when I grow up

I know that many a child has been confronted with the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I am no exception. When I was younger I imagined myself in any number of jobs. I considered myself a Barbie of sorts - put on a new outfit and 'poof' I was qualified for a new and amazing job.

Well, here I am grown up. And what has changed? Well, a lot. I have realized that instead of being asked what I wanted to be I should've been asked what I have no business being. For me, that would have eliminated any number of poor career choices I could've made.

Just recently I have arrived back home from a short stint in Europe. During the trip home I added another job to the list of don't even bother. Yep, I will never be a flight attendant.

On the way home we hit a bit of turbulence. One bump really, but it scared the bejeezus out of me. I was on the verge of tears and hyperventilating a bit. Instead of letting my life play out before my eyes I thought about what type of person willingly seeks out a job that puts them 36,000 feet above the earth with no safety net.

Personally, I find the act of flying unnatural, so when I am trying to determine what is acceptable behavior on the part of the plane and what is not I am at a loss. How much shaking is normal? If something were out of the ordinary would the pilot let me know? If the wing fell off who would know first - me or the pilot?

These are just a few questions that went through my head as I imagined myself working on the airplane. Then there was the constant thought of me yelling at the passengers they were all going to die because of some routine turbulence.

I would be lying if I said I didn't admire the people crazy enough to want to work on a plane. They are able to keep their cool in situations where I can't even get out of my seat for fear of death - and this is with the plane functioning "normally."

I guess the bottom line is I make a horrible passenger let alone a cool, calm and collected employee on board a flying plane. I will now add flight attendant and pilot to my list of jobs to avoid alongside: any type of outdoors-person, politician, Au Pair, ballerina, professional house painter, and, well the list goes on...

The Secret Life of Soup

I've been having a heyday with casseroles lately. I completely fall in line with the idea that throwing everything in the fridge together and calling it dinner. But even more than believing that, I am testing out a theory that everything is better with mushroom soup on it. Or in it. So long as the mushroom soup isn't on its own.

I learned a long time ago that I didn't care for prepared cream of mushroom soup. No scratch that. After many failed attempts I realized I absolutely despised mushroom soup. But why? It is good in green bean casserole. It is frickin' awesome on top of hamburgers. It tastes good on any number of dishes, just so long as it isn't on its own.

Unfortunately I can't justify attempting to prepare cream of mushroom soup using hamburger grease instead of milk. I guess in some ways it wouldn't be any different from making a pie crust with lard, but for some reason it seems icky.

I suppose the good news is as long as soups, stuffings and other assorted food items keep coming up with casserole recipes I don't have to worry about actually eating mushroom soup as it was intended, but I can continue eating it as it should be. Success!

Everything's better with a song.

Renovate good times, come on! It's a renovation! I have come to realize I will not be happy in a house that I haven't personally demolished, redecorated and, as they say, put my personal touch on.

Years ago, I had a friend explain my decorating style in terms closely related to chaos decorating. I believe it's somewhere in the vicinity of lived-in meets chock full of trinkets. On numerous occasions I have had people tell me every time they would come into my room they would find something new.

Those days are long gone of course. But only just. My poor little cluttered, yet amazingly organized, room is long gone. It may seem sad, but things change. I now have a whole house dedicated to the shrine of cute. Unfortunately, as I have aged I have also realized new things about collecting. While it is nice to have one of something to show off, I have found the more the merrier is usually much more accurate.

Example: one Super Mario mushroom candy container is cute. Seventy-six of them adorning the house would be frickin' adorable. Excessive? Perhaps. Pleasing to the eye? You betcha! Same thing goes with the lawn ornament bunnies. Displaying one bunny in my failed attempt at a flower garden says, "Look here, I failed at growing plants." Thirteen smiling bunny statues says, "Screw plants, I have thirteen bunnies in my garden. What do you have?"

I know I probably have border-line hoarder personality disorder. And I'm sure if I didn't have my husband watching everything I bring into the house it would probably be worse...

But I have gone way off topic. Back to the beginning. Renovation. I am looking forward to completely overhauling my master bedroom. There will be painting (Yay!) There will be reflooring (Yay!) There will be new furniture (Yay!) And after all is said and done and I have updated my bedroom to resemble a respectable grown-up bedroom, I know the truth is my trinkets will find their way in.

There is no escape from them, and I don't really think I want to. I mean, come to think of it, shouldn't everyone have 16 Madagascar penguin weeble-wobble party favors decorate their abode?

The First

It shouldn't be hard. It's what I do all the time. Just jot down random thoughts. But, I guess that's where the whole thing starts too. Jotting down the random thoughts is one thing. Making them available to others is another. But here they are in all of their glory, the thoughts of another nameless internet personality. That being said, let's get on with things. Today was a remarkably unexceptional day. Nothing happened out of the ordinary. My cats did nothing. My kid did nothing. I did nothing except read on the internet. I read about a woman who had a fecal transplant and another woman who called 911 about a McDonald's running out of the chicken mcnugget. I'm sure as I get more comfortable with this I will write more. I chose a rather dull day to begin this thing. Stick with me...it'll get better.