The Tackle Box

I like organization. I get this distorted sense of pleasure when I see things all neat and tidy. Someone told me about organizing their hair clips and ties in a clear tackle box. As my hair ties and clips are mixed together randomly in a basket, I decided I had to organize them in a clear tackle box too.

That means I was headed to Walmart.

The fishing/hunting section is in the far corner of the store by automotive supplies...a corner of the store I obviously have no reason to visit. I have passed it by a couple times - on my way to bedding and fabrics, or to find Adam or Sara in the toy section. I've seen the people that shop this section. Mullets, camo attire and butt cracks seem to be the order of the day. I fear of interacting with these people. I'm afraid they'll overtake me and feather the front of my hair. Or worse yet, they'll abduct me with their newly purchased rifle and ammo and take me to the woods where I'll be forced to live in a dilapidated cabin and raise their rat-tail children and make new foods from fatback and kill my own dinner. A fate worse than death, I know.

An in-and-out plan was needed, but I wasn't familiar with this section. Asking for help wasn't an option. What would they do to me if they realized I'm buying a tackle box to organize hair accessories? Do they know what accessory means - other than in terms of murder sentencing? I'd have to dash in and out. I didn't have time to agonize over finding the best pricing option, or visualize my hair accessories in each compartment. I'd have to find, grab and buy. My plan set, I left the house.

I walked into Walmart.

I walked, assuredly and resolutely, past housewares, past paint supplies and finally past the safety of the bedding department. I wanted to pause, to scan the section for prospective dangers, but I was afraid to show fear or weakness. I quickly scanned the aisle descriptions and found "fishing supplies". I ignored the pot-bellied employee with beady eyes staffing the gun counter and slipped noiselessly into the aisle. I had to be quick, he probably already alerted a camo-coated mulletman to come find me. Eureeka...near the front of the aisle I spotted a pile of clear tackle boxes. The mid-sized one looked perfect (it had tabs for me to create my own sections, it was slim for easy storage and had a handle for easy transport...ideal really) and cost about six bucks. I grabbed it and tip-toed back to the end of the aisle. I peered around to be sure the coast was clear. Off to my left was a burly man looking at gun racks...conveniently blocking my nearest exit. Without pause, I headed right and delved into the automotive section. I sped along the edge until I made it into the paint section. I wasn't safe just yet. I hurried down to the toiletries aisle, knowing no man would follow me into the tampon section. Surrounding me were bright colored boxes and bottles advertising cleanliness and freshness. I knew I had made it.

1 More Day

I fly back home to Ohio in just one day. In fact, in exactly 24 hours, I'll be leaving work to head to the airport. One of my favorite visits in Ohio is when I get to see Kaydence. I love all my friend's kids, but Kaydence is special. I am not sure why she is so special to me. Maybe because she was born 3 days after my birthday. Maybe because I met her when she was one day old. Maybe because the first time Tasha and I changed her diaper, it turned into fiasco where I cried from the smell and the laughter.

K always remembers me, even when I don't come home often. She wears her Wyoming cowgirl shirt when she knows I'm coming over. She sleeps with the quilt I made her, even if it's too hot. Plus she's just so darn cute.

How do they do it?

Every day at work, my boss and I copy the crossword from the paper, complete as much as possible, and compare our work. Since my memory is lodged into a more recent century, many clues and answers escape me. No, I didn't know the kid's nursery rhyme about Jack Sprat and his lardo wifey that originated in 1639. No, I had no clue that Mel Torme was a famous crooner. We're lucky I knew what crooner meant. So obviously I have my share of crossword angst.

Thursdays and Fridays crosswords are pretty challenging. I do fairly well, but definitely have more blanks than Wednesdays. My favorite thing now when I'm stumped is a blog called Diary of a Crossword Fiend. This person blogs every day with answers and explanations for four to six different crosswords they completed that very day. So ok, they finish four to six difficult crosswords and blog about it by the time I finish my lunch? How do they do it?? I can't even finish one by two pm. Ergh.

Pretending

I love this comic, really I do. Soup to Nutz is back again!



It got me thinking about pretending. We all pretend a little bit. I pretend to like the people I speak to on the phone at work, because I'm paid to do that. I pretend to be interested in stories I've heard a thousand times, because it is obvious that the story teller lives off the glory of their past. I pretend to agree with friends sometimes, because it's easier than disagreeing. I pretend not to know secrets that I've been told. That's hard for me.

Let's face it, pretending is a polite form of lying. But why do I pretend? I guess some people can't handle reality, or my reality isn't appropriate for the situation. Is it wrong? I don't know. I don't suppose I choose to change anything about it. But hey, it's my blog, I can be introspective if I want! :)

I guess the worst is lying to yourself. But I'm ok with that. In fact, I use that to my advantage. The grass is NEVER greener on the other side, because I don't want it to be. I'm convinced retirement is full of financial struggles and boredom. No thanks, I don't mind working now! I'm convinced vegans don't get enough necessary nutrients and are often sick, so I'll stick with my beef and chicken and eggs! And after living with Adam and David, I'm convinced men are slobs by nature and now I'm not so sad to be single!

Wow

My humor for today:


This comic strip, Soup 2 Nutz just kills me. It's the dorkiest kid ever with funny siblings.

Kids really do say the funniest things. They have the most honest perspective on life. They don't sugar coat the bad, because it is just they way it is. I love that about kids.

I went to see the Michael Jackson movie. There was a little boy in front of us that was a big Michael Jackson fan. He danced around and copied MJ's moves. It was so cute. He got a little bit bored and started to play around and his mom "helped" him to sit still with her. He wasn't too pleased to be held back by his mom and he yelled "Stop! You're touching my privates!" This is just funny in general, but come on, in the middle of a Michael Jackson movie? It's kinda like:

Michael Jackson movie tickets - $8

Popcorn - $40

Yelling during a Michael Jackson movie for someone to stop touching your privates - PRICELESS