Marching Through My Random Thoughts

The song "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" is running through my mind, but I am sure it is less about the song than it is about the restaurant.

Do you ever look for something in your closet and can't find it, then go back and look again and it is there?  How does that happen?  Did it slip out at night for a little R&R and then sneak back in time for me to find it when I looked again?  And where did I put the silicone earplugs I bought a dozen of last summer?  Will they show up in time for my pool to open this year? 

I just saw an ad for Grammy Camp.  At first look, I assumed it was to train women to be good grandmothers.  Turns out, it is about music and winning Grammys, not being one. I bet no one under 40 had that thought.

My father used to open the refrigerator door and stare inside, until my mother remarked, "What are you doing, watching a movie?"  But I do it, too, hoping to find something to eat that might be a surprise.  That's tough since I live alone and buy and eat all the food myself.  The only surprise would be that something formerly edible is no longer in that state.  Yet it is still in the refrigerator.  Actually, that isn't really a surprise.

It's funny how we agonize over just the right shade of lipstick and paint, and then rarely notice them once they are used.

Women cannot take a compliment.  "I like your hair," usually leads to an explanation:  "Oh, I need to get it cut and highlighted so badly."  Or "I love that outfit," yields, "You can't believe what a bargain it was.  I got it on sale, with a coupon," or, "This thing is so old, but I couldn't wear it because it didn't fit."  I KNOW this is NOT just ME!

If you read my movie reviews, you know I rate everything on a scale of 1-5 cans of tuna.  That's because I have always been a major consumer of Bumble Bee Tuna.  As if to confirm my loyalty, I just watched an hour-long documentary about tuna that covered how they are caught and processed, how much one consumes in a year (I am doing more than my share) and the problems with certain fish in the species becoming extinct.  Maybe I should cut back?  Nah, it's just the blue fin tuna, which is not what ends up in my Bumble Bee pouch.  But for all you high grade sushi lovers, you are not doing blue fins any favors.

Will someone please explain to me why people are using ‘single quotes’ instead of “double quotes” EVERYWHERE these days?  I see this error in newspaper headlines, magazine articles, and all over.  Listen, folks, the ONLY time to use single quotes is when they appear WITHIN a quote.  Is this what we are teaching kids these days in school?  Or are we so pressed for space and time we cannot squeeze in the extra quote?  All I know if this is WRONG and should be punishable by having to read Strunck and White’s grammar book.  Repeatedly. 

Have you noticed how quickly coupons expire these days?  It used to be you cut out a coupon and had a year to use it.  Now I might as well clip them in the parking lot at ShopRite because by the time I get inside the store, the coupon will have expired.  OK, I am exaggerating.  But just a little.

I went to the supermarket recently to buy a roll of string and came out with $77 worth of groceries (full disclosure: I bought a book of stamps, too).  Surprisingly, I even remembered to buy the string!  How many times have you gone shopping for a particular item and went home with everything but the item for which you went to the store in the first place?

Speaking of the supermarket, why am I always in the line where the person is writing a check, going back to an aisle for something they forgot or the tape in the register is running out?  Why am I always parked between two enormous SUVs, both of whose drivers will be loading their cars and pulling out the same time as me?

Unlike many other women I know, I am not, nor have I ever been, into shoes.  I buy them strictly for function and comfort, so don't expect to see me teetering around in spike heels any time soon.  My father sold shoes for a living, so when I needed a pair, he'd bring home a few Naturalizers from which to choose and take the others back, so even now, I am not comfortable trying on shoes anywhere but at home.  My clothes obsession is black pants.  Have a bunch, wear them all, can't stop buying them (but at least in smaller sizes these days).  The woman who does my alterations -- who is constantly shortening black pants for me -- is starting to look at me with a combination of curiosity and pity.

I have a plethora of pens, a slew of staples and a ton of toilet paper.  This near-hoarding obsession emanates from my childhood, where the cry was often heard, "Is there any toilet paper?" "No," came the reply.  "Use tissues."  This lack of supplies apparently had a profound affect on me, since I panic if there are less than a dozen rolls on hand.

I'll admit it, I am addicted to laundry.  I gave a speech the other day, took my bows, and went home and threw in a load.  I think that if I won the Oscar, I'd stop at the Vanity Fair party afterwards and then go home to do a celebratory load.  The first step is admitting the problem, right?

No matter how clear the sky or how bright the stars, I can never pick out the constellations.  I consider this an epic failure, particularly since I love the planetarium.

You know you're getting old when you gather with a group of friends and instead of showing you their vacation pictures, they show you their joint replacement scars.

Twice recently I almost put the cereal container into the refrigerator instead of the pantry.  I think it was less about my memory than the fact that I so seldom eat cereal that I actually don't know where I am supposed to store it.  Or at least I hope that's the case.

I would rather insert bamboo shoot under my nails than deal with my taxes.  Not that I do them myself, mind you, or you could all come visit me in jail, but just getting the stuff together (let's not forget the refinancing of the house, and, oh, right, those savings bonds I cashed in because they were no longer yielding any interest) is a painful exercise.  God Bless the accountant who handles this chore for me!

My nephew Brandon will shortly abandon his teenaged years as he turns 20 at the end of this month.  Wasn't it just yesterday I was wondering what to wear to his Bar Mitzvah?  Yes, this is amazing, especially considering that during this time he has aged by 7 years and I have aged by only one or two...

March Madness takes on a whole new meaning for me this year, as my beloved Rutgers Women's basketball team did not make it to the Big Dance for the first time in 10 years.  Now I have my schedule free, which is the upside, but I don't know for whom to cheer, which is the downside, along with never seeing the graduating seniors play again.  Thanks for the memories, ladies.