor am I wearing a wool coat!
And, for whatever it's worth, my lipstick is light pink.
Over the past few years I have come to terms with the fact that I have morphed into my mother--who we used to call "Mommy Cash" when we were younger for her myriad black-on-black ensembles. I have somehow become the same woman who would frown upon purchasing, for example, an orange sweater as it would be very impractical.
My mom refused to buy the blue plaid polyester uniform for me when I was in grade school because it was tacky; however, she never seemed to mind that I was the only kid still wearing the "old school" (pun intended?) gray plaid wool uniform a) well into spring and b) when I had grown so much that it had become a micro-mini. (I actually had to wear shorts underneath to avoid showing my skivvies.)
From a fashion perspective, it shouldn't take too much for me to transition into becoming a nun during retirement. This black has become a habit . . .
Oh, I slay myself.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
My Affair Continues
Yesterday, I left the house without my wedding band on. I showed my hubby the rash on my ring finger beforehand and asked him if it was okay if I went sans ring for the day. He couldn't have cared less.
So I spent the day at a client site and checked my voicemails at the end of the day. My girlfriend Michele, with whom I was having dinner, left a message that said, "I just called work and they said you weren't there today so I'm going to try you at home and see if your husband knows where you are."
Ring-less? Not at work and not at home? Here we go again! My cover is blown!
On a side note, I did learn one valuable lesson last night: Remember to take the safety goggles off your head when dining out. Even Paris Hilton doesn't wear frames that large.
So I spent the day at a client site and checked my voicemails at the end of the day. My girlfriend Michele, with whom I was having dinner, left a message that said, "I just called work and they said you weren't there today so I'm going to try you at home and see if your husband knows where you are."
Ring-less? Not at work and not at home? Here we go again! My cover is blown!
On a side note, I did learn one valuable lesson last night: Remember to take the safety goggles off your head when dining out. Even Paris Hilton doesn't wear frames that large.
She is fast, thorough, and sharp as a tack;
She's touring the facility and picking up slack.
She's touring the facility and picking up slack.
Somehow high fashion on the production floor doesn't quite cut it in a nice restaurant. Why is that?
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