crushedcorn

I think I just broke my cell phone.  “Just” as in 10 minutes ago in an attempt to clear out all of the mp3s that I don’t listen to it seems to have cleared out everything it knew.  Now it’s randomly turning itself on and off.  That’s probably the reason my phone has the insurance on it and Z’s doesn’t. Huh.

The other day Nina and I were discussing who would be what Little Miss or Little Mr. character and while at first I rejected it, I do see myself filling the role of Little Miss Scatterbrain.

It’s not a position I feel I fit aesthetically, but mentally there is a bit of a resemblance.  I can focus and pay intense attention to things, but then again the most harmless comment or anecdote can set me on a seemingly disconnected verbal track that was completely rational to me.  Does forgetting parts of a movie that you just watched fall into the “scatterbrain” category too?  I’m vying for the position of Little Miss Helpful or Curious or Busy, but its just fun to find which character fits your shoes best.

That whole conversation made me think of the Sweet Pickles books.  Do you remember those?  I couldn’t tell you what a single one of them was about, but I remember loving them and being part of the Sweet Pickles club when I was a kid.  They sent me a green plastic bus and every month I would get games and lessons and stories to file inside it.  For some reason the one thing I remember about that was the card teaching you about washing your hands.  They were almost obsessive about it, telling you to wash your hands before and after you eat and before and after you go to the bathroom.  Not to be gross, but I don’t always wash my hands on all of those occasions.  Did Sweet Pickles fail in sending me their message of obsessive cleanliness?  Doesn’t matter.  I still love them.

While we’re going down memory lane I’m starting to long for my glow worms and extra long plush green caterpillar with sneakers on every single foot.  I miss the days when Toys R’ Us was relevant.  I still love cute illustrated characters (hello, Tokidoki!) and stuffed…things (Moxy Uglydoll is on my nightstand) so I think the kid in me has a pretty secure job.

I logged on with the intent to write about so many other things but all I can think of now is how I need to find the entire Sweet Pickles collection for the kiddos and when I can get my hands on this guy:

I’m so glad that life isn’t like “The Giver” by Louis Lowry where everyone gets the same gift when they turn a certain age.  If that were the case I wouldn’t start asking for the entire “Scrubs” series on DVD or hoping for a few Disney classics to fall under my birthday tree.  Just kidding.  Or not.  No, really.  I’m not.

I have this creeping fear that my job is causing me to get dumber. Seriously. Nothing against the job itself or the other people that do it, but for me I might as well sit in a windowless room polishing the same stainless steel bowl for 8 hours. It’s a legit fear when you feel your mind getting lazier, with your body slowly following after months of resistance signified by dragging feet and fumbling digits. I should be working on a crossword puzzle instead of blogging…but as my spelling skills and my ability to form sentences hasn’t waned, I’m going to remain here with you for at least a couple paragraphs more.

The other day I was wondering if one’s relationship with a food could physiologically alter it’s effect on your body. For example, when we sell french fries people always say they’re being “bad” by getting them. But then there are those people who unapologetically buy 2 boats of those greasy goods with no acknowledgment of wrongdoing. Assuming that this wasn’t a daily occurrence, is it possible that the former’s attitude towards what he or she is eating would cause the fat to layer on more thickly or quicker than the latter? I believe it. Just a thought.

The other day a coworker asked me what my interests are. I sputtered out “knitting,” but then went blank. How embarrassing. Am I that boring? Are my interests confined to 2 wooden sticks and a ball of animal fur? No, of course, but when I expand on my answer in my mind, they don’t widen by much. Reading, writing, knitting, and the outdoors – nothing to be ashamed of but still a list that I feel I can and should try to diversify and enlarge. Many people have that one thing that they are experts in. Zach can name just about any song and its singer with a word or a few notes. A friend knows every Tori Amos song ever created and probably those that she has yet to write. I don’t have that in my life. I love dog and crafts and running, but I’m not much more than an educated pet owner, I haven’t done anything above intermediate on the knitting scale, and I haven’t run more than 10 miles in my life. I’m sad about that, about not having a passion so great for something that I do what I can to become an expert at it or know everything about it. I have my little obsessions here and there, but they usually don’t go any further than that. I’m not sure if that’s a unbiased personality trait or a fatal flaw.