Bill had an assignment for a work related class he took this week. He was supposed to identify some sort of behavior to work on, specifically related to meeting people for the first time. He emailed a few friends and several co-workers. Blasted people didn't have a bad word to say about him, now he thinks he's perfect and we had to widen all the doorways in the house. Anyway, the responses he received came in all forms. Some were short and sweet. Some were mixed with sarcasm. Some were very thorough. The following one is a little too funny to not to share. Very creative, written in narrative form, and quite witty.
I met this guy, Bill, tonight at a party. I met others also, as there were 15 of us there, mostly strangers mingling, but tonight, journal, I'll tell you about this Bill.
I enjoy the company of genuine personalities and so I enjoyed talking with Bill. We spoke of family, he asked me I asked him. He cared to know. I liked that he seemed to actually care. He laughs when something is funny, smiles when not so much. He is pleasant. Fun. Likes to joke, but not to hurt. He cares too much to hurt, it seems. So you feel safe, comfortable. Meaning you can truly enjoy yourself in his company. I think he doesn't know how genuine he is...how caring...calm. Just tries to be a true friend. Perhaps this is too much to glean from 15 minutes of initial conversation. Perhaps. But you can decide when he walks into your party. You will speak to him, and he will ask "how's your family," and he will look you in the eye, and he will wait, looking, waiting for the answer, because he really wants to know. He cares. I'd like to meet Bill again. Hang out.
That's who I met tonight.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A Haircut is NOT Just a Haircut
Yes, I knew this already. I didn't need a lesson in great haircuts versus lame haircuts. But sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures. I've been about 3 months overdue for a haircut and I just finally hit a breaking point. I mean really, growing my hair out is one thing, but all the split ends are another. Yuck.
My regular hair stylist (my niece) is home with her sick baby which means that the clients she cancelled yesterday (my mom included) will be trying to make up those appointments in the upcoming few days that she will be working. And let's face it, I'm not married to the Gilbert location, or the trendy price tag (even with a family rate). So, what do I do? I run down to Supercuts at 7:30 at night because my hair is actually straightened and I think I can show them how I style it and that they will be able to duplicate the cut.
Whatever! I knew when I was explaining it and she said, "so you have some long layers here" that things were not going to turn out correctly. Again, whatever! I just wanted a cut. My question is though, what the heck? What is so different about hair cutting school that says Supercut employees don't know how to cut the new styles?
So here I have a new trimmed doo. It's not nearly as stylish and trendy as it used to be, but hey, it probably fits my personality a little better now. Haha! Really, it's not all that different from before. I'm probably the only one that will notice a difference.
My regular hair stylist (my niece) is home with her sick baby which means that the clients she cancelled yesterday (my mom included) will be trying to make up those appointments in the upcoming few days that she will be working. And let's face it, I'm not married to the Gilbert location, or the trendy price tag (even with a family rate). So, what do I do? I run down to Supercuts at 7:30 at night because my hair is actually straightened and I think I can show them how I style it and that they will be able to duplicate the cut.
Whatever! I knew when I was explaining it and she said, "so you have some long layers here" that things were not going to turn out correctly. Again, whatever! I just wanted a cut. My question is though, what the heck? What is so different about hair cutting school that says Supercut employees don't know how to cut the new styles?
So here I have a new trimmed doo. It's not nearly as stylish and trendy as it used to be, but hey, it probably fits my personality a little better now. Haha! Really, it's not all that different from before. I'm probably the only one that will notice a difference.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Resomation?
See people, what you have done to me. There are no new posts to read this morning so what am I forced to think about?
Death.
Death and what will I do with myself when I die. I guess, really, what will my family do with me after I die.
I'm just not fond of burial. I don't want my body in some coffin somewhere decaying in an expensive box bought for the sole purpose of putting my lame dead body in. Worse yet, I have this completely irrational fear of being buried alive. I know, I know, it would never happen. But that one Stephen King movie, years ago, still has me sweating the inevitable.
Cremation maybe. I like the idea. Burn me baby, then scatter the ashes. Throw me on a ball field somewhere. If I haven't made it overseas in my lifetime, take me to Greece, Italy, Germany. Throw some ashes in Normandy and Iwo Jima so I can rest in peace with some true heroes of The Greatest Generation. That's what I'm talkin' about baby. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.
But then there's the eco-friendly part of me that was just informed that cremation leaves a large carbon footprint. Now what's a woman to do?!
Resomation. I first got the idea here in a Time article on really crazy eco-friendly things people/businesses are doing. (If you want to be completely grossed out and also amused, read all the pages of the article. Bra's with reusable chopstick holders to boost your bosom and at the same time the bounce can charge your phone?! Hah.)
(WARNING: all pregnant women and/or squeamish people read at your own risk now. Monique, I warned you last time, and you didn't listen!)
Anyway, with resomation I can have the best of both worlds, I think. But it's gross. I mean really disgusting. Like, I don't even what to think about it but that's OK because I won't have to... I'll be dead. My family will get some ashes because my little bones come through the process unaltered. In fact, they could have a bone-crushing party in my honor because they come out soft enough to crush with your hands. Hmm, fun. The thing is that there is this liquid. This gross, rest-of-your-body-that-wasn't-bone liquid. Eeew! I don't even want to think about what that looks like or smells like. But I guess it's good fertilizer so plant me a dedicatory garden and watch my flowers bloom! I'll be a beautiful sunflower, many colorful daisies, or a gorgeous rose bush.
Now doesn't that sound a lot better than a chemical-filled body buried in a box somewhere with a piece of concrete over it that says, "Here lies H, hopefully she wasn't alive when we put her in there."
Death.
Death and what will I do with myself when I die. I guess, really, what will my family do with me after I die.
I'm just not fond of burial. I don't want my body in some coffin somewhere decaying in an expensive box bought for the sole purpose of putting my lame dead body in. Worse yet, I have this completely irrational fear of being buried alive. I know, I know, it would never happen. But that one Stephen King movie, years ago, still has me sweating the inevitable.
Cremation maybe. I like the idea. Burn me baby, then scatter the ashes. Throw me on a ball field somewhere. If I haven't made it overseas in my lifetime, take me to Greece, Italy, Germany. Throw some ashes in Normandy and Iwo Jima so I can rest in peace with some true heroes of The Greatest Generation. That's what I'm talkin' about baby. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.
But then there's the eco-friendly part of me that was just informed that cremation leaves a large carbon footprint. Now what's a woman to do?!
Resomation. I first got the idea here in a Time article on really crazy eco-friendly things people/businesses are doing. (If you want to be completely grossed out and also amused, read all the pages of the article. Bra's with reusable chopstick holders to boost your bosom and at the same time the bounce can charge your phone?! Hah.)
(WARNING: all pregnant women and/or squeamish people read at your own risk now. Monique, I warned you last time, and you didn't listen!)
Anyway, with resomation I can have the best of both worlds, I think. But it's gross. I mean really disgusting. Like, I don't even what to think about it but that's OK because I won't have to... I'll be dead. My family will get some ashes because my little bones come through the process unaltered. In fact, they could have a bone-crushing party in my honor because they come out soft enough to crush with your hands. Hmm, fun. The thing is that there is this liquid. This gross, rest-of-your-body-that-wasn't-bone liquid. Eeew! I don't even want to think about what that looks like or smells like. But I guess it's good fertilizer so plant me a dedicatory garden and watch my flowers bloom! I'll be a beautiful sunflower, many colorful daisies, or a gorgeous rose bush.
Now doesn't that sound a lot better than a chemical-filled body buried in a box somewhere with a piece of concrete over it that says, "Here lies H, hopefully she wasn't alive when we put her in there."
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Free Photo Shoot Anyone?
If you live in the Phoenix area and are interesting in a free photo shoot, check this out:
http://ashmadsen.blogspot.com/2009/02/drumroll-please.html
I can't wait to win and get my first professional pictures taken of Tasha and I. It was a fluke that Kyra and I had pictures taken right before she turned 5. Then I realized that the picture of Bill and Billy on the wall was taken when Billy was 5. Well, Tasha turns 5 at the end of the month so I have to keep up the tradition.
Ashley Madison Photography, I'll give you a try, thanks to "mamamuniz". Great idea for a 100th post!
http://ashmadsen.blogspot.com/2009/02/drumroll-please.html
I can't wait to win and get my first professional pictures taken of Tasha and I. It was a fluke that Kyra and I had pictures taken right before she turned 5. Then I realized that the picture of Bill and Billy on the wall was taken when Billy was 5. Well, Tasha turns 5 at the end of the month so I have to keep up the tradition.
Ashley Madison Photography, I'll give you a try, thanks to "mamamuniz". Great idea for a 100th post!
Monday, March 2, 2009
Eggs with Bleu Cheese?
I wanted to cook some eggs this morning but was tired of the same old fried eggs. I'm not a big fan of the scrambled version but thought maybe I could spice them up a little. I LOVE LOVE LOVE bleu cheese (just became a fan this year) and considered adding it to the eggs. Does that sound weird? Eggs with bleu cheese? I thought it did so I passed since I realized I had bought some feta cheese on Saturday. Now, if I'm in love with bleu cheese, I adore feta cheese. I worship feta. I would kiss the feet of the feta God that brought me this wonderful cheese. Anyway, scrambled eggs, feta cheese, and a dash of Greek spices. What more could a girl ask for for breakfast? (A personal chef and dishwasher? Maybe, but I won't push my luck.)
Maybe I was thinking of Seuss this morning... Bleu eggs and ham?! Oh Sam I am. I will not try them on a bus, I will not try them with cousin Gus. I will not eat them with my dog, I'd really rather own a hog. I would not like them here or there, I would not like them anywhere. I do not like blue eggs and ham, I do not like them Sam I am. Happy Birthday Seuss!
Maybe I was thinking of Seuss this morning... Bleu eggs and ham?! Oh Sam I am. I will not try them on a bus, I will not try them with cousin Gus. I will not eat them with my dog, I'd really rather own a hog. I would not like them here or there, I would not like them anywhere. I do not like blue eggs and ham, I do not like them Sam I am. Happy Birthday Seuss!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
A Thousand Splendid Apologies
As I posted yesterday to celebrate a birthday, I realized that I had forgotten a very special friends very special day. It was a while ago. I don't even know the date for sure. I do know that I even saw her on her birthday, took something from her, and didn't even acknowledge that she was special. What a totally lame friend I am! What did she think that day that I called her and said, "Can I come over and borrow that awful book on Afghanistan from you?" Did she think it was an excuse to visit her and bring her flowers and cookies and all sorts of treasures? Was she hoping to get a big hug and sweet card from her friend? Probably not, but what if?! Oh crap, I blew it. That's all I've got. I know she doesn't really care because she's still talking to me. Maybe someday I'll feel inspired to post all the wonderful things about her but now all I feel is remorse. So, sweet Sara, here are a thousand splendid apologies and the things I will offer you for my ineptness of remembering you on your birthday. This year, from me, you will get (and please don't count them):
- A thousand chocolate chips, baked in cookies, or eaten raw in dough
- A thousand belly laughs
- A thousand empathetic nods
- A thousand emails
- A thousand thoughtful words of encouragement
- A thousand cleaned dishes
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