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lunchtime conversation

My team at work went out for a belated holiday lunch at a seafood place today.

It’s a small team at the moment, just me, another co-worker, and our boss. My boss is only a few years older than me, and we were peers before he was my manager, so we’re friends too.

“What do you think this is?” my boss said, picking up the third shaker next to the salt and pepper, containing a brown substance.

“Probably Old Bay,” I reply. He starts liberally applying over his crab cake and baked potato. “Or cinnamon.”

He puts down the shaker. We all burst out laughing.

i am a contradiction

Or maybe a conundrum. Or a hodgepodge. (My husband gets credit for reminding me of this commercial, of course, now he has also compared me to a platypus.)

It crossed my mind last night, as I was getting ready for bed, that my hair falls somewhere between wavy and curly.

It has too much curl to be wavy, but the weight of my hair tends to straighten the curls somewhat, so that it’s not really curly either. It just gets frizzy/fluffy if I don’t use the right products!

And then there’s the color. A friend once described me as a “rotten strawberry blond.” That’s probably the best way to put it! I’m too dark to be strawberry blond, not red enough to be a redhead. I’d like it to be redder, but I won’t dye it*. I love that it’s natural.

So we’ve got sort of curly reddish-blondish-brownish hair.

Adding to the mix, I am also a tall petite. At 5’3″, I’m still pretty short. The “petite” category is supposed to be for people 5’4″ and under so I should be fine. However, I have a terrible time finding pants with the right length.

Most of the time, petite pants are too short. They are usually the perfect length, if I were to go barefoot. That rules out even the smallest heel most of the time. Non-petite pants tend to be longer than my highest heels.

I’m not a good enough sewer to hem nice pants (I’ll only hem pajamas or running pants!), and I’m not going to have all of my clothes tailored, so I’ll just keep trying on dozens of pants, waiting for the ones that have a slightly longer (or shorter) inseam!

So, I’m kind of short, with sort of curly reddish-blondish-brownish hair. And blueish-greenish-grayish eyes.

No complaints there. They change color to match my outfits!

*Not that my hair has never been dyed … in college, it was deeper red, dark brown, reddish-pink, and purple. It’s all mine now — no dye has touched my head since 1996!

a toaster oven made my day

I went into the office kitchen at lunchtime today to heat up my Lean Cuisine, and was ecstatic to find a shiny new toaster oven sitting next to the microwave.

My boss remarked that he couldn’t remember the last time he saw me so happy. And I’ll even admit that it’s true.

Really. A toaster oven.

Because now I can make Pop Tarts for breakfast again!

I’ve been suffering from withdrawal even since we moved into this office (which was the week before Christmas, but I wasn’t really working here until January 2).

I’ve been looking longingly at my unopened box of low-fat brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts each morning as I open my drawer and grab oatmeal or a cereal bar instead.

Yeah, it’s pretty sad that this has been the highlight of my week.

But I can’t wait until breakfast tomorrow!

delusions of grandeur

noun
a delusion (common in paranoia) that you are much greater and more powerful and influential than you really are

— definition from dictionary.com

I’ve been watching the “American Idol” audition shows for the past few weeks. Season six, and it still amazes me.

How can so many people go out for these auditions thinking they have the talent to win, when they are completely tone deaf? Or sound like screeching cats? Or sing monotonously without any emotion?

Sure, I know only the best of the best (and worst of the worst) actually make it on TV. And, it’s mostly the truly awful ones that make the cut. It’s usually obvious when people know they’re bad, but just want to get on TV. They’re the ones with goofy costumes and gimmicks.

But the ones leaving in tears? They really thought they had a chance. (Could they act that well when they sing so poorly?)

I feel bad for them.

As a singer, I know my limitations. Even if I wasn’t too old for the show, I would never have tried out.

For starters, I’m terrible in auditions. I’m always far too nervous that only a fraction of my usual voice will come out. Karaoke terrifies me — I dragged myself to do it only once, after a few drinks!

I’ve never been a soloist. I’ve been singing in choirs since I was young, but I have no confidence when I’m out there on my own. Someday I’d like to take some lessons so I can become a more confident, competent singer.

Not so I can be a superstar, just for me.

Besides, I doubt they’d raise the maximum audition age again!

kids these days …

They all seem to roll around on their trendy sneakers with wheels, which I’ve just learned are called Heelys.

In the mall … through parking lots … in the library …

I’ve been seeing them for a while now, but I never realized how popular these things had gotten until yesterday. I spent no more than two hours in the mall and must have seen at least a half dozen kids glide by.

Actually, it looks like they make these silly things in adult sizes as well, but I’ve never seen anyone older than 12 wearing them.

Of course on their web site they say to always wear safety gear, but what kid would wear a helmet to the mall?

They seem like a pretty bad idea … guess that’s why they’re on the World Against Toys Causing Harm “10 Worst Toys” list!

Though, most kids seem quite skilled at it. They expertly glide and turn; they are in control.

Except for the little girl I saw in Marshall’s. She collided into a rack of clothing. She was probably the youngest I had seen, maybe six or seven, and clearly she wasn’t coordinated enough to be wearing them.

At least her mom reprimanded her. I hope she took the wheels away!