Recession Dating Tips 101
Current mood: amused
Category: Life

There is a serious article on my msn homepage about dating during a recession. Follow the link only AFTER you read my thoughts on this, if I may be so pushy....

http://msn. match. com/msn/article. aspx?articleid=9455&TrackingID=516311&BannerID=544657&menuid=6>1=26000

                   Tips for Dating During a Recession 

Floating through the ethers, miscatagorized under "dating advice", lurks a well intentioned, but ill advised article, if you ask me. Is dating during a recession any different than dating in a bull market? No, that's not a market that sells cow testicles, but rather, a robust economy.   Follow me? Most folks think dropping a Jefferson at the Olive Garden (which touts all you can eat salad and breadsticks, so I hear) qualifies as regular dating activity. But nonetheless, this article gave harmlessly uninspiring tips like; go for a walk together and cook a meal at home together. Ok, I am down with that program. But then it gets hairy, no pun intended, when it suggets breaking out coupons and moving in together. Both VERY bad ideas. Now, I am not one that's easily impressed, nor do I care about pomp and circumstance, (well, actually I really care about circumstance, but pomp can go eff itslef,) but be aware that with most women, if you break open your nifty little accordian folder with alphabetized and catagorized coupns in the presence of someone you potentially want to have sex with; it ain't gonna happen, and you better hope you have a coupon in there for a complimentary "massage" at your local strip mall.

Move in together? Why don't you save yourself the headache and just break up now. That way you can avoid the dreaded packing up of your entire life in apple boxes from the grocery store that smell a little funky and look like something may have spilled in there at one point, and save yourself the time and effort. I'm just saying.

You see, grasshoppers, dating during a recession is no different that any other economic time. After 3 dates, most couples become couch potatoes anyways, and that's pretty much free. Boring, but free.

PS, Didn't the Fed just kinda barely hint at the R word (recession) only yesterday? It doesn't take long for the media to panic us. Coupon dating, Living in sin.

What's next America? Carpooling?
Mary

4:01 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

FOUR LETTER WORDS OF WISDOM
Current mood: cantankerous
Category: Blogging

WARNING: what you are about to read is frivolous and minutiae driven. If you were expecting a thesis on Tito: The Forgotten Jackson, or some other pertinent topic, you are in the wrong place. (Larry King already covered that, allegedly) What you are about to read will, however, shock you.  (No, I didn’t scoop the tabloids and get the skinny on what Lindsay Lohan’s vagina is up to these days.)  It will shock you based solely on it’s mind numbing existential relevance. Kidding. But read on and feel free to liberally shout amen sister, at the appropriate intervals.

FOUR LETTER WORDS OF WISDOM

CAPTCHA: Can a four letter word have seven, seemingly random letters? CAPTCHA is my new nemesis.  OK, I get it if you’re some sort of celebrity or at least think you are, but for everyone else, please get off your cyber-soapbox. CAPTCHA has a strange anxiety-producing effect on me, and perhaps it does you.  7jha86sd1dp5qz … damn it! I can’t tell if that’s a J or a 1 since the H is so rudely covering a key portion of the character in question. It’s wavy and long and so, so random, that my fingers go into a panic trying to type, I’m sorry, solve, the CAPTCHA. I have enough trouble typing legitimate words that are recognized as such in the dictionary. CAPTCHA is like a California license plate on steroids.  I think we should all be assigned a CAPTCHA at birth, instead of a social security number. It really is the mark of the beast.  CAPTCHA would be so much more difficult to steal.  There’s actually some sort of algorithm behind social security numbers. The first digit has to do with the state you were born in, and the middle two numbers are always related to your birth year, plus or minus 6 or 7. But CAPTCHA is completely senseless, random, and oh, did I mention friggin’ wavy?

FRIENDS: While strolling through the virtual neighborhood that is myspace, I came across the profile of a potential "friend".  Excited by the opportunity to network with another person, I clicked on the ’add as friend’ button only to be greeted with a rather terse default message from said potential "friend" stating: This user only accepts friends that they actually know in real life, or something to that effect. Um, question: isn’t the whole myspace concept- to interact with people you normally wouldn’t have the opportunity to do so with?  Scenario: I call, email and even go so far as to see my real life "friends". I use myspace to email and message people in other parts of the state or country that I otherwise would never have "met". Because of the virtually nonexistent filter on my profile, I’ve even found or been found by old friends that I am back in contact with.   Myspace’s  motto is 100% rooted in the essence of it being a social networking site. These myspace snobs who’ll only interact with peeps they know in their everyday life need to get checked. 

SPELLING: I may be new to myspace, but one thing  I am not new to is spelling.  I pride myself on being a borderline-semi-excellent speller. Of course I make mistakes and typos; there is probably one or two in this blog.  But the first thing that stood out while surfing around MySpace users’ profiles and comments, was the deplorable grammar and spelling of the VAST majority of users. I am not talking about those cute abbreviations like lol, ppl, or omg.  I am talking about actual people that either have partial alphabetic keyboards, oversized fingers that prevent accurate typing, or just plain ignorance of the language and its proper uses. I staunchly believe that the way you speak/write directly reflects on your intellect and how others perceive you. Think I’m on my cyber-soapbox? Maybe, but I actually saw someone spell the word dumb, as dumn. Hey, at least they knew there was another letter after the m. Do they spell comb, comn? Or how about lamb, lamn? Maybe they only type with their thumns. [sic]  Either way, it is a sad and scary thing to think that the English language is being boiled down to levels so low, it makes us look like ignoramuses. Or would that be ignorami? 

Just my opinion.

7:58 PM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Running with Scissors
Current mood: annoyed
Category: Life

RUNNING WITH SCISSORS

Things have changed. But is all change good? When I was a kid, there were no car seats. We would dog pile into cars and no one ever wore a seatbelt (ok, that part is bad, but read on!)  We played on metal monkey bars, slid down a scorching hot metal slide, and made ourselves sick on the merry-go-round just to see how fast we could make it spin. And once we had that bad boy spinning at a dizzying rate, we’d attempt to jump off in some sort of half-assed attempt to defy centrifugal force. Oh, and there was nothing but hard Earth to hit your head on, if you fell. No one watched us play. My friends and I would leave in the morning and come home just in time for dinner. We walked everywhere, rode our bikes alongside vehicles going 40 miles per hour, ate raw cookie dough, licked the beaters and ran with scissors. My friend and I once spent the night sleeping in her driveway. Our classrooms may have had asbestos, but the schools were much better back then. We played dodgeball and red rover, and ya, there were a few cracked heads, but nobody died. We weren’t gonna let a little blood stop us from playing a classic game.  We were scared of The Soviet Union, Nuclear bombs and massive earthquakes, but not much else. Why? because we stood danger in the face everday and quickly figured out how to navigate our world and stay safe. These days you can’t go anywhere or do anything without there being some kind of innane nanny law to "protect" us from oursleves. Why don’t we all just walk around with helmets on, just on the offchance that the sky might actually fall. Wake up!  Slowly but surely our everyday liberties are being hijacked in the name of "safety". California is one of the worst offenders and if it weren’t so damned beautiful here, I’d jet.  Government needs to leave us alone and let us run with scissors if we want to. Darwinism will take care of that, not legislation! 

5:56 PM - 4 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

How to Act Smart, (even if you feel stupid)
Current mood: angsty
Category: Life

Don't get your panties ruffled, all you have to do is click on the hyper-link and you can read my brilliant piece there. Then come back here and post your comments please. Your feedback is what I live for. Well, not really, but it sounded good.

http://www.ehow.com/how_2208427_act-smart-even-feel-stupid.html

Mary

6:16 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Wal Mart Woes
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Blogging

Wal Mart Woes

By

Mary Moreno

If I landed on the planet today and wanted to find out as much as I could about our peculiar society, I would have my leader take me to a Wal Mart. Not because I'd be looking for the cheapest fanny pack and black socks to go with my walking shorts (I am from out of town in this scenario) but because Wal Mart is so telling about our society. Case in point; I begrudgingly walked into my local Wal Mart the other day, as I only do when it's absolutely necessary. (I'm a Target girl) The first thing I see are the scooters for disabled people, only to find that as I made my way around their hellish maze of a store, the obese people were riding the scooters.  Here's a tip, try walking….you'll burn calories and that way the dude with the uneven legs can rightfully ride the scooter around the store. As I passed the empty scooter station, I ran straight into an oddly placed display of Alli, the new weight loss pill, right in the middle of the aisle. Ironically, if I had entered the store through the other side, I'd have run into a McDonalds. Nevertheless, I snake through their seemingly random, but devilishly devised departments looking for a cheap duffle bag.  I ask a clerk and she points me to the purse section. OK, sounds somewhat more reasonable than if she had directed me to the candle section, so I head through the women's section and with my Magellan-like navigation skills, I spot the purses. No dice, but they did have quite the bevy of fanny packs.  Fanny packs and Wal Mart are synonymous, I'll give you that, but what shocked me was the fact that the tags all had 'UP TO A 60" WAIST" prominently displayed on them. 60 inches, are you kidding me? Where are you going with your 60" waist that you'll need a freakin fanny pack?  I find another clerk and ask her where I might find a duffle bag. She tells me to try the sports section. What? I didn't even know Wal Mart had one. Do you know why? Because the sports department is in the absolute furthest corner of the store. Telling? I think so. I had never ventured this deep into the abyss before, but I was on a mission and I always complete my missions. So I set off on foot to try to find this mysterious department called "sports". I spot an end cap with some vitamin crap water shit displayed on it and I grab one, knowing that I may become dehydrated on this long journey.  I weave through the  paint section, bob through the tires and hardware, drift aimlessly through the audio-video section,  got lost in the jungle of silk flowers and potpourri, sauntered  passed the shoes, fabrics, produce, kids section, toys, and hunting supplies when it appeared in the distant horizon.  There it was hanging from their 50 foot ceiling;  a sign, a sign that read-sporting goods. I entered the department not knowing what to expect. Would it be comprised solely of a Richard Simmons Sweatin' to the Oldies video and a thigh master? Where did everyone go? Am I still in Wal Mart. This place is deserted. Good thing I have that vitamin water crap shit to drink, I might not see another person for a week at this rate. I crack open my fancy Kool Aid and take a swig. Feeling a bit more lucid, I rub my eyes and take a look.  Holy crap. I may have just struck sporting gold. There were golf caps, golf tees, pilates bands, free weights, medicine balls, medicine for your balls, soccer stuff, baseballs, volleyballs, jock straps, knee pads, biking gear, and on and on it went. I swig some more fancy Kool Aid and gleefully stroll through the empty department. I was like a kid in a candy store. And there in the back corner I saw them. Duffle bags. At last. I was vindicated. My journey into the unknown was worth the risk. I grab the bag and make my way out of this parallel Wal Mart universe and back into the real Wal Mart, filled with blindingly bright lights, large people on scooters with a case of road rage, and that dude with the uneven legs who has been forced to walk. I pay and check out. On my way out the elderly lady checks my receipt in an effort to cut back on shoplifting, or loss prevention, as corporate likes to call it.  A massive sense of relief comes over me as I see the blue sky again. The sweet blue sky. Oh how I have missed you, longed for you, not knowing when or if I would see you again. People have been known to disappear in Wal Marts. I was one of the lucky ones and made it out, relatively unscathed. Now I just have to make it to my car, which is parked in another time zone. It's so far away that I can actually see the curvature of the Earth. Thank God for this Vitamin shit water crap.  I pass what I think is mini van number 87,652 and somewhere in the near vicinity,  I think I see my little V-Dub Beetle. I do see it. Sweet Mother, I see it. And as I get into my car, I make a solemn vow, as I always do, to never return to Wal Mart. Until next time.  

8:32 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

The Ghostfarter
Current mood: aggravated
Category: Life

The Ghostfarter

By Mary Moreno

Why is it that every time I am at the grocery store the ghostfarter strikes?   Situation:  Your local Pigglies Wigglies, Anytown USA. I and  five  other people are in the express checkout lane, (which is a misnomer, but I digress) when the  pungent perpetrator strikes. I quickly assess and stereotype the other folks in line to weed out the perp.  The only person I  can accurately rule out is myself. Could it be the zaftig middle aged woman in front of me? She is purchasing a basket full of digestive distressing delicacies?   Or perhaps it is the little kid behind me who has been repeatedly entering my personal space, while his mother says nothing.  I make a stink face, in a futile attempt to publicly exonerate myself, but careful to not implicate myself either via the "whoever smellt it dealt it' law enacted in the 3^rd grade.     

I panic and blush. I know everyone in line, except the ghostfarter, must think I am guilty.  I can not get out of this godforsaken smelly line fast enough. 

The 'express' line is only one, all too familiar, scenario in this horrific tale of tastelessness. I give you: The Empty Aisle. Didn't know that your local super saver sold candles, motor oil, and sewing kits? Well they do. This aisle is the ghostfarter's favorite place to strike.

With a loaded cart and a front wheel that's out of alignment from running over  cashew shrapnel in the bulk bin aisle, I attempted to take a short cut  through the No Fly Zone on my way to the produce section.  I am halfway through and so far no bombs have dropped.  I passed the motor oil and candles,- I just have to make it past the gardening supplies, shoe polish and sewing kits and I am home free!  Or not.  I should know better than to have a positive thought, as they always seem to generate the opposite.  Lingering silently next to some marked down Halloween merchandise,  it strikes. My proboscis is being assaulted. I gasp for air and pick up my speed. God damn this stupid cart. It is pulling me into the vortex of stink with that damn front wheel.  I consider abandoning the cart,  but give it one last hard push to the left and am about to break free when ANOTHER SHOPPER enters the aisle. Oh God.  DefCon 5 is now in full effect.  The voice in my head is screaming: ABORT, ABORT.

I have no choice but to continue to move forward.  If I abort, surely this shopper passing me will think I am the gaseous gal. I can not let that happen. I play it cool. Maybe this person has a deviated septum and can't smell.  Finally, I make it to the end of the aisle and exhale. I must somehow let this person know that it was not me. I would never do that. Maybe I should strike up a conversation with them, in a different aisle of course, and show them what a nice, clean cut gal I am.  Nahh, I'll never see them again.  That is until I am in the only check out line with less than 36 people in it.  Guess who is number 37 in line?  I abort 'operation conversation' and opt for a 'less is more' strategy. I conspicuously pick up a Time magazine in an effort to show my class and dignity. Clearly I don't fit the mold of a ghostfarter.

While no one can say for sure why or who is responsible for this flatulent phenomenon, might I suggest a theory?  We always assume that the culprit is another shopper. Why? I theorize that it is one of the employees.  While I certainly have no tangible proof of this and I would  certainly not want to discourage any  intestinally challenged  employees from relieving themselves; I am only suggesting that perhaps they visit the restroom after their lunch break, and give all of us unsuspecting shoppers a break.  And please, open another check out aisle while you're at it.

11:27 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

A Pithy Look at Punxsutawney Phil
Category: Pets and Animals

A Pithy Look at Punxsutawney Phil

By Mary Moreno

Another Groundhog Day has passed and this year Punxsutawney Phil has predicted six more weeks of winter. Newsflash, I just consulted my calendar and spring technically begins seven weeks after Groundhog Day. Convenient coincidence or clever conspiracy to divert attention from the Marmota monax's true identity as a woodchuck? After all, Woodchuck Day doesn't exactly roll off your tongue. But let's get real for a minute, shall we? First of all, this time honored tradition stemming from German roots, takes place in Pennsylvania. The Pennsylvania on the East Coast.   For all of us Californians, it's a moot point whether or not a prognosticating Phil sees his shadow.  Half of our state only has two seasons anyway, the hot season, and the wet season. (In San Francisco, that would be reduced to one season, the foggy season.)  However, let's suppose Groundhog Day was a California tradition.  It would never last out here, for upon seeing his chubby little shadow, Phil would feel compelled to go on a diet and possibly see a therapist for his lethargy in the wintertime. Back in Punxsutawney, PA., 40,000 people attended this year's event, braving the bitter cold and lacking sleep, all to catch a glimpse of the groundhog at sunrise. Again, that would never fly out west, to us native Californian's, anything below 50 degrees with a chilly breeze feels like a Nor'easter.  While California rarely makes the national news for a cutesy, fluffy, storied tradition like Groundhog Day, we are blessed in so many other ways that those East Coasters would give their frost-bitten right arm. Gorgeous mountains, deserts, and coastline, our many world-class cities,  the capability  to go skiing and surfing all in the same weekend,   and the ability to garden year-round to name just a few. Although another six weeks of winter has been forecasted by Phil, the weather reporting woodchuck's wintry warning should not alarm any Left Coaster's, come March we'll all be snickering at the rest of the country while they are still digging out their snowed-in cars.

5:58 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

2008’s To Do List
Current mood: focused
Category: Life

                    2008's To Do List

10.Shed a crocodile tear at strategic moments in order to advance agenda

  9. Have a public wardrobe malfunction, preferably at work

  8. Adopt an English accent

  7. Think about Sanjaya at least twice a day

6.    Name drop as often as possible

5.    Stop trying to translate vanity license plates

4.    Try really super hard not to use the words "thoughtless little pig" when phoning my child

3.    Hassle the Hoff

2.    Become a drunken blogger

 1. Show my Britney while getting out of the car

11:40 AM - 6 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

NO SNOW IN AFRICA?
Current mood: obsequious
Category: Music

No Snow in Africa?

From the 'Apropos of Nothing Chronicles'

By Mary Moreno

Well, it's December again. That can only mean one thing: the inevitable resurfacing of Band Aid's 1984 hit Feed the World. Sadly, I'm old enough to have been traumatized by 4 months of incessant airplay and ubiquitousness back in '84. For you young whipper snappers,  1984 is not just a book you'll have to read in high school, but there are actual people still alive today that lived in that Mesozoic Era. Now,  I don't have a problem with helping people in other countries. But, I do have a problem with the idiot who wrote the lyrics. Let's review, shall we?

'It's Christmas time, there's no need to be afraid'  Ok, it never crossed my mind to be afraid of Christmas, but thanks for the advice.  'At Christmas time, we let in light and we banish shade'   Is that a metaphor?  What did shade ever do to you? I know darkness has a bad rep, but why drag shade into it?  Let's continue….

'And in our world of plenty, we can spread a smile of joy'   Really?, you cheap bastard! If  you're so plentiful, can't you afford more than a smile?  Oh, I just re-read that line; it's not just any smile, but a smile of 'joy'!  Oh, well that makes all the difference.

'There's a world outside your window, and it's a world of dread and fear' Oh sh*t! Now I know why the first line was 'It's Christmas time, there's no need to be afraid'   Uhhh, I'm starting to think there's a need. 'Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears, And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom'  WTF?  The bitter sting of tears? Chimes of doom? Now I'm positive there's a need to be afraid, very afraid. 'Well, tonight, thank God it's them, instead of you'

 Oh, thank God that other people are suffering. That's the spirit of Christmas, Bono.

Now for my favorite line of all, the line that makes meteorologists' and 3^rd grade geography students cringe:

'And there won't be snow in Africa, this Christmas time'  

This line deserves special attention. Let's begin:

Africa straddles the Equator. (tip: equator=hot: hot=no snow)

The bottom half of the continent is in the Southern Hemisphere.  Christmas is in December. Still don't see the problem? Well, genius, December is Summer time in the bottom half of the world. Africa, to the best of my knowledge, is not a snowboarders' destination. I don't recall seeing any postcard perfect pictures of African ski lodges with snow flocked pine trees in the background. Not to mention that Christianity is not the dominant religion in Africa.

'The greatest gift they'll get this year is life' Put that under your tree! 'Where nothing ever grows, No rain nor rivers flow'  What? Did the Nile dry up and I wasn't notified?  No rain either? Man, first it was no snow; what's next, civil unrest? 'Do they know it's Christmas time at all?' Ya, my guess is they don't really care. What, with all the stinging tears, chimes of doom, and the unseasonable lack of snowfall, who can blame them? 'Here's to you, Raise a glass for everyone'  Are we getting hammered in honor of Africa? Or is it just that we can now wear shorts when we go snow boarding in Africa this Holiday? 'Here's to them' 'Underneath that burning sun'  Now I really need a drink. 

Thankfully, come January, this will all be a bitter memory and the world will carry on as usual. Weren't the '80's grand? Who could pen such timeless lyrics today? I suddenly have the urge to put on some gold Lamé pants.

6:59 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment