Small Bites - July 2009

Nothing major on my mind this month, just a lot of little things, ranging from annoying to amusing, that I thought I'd share for this month's entry. Treasure or trash as you see fit.

How proud I am to live in New Jersey these days. First the supposed “Real Housewives of New Jersey” airs on television and now the Garden State is the home of the “perp walk” by elected officials (and a few alleged money-laundering rabbis). In a government plot just this side of Abscam, the feds nailed a bus load of New Jersey’s finest, including the 32-year old mayor of Hoboken, in office for just a few weeks, but in time to allegedly accept a bribe from an undercover scofflaw playing himself as a crooked developer. My mother always told me that the motto of Hudson County was “Vote early, vote often,” and that you could continue to vote even in the afterlife. My old boss, Jim Murray, used to say that anyone who seeks office should be prevented from getting one. He might have had something there. Congratulations to my native state for perpetuating the stereotype that all housewives are Carmela Soprano and all elected officials are on the take.

I watched the finale of “The Bachelorette” while my sister debated the merits of watching “The Real Housewives of Atlanta” to follow her addiction to “The Real Housewives of New Jersey.” Those Gordon girls are clearly lovers of highbrow entertainment.

If I ruled the word, the roads would be planned properly, construction crews wouldn’t be out on the highway at the worst possible times or standing around scratching themselves, elevators and escalators would be located where handicapped people could actually access them (and they would be functional at all times), parking lots and decks would be well lit and redesigned, and architecture done for design would be done for function, too. I guess I’ll have to come back as a civil engineer or architect.

I think my hair has a mind of its own. On the day I have a haircut scheduled, it taunts me by looking its best. On days when I see no one, it always looks great, but when I have to go somewhere or look good, my hair may have other ideas. If I wake up and think about not washing it before my water aerobics class, I quickly change my mind when I realize I look like a cross between Kate Gosselin (the back) and Robert Pattinson (the front and top), which, trust me, is only a good look if you star in a hit movie.

If you are waiting for a service person to come to your house and you are given a range of time (say, 9 to noon), the chance of his arrival at the earliest time increases dramatically if you are not there. If you are at home and eagerly awaiting his appearance, he will arrive at the latest possible time.

Here’s a problem I have because I live alone: Making an ice cream cone. With just two hands, how do I hold the cone and put away the container? I buy the flat bottom cones (do I hear the strains of Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls” playing in the background?) and have to stand my finished cone on the counter, hoping it doesn’t drip or fall over while I put away the ice cream. It’s not like I can leave it there and put it away later. Sometimes a spouse would come in very handy. And a tall one to change light bulbs would be particularly useful. Meanwhile, I’ll eat the ice cream in a bowl, thank you.

Speaking of ice cream, have you read the package information lately? The lighter varieties have only 140 calories per serving, which is quite acceptable. However, the package says it contains 14 servings. 14? Are you kidding me? Who gets 14 servings out of what is now less than half a gallon of ice cream? So now I feel guilty and indulgent. That will teach me to read the package!

How does the inside of the soap dispenser get dirty? After all, there’s soap in there, right? Just don’t tell me it is mildew, which defeats the whole point of the soap.

Why does the throw rug next to my bed continue to retreat under it? Was there an earthquake I missed? It is on top of the carpet, so it can’t easily slide under the bed, yet it does. I don’t get it.

Whenever I have a 30% coupon from Kohl’s, I buy 30% more than I need. At least.

Why do we as women always have to justify what we buy? I live alone, and yet I justify to myself what I buy. I’m so bad I caught myself telling the cashier at Kohl’s that I had saved enough during their sale to get the shoes for free! Like she cares. And then, if someone compliments a woman on what she bought when she wears it, she has to explain it: “Oh, you know, my old one was just in tatters, and there was this sale…” “I wouldn’t have bought it, but I know I can wear it with so many things. I’ll get so much use out of it.” Our friends will agree and encourage us, too: “You can even wear that with your fill-in-the-blank.” Men are different. They do less shopping than restocking. The old khakis are old khakis, so they get new khakis. They buy a new tie because the old one had a soup stain, or because they need a new suit for a wedding or a job. Women are recreational shoppers, but we still have a story with every purchase: “You won’t believe how much I saved on this,” we proclaim proudly.

I was diagnosed with osteopenia a few months ago (which I was sure had something to do with paninis at first). Turns out it means I am thisclose to osteoporosis. So now Sally Field and I are both on the once-a-month dose of Boniva. I try to be environmentally friendly, but I am no tree hugger. Still, I can’t help noticing that the box of three – count ‘em, three – Boniva tablets contains individual packages the size of those used for cold relief tablets, except the cold relief tablet package contains 12-18 tablets, while each Boniva package has one. The three individual packages come in a box the size used for the old floppy disks – holding at least 12 disks. As if this incredible waste of packaging isn’t offensive enough, there is the whole process of Boniva liberation. The tablet has to be removed from the box and then extricated from the tight plastic blister pack that protects it from people with osteoporosis who need to take the damn thing and can’t get it out of the package! I think that if you can accomplish this impossible mission easily, maybe you don’t really need the product.

Remember when expiration dates on coupons were years away? Now they expire within weeks. I faithfully cut them out and then end up throwing them away because they expire by the time I am ready to use them. I suppose I could try to manage this task better…

When you live in the suburbs, you can count on hearing one thing about three quarters of the year: Someone is always mowing the lawn. This sound can be annoying (when it happens too early in the day), unsettling (when you have allergies) or wonderful (when it is someone mowing my lawn).

You can’t tell me that my nails don’t grow faster in the summer. I feel like I should be filing them at every red light. I draw the line at toenails, so don’t worry if you see me on the road with a nail file in my hand.

Don’t you hate it when someone pulls out in front of you and then doesn’t drive as fast as the speed limit? It’s even worse when someone pulls out, cuts you off and there’s no one behind you. They couldn’t have waited?

One good sign about driving is the 4-way stop sign. People actually seem to know how to handle themselves at these kinds of intersections, allowing the person on the right to go first or taking turns in relative civility. Perhaps the apocalypse is not with us quite yet.