Even More Random Thoughts - September Edition

What you say to your hairdresser:  “Don’t cut it too short.”  What your hairdresser hears:  “Do whatever you want.  I have no taste and know nothing about my own hair.”

The cleaning lady was at my house for four hours today.  I don’t think I have spent four hours cleaning in the past month.  And that’s probably why the cleaning lady was at my house for four hours today.

I actually had to buy ketchup recently.  Seriously, who runs out of ketchup?  Well, I didn’t run out, but I use it so rarely that mine expired.  By two months, which my BFF would insist makes it still quite usable, but I’m not taking any chances.  I can feel a “discussion” coming on over this subject, right, Jo?

How and who decided that we had to boil the water first and then put in the pasta but we can boil the water with eggs in the pot to hard boil them?  Tons of research must have been conducted to reach those conclusions.  See why I can’t sleep?  These matters of such grave importance keep me up and pondering.

You know you haven’t been cooking much if you have to dust off the stove.

The easiest way to spot lint (or glitter) on your floor is to unplug the vacuum cleaner and put it away.   The lint will suddenly appear, as though it has been hiding the entire time you cleaned and now is there to taunt you.

I don’t need an alarm clock anymore.  Either my leg cramps get me hopping out of bed or my need to hit the bathroom does the trick.  Ah, the joys of getting old.

No matter how much I walk or exercise, it seems I will never have any visible muscle definition.  I know I have calf muscles because I get cramps in them, but, unlike the legs on the other people I see out walking, mine are encased in layers of a protective fatty coating.  And as for a six-pack?  Well, that’s been buried for years.  Finding my six-pack would be like looking for Jimmy Hoffa in the Meadowlands.  Neither will ever be found.

There are so many gray-haired heads walking around this community that sometimes I feel like I am on the set of the movie “Cocoon.”

Almost everyone who walks for exercise in my active adult community would benefit from a stronger support bra, including me.  And that includes most of the men.

Whatever happened to lime flavor?  I love those green lollipops and LifeSavers from my youth, but most everything green these days seems to be watermelon-flavored.  Bring back lime!

Someone will have to explain to me why anyone would opt to be a urologist.  Or why we use the word “a” in front of urologist, despite the fact that it starts with a vowel and normally that means using “an” as the preceding word.

Which is the biggest lie? 
    1.  The technician/delivery truck will be there first thing in the morning.
    2.  The check is in the mail.
    3.  One size fits all.

The best way to spot an error – typographical, spelling or otherwise – in a document is to hit the SEND button.  Then it pops right out at you.

Have you ever considered that the words weird and wired are so similar?  Meditation and mediation, too.  During the recent mediation process, I turned to meditation when medication wasn’t working for me.

I could hand wash the dishes in less time than it takes me to load them into the dishwasher.

I don’t understand why I always had to spell out my street name when I lived on Joshua Drive, but no one ever asks me to spell my new street, Constitution Way.

I spent $8 on grapes in the supermarket today.  Next time, I’m just going to buy wine.

My washing machine was particularly agitated today.  It turned all my tops inside out.

I really don’t mind doing laundry, but if it could just fold itself when the dryer is done, I would be very happy.

When I have a sandwich, it must be cut diagonally.  I’m not sure why.

Panic sets in when I am down to my last 12 rolls of toilet paper, even if they are triple rolls, and especially if there is snow on the ground.  Really, Tina, you live alone.  How much toilet paper can you use and how fast?

How could I possibly break a fingernail in the shower?  It must have really been tough washing my hair!

I frequently pass a house with a sign in front that reads “Dinning room set for sale.”  The sign has been there for weeks, and I am secretly hoping that no one is buying that set as a protest to the egregious spelling error on the sign.

You would think that fly buzzing around my house would drop dead of fatigue by now, but he’s still racing around and uncatchable.

If the Russians can hack into the DNC’s computer systems, could they send someone to my house to fix up Windows 10, etc.?

I spent the morning of a rainy day reorganizing and cleaning my laundry room.  You know you hate to do stuff like this, but it sure feels great once it is done!  I even washed the washing machine.

I’m signed up with a market research company and occasionally do surveys for them, go to a focus group or shop in a store they require.  The pre-screen for today’s survey had this as the first question:  “Do you own a refrigerator?”  If you have a computer to take the survey, I think it is a safe bet you own a refrigerator.  But I know, they have to ask.  Strange.

When did “curate” become so popular?  Everything from the art in a museum to the bathroom collection at Home Depot is now “curated.”  If the word is combined with the equally overused “awesome,” I may just lose my mind.

“La la la la la la la” means “I love you.”  At least according to the Delfonics.

I have listened to Pandora’s Motown station so much that they have run out of Motown tunes.  I mean, I love the Four Season’s “Sherry Baby,” but it isn’t remotely a Motown song.

I have been 50 percent successful in my latest attempt to multitask.  I now know that I cannot walk and meditate.  I have enough trouble meditating while just sitting still.  (The mind is a terrible thing to wander.)  But I CAN walk and do my shoulder exercises at the same time.  Considering that I have trouble walking and chewing gum, that’s quite an accomplishment for me!

At the risk of kicking off a chorus of derision, I will admit (as anyone who knows me well already knows) that I am not an animal lover.  Feel free to love yours and others all you want, but that’s just not me.  The only pets I have are pet peeves.  I do not want your “don’t worry, he’s friendly” dog jumping on me or your otherwise standoffish cat rubbing up against my leg.  And I especially don’t want to take a walk while picking up dog poop  and carrying it around in a bag until the walk is over.  This probably explains why I don’t have kids, too.

And finally, I created quite a stir on Facebook this month with the admission that I had never eaten a taco.  People seemed outraged and suspicious that I had lived this long without ever having tried one and they demanded to know why.  The truth is that I have a sensitive stomach and have always avoided Mexican restaurants or other places where I imagine the food will be spicy.  And I don’t particularly enjoy corn-based hard shell/chip-like foods, such as tortilla chips, nachos, Fritos (which smell like feet to me) or even corn bread.  But my persuasive friend Heather took me to On the Border near the Douglass campus, where we enjoyed several margaritas and I sampled my first tacos.  Though Heather insisted I tackle the basic hard-shell taco with ground beef, I preferred the soft shell with brisket, which I would eat again in a minute.  And the world will rest easy knowing that I have had my first – and probably not my last – taco, at last.