"I like your shirt."

Rule #1: If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.
Rule #2: If you can't say something that would sound nice on paper without snarling in anger or jealousy when you utter words, don't say anything at all.
Rule #3: Run the filter three times before speaking...kind of like Mom's "how many times you must wash the vegetables before eating them" rule.

This morning, I was thinking about being warm. My phone says it's 43 degrees outside. In the motherland, and Austin, and (it seems) pretty much everywhere else, it's 73 degrees (or higher). I wore a coat to work today. And I wished I had another blanket last night. Being 1 blanket short is never fun.

Thinking about being warm made me think about two days ago, when it was warm, and I complimented someone on her shirt. It was cute -- a salmon baby-doll style contraption I probably would wear if it was in my closet. And then I thought about warm summer nights on the porch in the homeland.

Thinking about warm summer nights on the porch in the homeland, and shirt compliments made me think of An Incident.

About ten years ago I was sitting with a boy on a porch on a warm night. It was his porch, not mine...though we had spent many hours sitting on my porch. It was a fairly rare occurrence for me to be sitting on his porch, and I didn't really love to do it, as the first time I did, I got stung by a bee, right between the eyes. But that's another story for another blog post.

*Background: He always sat to my left. I always leaned against the post. Eventually, I would move down from the top stair and start dead-heading the petunia bush that mom always kept by the front planter. We would talk until it was time for him to go home or until he got bored of sitting still and wanted to go for a walk or a drive.*

Earlier that evening, I had been telling him a story about a mutual friend of mine.

**Interruptus: I was in high school when this happened, and I could be kind of mean-spirited. Please keep the folly of youth in mind as you read this. Also, I hope everyone in the story forgives me for telling it here.)**

The story went like this: A few weeks ago, I had been walking with said friend in the foyer of our high school. A boy I had known for years, but who was a relative unknown to her, approached her and started talking to her.

**Interruptus: Looking back, he reminded me of Napoleon Dynamite. He wore sweats to school four days out of five, and moon boots every day in the winter. This particular day, he was wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt that had definitely seen better days, and a pair of green sweats. He was tall and gangly, and had Nerd with a capital N written all over him. He's the sort of guy who will never let go of his LEGO collection and can be a little awkward in social situations, but has phenomenal brainpower and can solve crazy hard math problems in his head. He'll probably win awards someday, if he hasn't already. I liked him -- liked to talk to him, and I thought he was interesting, though at the time, I thought of him as an intellectual equal and not as a creature with a y chromosome...if that makes sense.**

The boy approached my friend, who is very pretty. He said "hi" to her. I'm not sure he looked her in the eye -- he rarely did so with anyone, and I got the impression that he liked her, so he would have been intimidated. He was probably looking at a spot just over her shoulder or at the floor. (This girl, it should be known, was so captivating that one time when she was out, her date was so busy staring at her that he forgot to drive, and subsequently was in a minor car accident, which put a slight damper on their outing.)

My friend looked at him and said, "Hi," in her friendly way, and then she said something that (at the time) completely flabbergasted me: "I like your shirt." I don't remember his response. I just remember thinking..."what the ?!?!?! Girl, what are you thinking? His shirt has at least three holes in it, and considering he was probably at least half a foot taller than he was when his mom bought it for him, it isn't the most glamorous of looks." He moved away, past us, down the hall toward the band room (which thankfully I only had occasion to enter twice in my whole high school career) and I turned to my friend and said, "Did you really like his shirt?" I couldn't help it. It seemed completely incredulous to me that this girl, who had probably never even seen an episode of TMNT in her life, would be complimenting his shirt. Her reply, "No. But he looked like he needed a compliment."

I think my jaw dropped. The idea of telling someone you liked his shirt when you didn't actually just seemed to be sticky icky...a form of lying. If you think he needs a compliment, tell him you dig his curly hair, or tell him you like his posture, or tell him it's good to see him, or tell him something that's true...but don't tell him you like his old ratty shirt when you really don't. It could be his favorite, yes. But you're not doing yourself, or him, any favors by making false statements.

Interruptus: People who know me know that I'm not shy to give compliments to people about their clothes. I'll tell strangers in the elevator I love their coat, or shoes, or luggage. I'll tell people I hardly know that the color of their shirt matches their eyes. I'll walk past guys at church and make eye contact and then move my fingers down my chest in an outline of a tie and make a thumbs up. But only if I really like the article of clothing!!! Perhaps I am so free with compliments in part because of this friend; although I did not/do not necessarily agree with her method, I did appreciate the fact that she thought about someone else and what kind of day he/she was having and if he/she needed a pick-me-up, and my friend wanted to help.

So I was sitting on this boy's porch, telling him this story, and laughing a little about it...asking, "why would she have done that?" And then, out of nowhere, the girl (who happened to like the owner of the porch I sitting on...most of the time) drove up. The boy and I looked at each other. (He happened to like her back...most of the time). He was wearing a red shirt with the logo of a nearby university on it (#1), which had a bitter rivalry with another nearby university (#2)...and her family were staunch University #2 fans. The look on her face as she got out of the car and walked toward us was priceless. She clearly was wondering what I was doing there, and why I was sitting on the porch with him. (There was at least two feet of space between us, as there always was whenever we Porchified.) She seemed a little irritated, but seemed equally determined to hide it. She walked up the sidewalk toward his house and said, "Hey, (boy). I like your shirt." If the word "shirt" was venom, it probably would have been lethal-injection grade if she had been close enough to get the needle in.

It was horrible.

It was horrible, because sometimes the Sneaky Snark comes out of me. I really don't like it when it does. But this time I let it slip out: I turned to him and said with a straight face, "Yes, (boy). I like your shirt." Between my tone, and a raised eyebrow, the boy got what I was digging at and we started to laugh hysterically. I had literally just finished telling my tale of shirt-liking-fakery, and then she appeared, and told he of the university #1 shirt that she liked his shirt in a tone that said she didn't care a flying fig about his shirt, but she wanted to know what he was doing sitting there with me. And it was even more horrible because she had no idea why we were laughing. I couldn't very well tell her, but I knew she would ask, and "nothing" was definitely going to be an insufficient answer, in addition to being untrue. I said something that slightly mollified her, but I still felt horrible inside. At least she had good intentions when she told TMNT boy that she liked his shirt. I was being nothing but petty by telling Boy She Liked about the story. (There were lots of relationship politics between the three of us. Frankly, it would take too long to detail, and I really don't want to go there.)

I don't remember if I got up to leave, or if she did, or if the three of us sat there awkwardly (for it surely could have been nothing but awkward) for awhile. I am kind of glad I don't remember.

So, for Rule #1, it's okay to compliment. Just mean whatever you say.
Rule #2 is still a challenge sometimes. Sarcasm in all its forms is a touchy thing, and should be used sparingly.
Rule #3 will help with both Rule #1 & #2, and will help you avoid feeling horrible like I did at the end of The Incident because I was snarky in response to someone not following Rule #2.

But you can be sure that if I ever tell you I like your shirt, I really do like it.

Journey in a Truck

Four weeks ago I went for a road trip. With my boss. In a truck.

(Waits for those of you who actually know me to recover from your boggled brains.)

My boss told me he bought said truck with the idea to buy the smallest truck possible to haul the maximum amount of cargo he'd ever need to haul at one time. When he said "truck," I was thinking something like a Toyota Tacoma. Then he told me that he was going to pick me up in the truck for the weeklong road trip. I was, admittedly, not very excited about the prospect of riding in a tiny cab. It became obvious to me as soon as I saw him standing next to his vehicle that he is not from the South or from Texas or from anywhere else but New York. I say this because in New York, "quarter" is qwah-tah and water is wah-tah. His truck was a Honda CR-V.




These scenes remind me of the "Hanover Winter Song," wherein the ice-gnomes from "long - forgotten Norways" march. It was a bit late in the season, but the way the snow fell on these trees made me think of thousands of arboreous (yes, that is now a word) soldiers were marching in their Norways, the snow elegantly sticking to their backs as they crested one ridge and resolutely marched down the other side. No undignified windmilling of arms or galloping down the hill for these chaps. Nope. None at all.

We drove hither and yon: over hill, bridge, and dale. Through mountain passes and fertile valleys, we wended our way. We chatted and schmoozed and did our road show approximately twelve times.

I can now do it in my sleep.

Here's our arrival to our second resting place, and the sun setting over it:

Here's the view from my hotel room (below).

Then on the way back, I saw something beautiful: what looked like it was a former river bed. I also ate a fresh strawberry shake at a place that was right across the street from this sign: I wonder if you read it the way I did. I kind of hope so. My boss thought I was kind of lunatic because I laughed so hard and insisted on taking a picture of it with my camera.

Clearly, he didn't read the sign the way I did.

Then, we drove and drove and drove some more.
Basically, the whole day was about eating and driving. We got caught in a microburst and pulled off the side of the road. I really wanted to get home as soon as possible, but under the circumstances, it was probably safer to pull off the road for a few minutes.

It just so happened to be our luck that the nearest pull-off was Multnomah Falls. So I looked at the falls through the windshield, and then, ten minutes later, after the rain had abated somewhat, I rolled down the window and took a picture that was clear...that is, so the waterfall looked like a waterfall and not like spilt milk.

Oops...I did it again (spendaholic version)

I think I did it again
I convinced myself it's okay to spend

oh money

yes I'm sure it's a steal
I know that I've found a true, real deal

cause to open my wallet
That is just so typically me

oh! spending money

[CHORUS:]

Oops!...I did it again

I found a great deal, got lost in the thrill
oh! spending money

oops you'd think that I'd stop
But I'll shop til I drop
Or till they take my card

You see my problem is this:
I can shop all day,
Online or in stores, Wal-Mart or E-Bay

I cry, paying the bills
I say I'm all done, I'm through with deal thrills

But to open my wallet,
That is just so typically me...

[Repeat CHORUS]

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah


Please note:
I'm not trying to make light of people with the very serious habit of overextending themselves financially on a regular basis. It's a serious thing, and I'm not recommending it. I just couldn't resist the parody that popped in my mind one day at work. Also it's kind of ironic because anyone who knows me knows that in a past life I was related to Ebenezer Scrooge in his pre-Christmas Carol days.

May the Fourth Be With You

May 4, 2013:

12:00 am: pack with PK while listening to music
1:45 discuss upcoming move with PK
2:30 sleep
6:30 wake up because of sunlight
7:00 get out of bed
7:20 roll out cinnamon stacks
8:05 pull cinnamon stacks out of the oven and hand them to incoming movers
8:20 move commences
9:00 truck full, on to storage unit
9:30 storage unit paperwork that was supposed to take five minutes is now complete
10:00 truck full
10:30 done unloading at new apartment
10:45 egg break
11:00 clean while listening to poppy music on repeat. SOTD: "Boyfriend" by JBiebs. (I know.)
1:30 pizza break, watch 30 min of "starman" (lame!)
2:00 clean in zombie-like manner
3:45 derby day party
4:30 delicious chicken
5:45 muddy horses are through; Orb wins
6:15 library drop off
6:45: nap on the bed
7:45 clean
9:30 party; 2 of 4 on Just Dance
10:30 elevate feet
11:00 sleep

Notes:
1. Molasses and bourbon marinated chicken is super yum.
2. Fig trees are awesome.
3. Always do paperwork before moving day.
4. Jonners birthday is May the 4th.
5. Eating breakfast is always a good thing.
6. People who volunteer to help other people and who are patient and kind are the absolute best.
7. Roads in Oregon make no sense.
8. Take your time and do a walk-through or you'll end up regretting it.
9. Always know where your sheets, packing tape, scissors, and a screwdriver and wrench are.
10. Star Wars is still awesome.