I Do Eat Eggs

I've been a vegetarian for 17 years, but I do eat eggs, organic and free range. Those chickens were treated well, and the eggs themselves are unfertilized non-beings that will never be on the way to freedom from the shell. At least I thought so.

Unusual Butt Calls

You're familiar with butt calls--you know, those unintended calls you make on the cell phone without knowing you've dialed. 

They usually occur when you're reaching for something in your purse and you call the last person you've been on the phone with...or when juggling a laptop, papers, cell phone, etc. while trying to close the car door....or when you're eating in the lunchroom at work and you accidentally called mom for like 7 minutes...

You can tell I speak from experience.

Anywho, I don't have the nerve to tell my sister-in-law that she butt called me throughout her labor on Thursday. Okay, it was only twice, but it was still funny. 

Sister-in-law was having a little baby boy and I received 2 butt calls during the process. Couldn't hear any pushing in agony, or anything you enjoy in all of the dramatic television births, but it was made me laugh nonetheless.

Customer Service Advice to HP From a Soldier

On top of being one of the smartest, most interesting people I know, Ken Brennen sends me good finds for Gro--um, Mixed Reflections.  He found this video from a soldier in Iraq who was asked by HP to pay for one of their techies' advice on how to fix the crappy all-in-one printer he was using.

Since we've all been on the lousy end of the stick with customer service from big companies at one time or another (some more frequently than others), I thought I'd share this with you. It's pretty funny.



Oh how many times I've wanted to do just that with a printer, computer, cell phone, television or other piece of equipment falling short of its promise. Good luck with PR on this, HP!

It's the Little Things That Keep Me Amused

When life is rushed and things don't always go exactly as you would like them to, finding humor in the little things keeps me dangling on the thread of sanity, instead of hanging myself by it. Take these minor intrigues of the week:

• Husband and I hit rock bottom after having a good but tiring activity-filled Saturday. We actually ended the day by watching a show called The Vanilla Ice Project, a documentary about Vanilla Ice's house renovations. Where the hell have I been? Vanilla Ice is a general contractor now? Holy crap, the last thing I heard, he was selling rhyme by the gram.

• Owner of the Buena Vista Inn in New Smyrna Beach actually called sister-in-law and told her she was hiring a lawyer---because we posted our terrible experience with them on Trip Advisor. Oh that's just about too much. O-okay!  You can barely write an e-mail and now you're going to take down the entire freaking Internet because a customer you treated badly provided a user review? Keep that comedy coming.

• We finally had a date night, went to Daawat--a lovely Indian restaurant in the artists' district of Sarasota, and that's all she wrote. We were both so tired, we went home afterward and I was asleep within 5 minutes. Is that sad or funny? I don't know. One glass of red wine, and I'm out folks.

• While we're on "funny or sad," here's one for you: I realized that we're spending over $150 per month for hypoallergenic dog food as we're doing our best to help Flanders with her skin issues. It's not working. The thing is, I don't have the guts to pull her from it. "What if it's just about to start working?" I ask myself. Guess I have no choice but to find the funny, even if my wallet isn't getting the joke.

• The Rangers beat the Yankees. Funny...and awesome.

Pigging out on Weird

Neighbor likes pigs. And she collects pigs. So when a couple of peeps and I were scanning some pretty bizarre things in Palmetto antique stores on Saturday, I found these and quite naturally had to purchase them for my neighbor:

Neighbor has some kiddies at home, so she may have to store these in a special location. Or explain the facts of life using this relic from...when? I'm not sure how old they actually are.

You know, "antique" stores seem to be most accurately described as "junk and old crap cleaned out of dead people's apartments" stores. Wait, "SCARY junk and old crap cleaned out of dead people's apartments" stores.

Check this out:

Ah yes, there was lots more weird where that came from. 

We perused shelves laced with items like a porcelain statue of what looked like a two-headed cat, an autographed and framed mini-poster of Wayne Newton, several JFK busts, a giant decapitated baby doll head, a wooden doorstop(?) shaped like a woman with hooves for breasts, countless paintings that looked like creations of a half-third grade artist/half-Stephen King hybrid, figurines of the ugliest dogs, cows and dancing clowns you can imagine, etc., etc.

For my untrained antique eye, the before metioned items were comical to spot along the junk-filled cubicles of beat up furniture and stands. To someone who knows what he or she is doing, there could have been a gold mine there.

However you look at it, the trip was most amusing and we had a blast. I hope the shopkeepers didn't find us too obnoxious as rings of laughter lifted from the most hidden nooks and crannies to the front of the store.

When Nothing Is Funny...You Can Always Go for a Diversion

This adequately covers the some of the stupidity of BP.


Unfortunately, it still doesn't solve the problem.

Did I Ever Do Anything So Stupid?

Probably. And thankfully, I erased it from my immediately accessible memory.

Teenagers: they are treasures but do the dumbest crap just to impress their peers. I remember feeling my own obnoxiousness when I was that age and hated it--especially in the younger teen years. I didn't enjoy middle school or much about my part in the whole spectacle of it.

I laughed hysterically when a sweet co-worker emerged from her computer this Tuesday morning to tell me about the misgiving of supervising her young teen and 3 of her closest friends for 20 hours over the Memorial Day weekend.

One of the girls--thankfully not hers--has a reputation for "acting like a dork," a behavior that is evidently magnified when she's around more than a couple of people.

This time, co-worker walked out the back door to find her tied around a thick tree trunk with the other 3 girls pouring soda and emptying Pixi Sticks on her to "see if she would attract ants."

Nice one.

Isn't it easy to laugh at someone else's kids? 

What stupid things did you do for attention at that age?  Do tell, as they say in the South.

I'm Sure It's a Lovely Rooster

A lovely lady in our accounting department lives in a slightly rural area outside of town and has gone through 3 groups of chickens--lovingly referred to as "the girls"--since I've known her. She's a most conscious caretaker of them, but you see, there are predators around. Hawks, bobcats--you know birds and mammals that get a kick out of eating easy prey. She and her husband have built one hell of a henhouse for the girls, and I'm thinking it could be larger than our small abode here in Bradentucky.

There was slight surprise a few months ago when the girls were first coming of age, getting ready to lay their first batch of fresh eggs.  That surprise was an unmistakeable rooster crowing. And that's when all suspicions were confirmed: a man was living in their midst.

It's not really pretty. The rooster is hungry for sex, as all men are, and he's pecked a sore in the back of at least one of the girls. Now chickens do have a tendency to peck on things that have been pre-pecked, and we're hoping the others don't continue to peck away at what's left of her since that is an instinct and inclination. Peck. Peck. Peck. Basically, it's just been a pain in the ass. Literally for the girls.

Today I heard the funniest thing come out of our sweet Mel. After we talked about the possibility of someone consuming the rooster if she was to give it away, she said, and I repeat her exact words,
"I'm not going to eat it, but somebody else can. I don't care."

Is it just me, or is this hilarious?  Even vegetarians have a sense of humor.

Do Yourself A Favor And Visit GoFugYourself

Most of the time, I don't even know who these snarky girls are tearing down, but regardless, they're funny as hell. And after the Oscars, I afford myself the luxury of taking more than a cursury glance at their incredibly hilarious website, GoFugYourself.  Yes, one day it's my goal to launch a similar blog here in Sarasota/Bradenton to fug all of the outfits worn to our overfilled charity ball calendar. I will make no friends doing it, but it would be a riot.

I hate to admit it, but I could spend a LOT of time on this site. Here's my favorite fug from their overactive Oscar Fugging:

"I'd have been curious to see where that bodice was going. Unfortunately, on the way there, it got hijacked by an Amelia Earhart fetishist, and then left to die in a cheap science-fair volcano that erupts plastic leis."

(Photo and copy from GoFugYourself.)

Now is that damn good writing or what? That was sooo much better than I could have done. I thought the dress looked like the haphazard melting of a Snoopy Snowcone.

If you did happen to watch the Oscars last night, maybe you're like me: that is, you got incredibly depressed when they did the John Hughes commemoration, displaying very scary versions of Anthony Michael Hall, Molly Ringwald, Judd Nelson, Ally Sheedy and the rest of the clan on the stage. This accomplished two things: a.) Making me feel 10 days older than water and b.) Making me really glad I do not and never have abused drugs.

Did you have a favorite Oscar moment? Or do you hate them like Husband does?

Personally, I haven't seen half the films that were nominated but feel a secret pleasure that James Cameron didn't win. Honestly, I had enough of his giant ego-head when the Titanic was around. That ship has sailed.

Victoria’s Secret Puke-o-rama

Sweet Husband made a visit to Victoria’s Secret for Valentine’s Day last week. I imagine him walking about with the same strangeness of dazed expression as all the other husbands and boyfriends while the sales associate tried to convince them that, naturally, every girl loves to wear thong underwear that rides up her behind. I will proudly tell you I am not one of those girls and couldn’t care less who thinks it’s a deficiency.

Every now and then I’ll peruse the VS website to see if there’s anything new out there I like, either as a gift suggestion to the thankful Husband or for a short order Internet purchase on my own.

Every time I make the virtual tour, I’m guilty of not understanding the poses, facial expressions and unexplained hair phenomenon that come with those Victoria’s Secret models. Is it just me? Here are a few examples:

"I saw Abigail with the Devil. ...Plus I'm possessed. In a few moments, my eyes will roll up in my head and I will pee on the floor like the girl in The Exorcist."

"Eating my hair is really cool. It's like cool. Huh huh."

"I totally would eat my hair, except it's too crunchy. It's like stale fritos. You could break a window with it. But this look is so...beast. It's such a beast look. And all you have to do is not wash it for 19 days."

"Check out this cool sign I'm making. I can still see you through my left eye...wait is that my right eye? Anyhow it's cool. I'm gonna do it again. It's like a sign just between you and me. It means 'peace'. Or something like that."

P.S. I love Husband's gifts from VS. He's a sweet boy.

Don't Be an Art Chicken

Those are the famous words of my 11 grade art teacher.  Mr. B, as he was fondly called, was a huge fan of one-liners that would forever brand you in the art or social world.

He was a broadly built man of medium height with a long gray/black beard. He wore long-sleeved button down shirts that he would roll up for good paint-shirt contact prevention. On the upper shelves above the cabinets full of art supplies was Mr. B's junk collection.

We joked about a Sanford & Son connection, but knew that we would pay the price when he pulled a huge conglomeration of it into the center of the room for us to paint. "Oh great, another still life." Each still life seemed to grow in size--another added vase, bicycle wheel, double-duty boots, industrial strength something, etc.

When Mr. B belted out with "don't be an art chicken" right after he explained a new project, he meant "be bold, experiment and don't be safe with your art."  Accordingly, one day I went where no (wo)man had gone before by mistaking a can of gold spray paint for a can of clear fixative--the kind that would immortalize my most recent creation, a chalk rendering of a nuclear winter man. (Don't ask me what the hell that means, but I was a pretty damn good art student.) 

When the resulting guilded catastrophe was revealed, Mr. B. laughed a big booming throaty laugh, snatched the piece and held it up to the entire class. "This is what happens when you don't use your ability to read," he said.

After he got a week's worth of entertainment from that moment, he sat down with me to lay out a strategy for the repairs. All I can say is that I was NEVER accused of being an art chicken.

Mr. B is now retired, living happily ever after with my 10th grade art teacher (with whom I still keep in touch). They own a daylily farm in NC.

I'm Here!

Yes, I'm alive. And it's not that I haven't had things to share on Gropius, it's that the things I've had to share are...ah, shall we say, the type of things that can get me into deep doo doo. Things certain individuals might be able to guess like...

1. Is Gropius talking about ______ [this person/situation]? Yes, I am.
2. Wow, is it possible that Gropius is thinking about taking _____ [drastic action]?
3. Is Gropius considering not giving Halloween candy out this year? Okay yes. I was. I'm just not in the mood. (But of course I folded and invested the mandatory $40 in candy and special treats for the kids I like on our street.)

And yes, things have been rather busy at work. I haven't been doing this:

The Bradentucky Christening

If you guessed this is a partially eaten chocolate creation, you would be right. If you also guessed that Husband was the one who left the teeth marks in place of her left breast, you would also be right. And finally, if you guessed that this little abomination was made by our neighbor's mother for her granddaughter's Christening, you would get a perfect score of 3/3.

Insults to your intelligence aside, my guess is that you probably earned a 2/3 score on this odd quiz. It's been my limited experience that the usual party favors for infants on auspicious occasions are a little more...traditional. You do know that we live in Bradentucky, Florida, right?

P.S. This writing took approximately 5 minutes. The "sort of" chocolate goddess has now vanished and is being digested. Not sure what it tasted like.

Now the Teacher Thinks I'm a Freak

We're really excited about D-Man's world geography class this year--it's actually a bit more like a current world events course. His teacher uses unconventional teaching methods and really gets the students charged up about important issues shaping the people and places in this not so unconnected world of ours.

So of course we're eager to do what ever we can to show Teach how, at home, we encourage knowledge and awareness of things far beyond the back doors in America.

Today Teach was discussing the Everglades, and when she asked the class to name the unique flora and fauna there, D-Man raised his hand to contribute an answer that will forever frame me unfavorably in the first impressions of Teach. The first part of his answer was: "The Skunk Ape."

HE THEN proceeded to tell the class about how "my mother [that's me] once made a trip to the Everglades just to visit this place all about the skunk ape that also teaches people about it."

Unfortunately, that story is true. And it was a total joke of a trip--I REPEAT, it was a fun trip. AND, although I would never admit this in certain company, yes, I know the skunk ape does not exist. I really do. I have never thought for one moment it exists. (But Big Foot, it could be a different story...)

Um. I'm pretty embarrassed. And it's one of those things that I would only make worse with that little phone call I considered:

• "Ahhh, Teach, this is D-Man's mother. I just wanted to call and...well anyway, about that Skunk Ape thing my son mentioned...I just didn't want you to think...I mean, I'm really not crazy...It was more like a joke..."

Yeah. That might make things slightly worse.

The Backwoods Boat Ride

[Side: Can I just preface this by mentioning that I am from North Carolina and am not insensitive to assaults on the "rural and uncultured" South, which is many times, far from accurate?]


Boarding the sunset cruise at Cedar Key, there was the usual air of expectancy. We might see a dolphin. Watching the sun disappear over the endless expanse of the Gulf will be beautiful. The serene vision of birds making their way to islands for nighttime roosting will be peaceful. Maybe we'll meet some neat people, who love nature and appreciate the calmer things in life. You know, all that stuff.

I was miffed when our "nature guide" kept referring to the various heron species as "herring" (a type of fish). And even more perturbed when he pulled the boat over to an unidentified object which turned out to be a pelican that died from fishing line strangulation. Captain uttered not a word of instructive words to share the dangers careless fisherman pose to wildlife. Instead, he just pulled away.


But these two irregularities don't begin to touch on the company we shared on this little marine adventure. It took mere seconds after leaving the dock to discover the strange Kentucky flavor in the air. We were surrounded by no less than 9 members of the Backwoods family--several generations apparently, and not entirely distinguishable by sight alone.

Smushed up closely together on a slow moving, overbooked pontoon boat, I nearly jumped overboard on more than one occasion. Instead of recreating the experience for you, here's some select dialogue which we not only witnessed, but were asked to participate in:


PART I

• Grandpappy: "Yeeep. I done saw one 'o dem water speeckets today from da pier."
• (My husband): "You mean a water spout?"
• Grandpappy: "Yeaaaah!" (followed by a crunching, sheeshing sound that was a laugh, I think.)
• Mamma: "You shore it wu'un a dawnphin...spoutin' it's air up?"
• Grandpappy: "Sheeeeeiiit, woman. You think a dawphin can spout 40 feet in da air?"

We nearly died when the hum of the engine died down to nothing as Captain stranded us for 32 minutes for sunset. Every redneck camera in North America came to the bow like it was the last sunset on earth...and the first they'd ever seen. If it hadn't been cloudy, we would have been trapped for another good 15 minutes. But the Gods were looking down on us that evening.

PART II.

Backwoods kids are flying all over the boat, nearly going over the railings before a "responsible" adult reaches to pull them back by their life preservers. (This was our 13 year old son most of the time.)

• Mamma: "Well, they my grandbabies (referring to Bubba and a little girl, whose name I regrettably didn't catch), but they call all of us 'Mamma.' They call her 'mamma' and they call her 'mama' and they call her 'mamma.' They just call hewum daddy."
• Grandpappy (apparently speaking to another child sitting on the bow of the boat):
  "You think you a hot dawg seeetin' up thare, aintcha?" And then, "Hey there, hot dawg. Hey there, hot dawg. Hey there, hot dawg. (This was repeated 27 times within a 30 minute period; the kid probably felt like a pet parrot. The urge to swim to an island like an outcast raccoon has never been so strong.)

Just multiply this times 2 hours.

I ended the boat time by wrapping a two dollar tip on a business card from a local art shop on which I had scribbled these words: "It's heron, not herring." Husband, D-Man and I all hopped off the boat and high-tailed it to the car like a wild elephant was on our trail. We never looked back. And a cigarette never seemed so good.

I will say that seeing the Frigate birds was a real plus. Yeah.

Wyle E. Coyote, Genius

The most genius tactic emerged at work yesterday...and if you know me, I'm not saying it was at my work.

There's a certain person in the finance department at this unnamed place of business who is notorious for not answering e-mails. The IT manager sent him (or her) a note that said, "I'd like to purchase a yadda yadda and the cost is yadda yadda. If I don't hear back from you, I'll assume it's okay to buy and will go ahead and make the purchase." (Details were left out to protect the innocent.)

Genius!

Granted, it may be funnier if you knew the two individuals. But you have to admit, it's not only witty but such a smart strategy.

...And comparing this to my adoring friend in NC who is desperately trying to get the Counting Crows lead singer to have dinner with her family before their Charlotte show by tweeting the hell out of him on Twitter, this strategy will produce the desired outcome.

H's are so overrated

...And the letter "r" is one hot momma. How did I manage to commit not one but two spelling atrocities in a simple sign commemorating husband's 36th trip around the sun?

"Happy Birtday Larrry!" Love, your idiot wife.

Oops

When my cell phone rings now, it's pure jazz.

This sudden departure from U2's Elevation came last week when my cell went off in a very serious meeting with about 75 people in the room, including media. Unfortunately, we were at the pinnacle of the compelling message when everyone started glancing around trying to figure out where the intrusive noise was originating. I was way, way too far away to run and get it, as that would have caused a bigger distraction...and um, exposed me.

"This will all be over faster if I just wait a few more seconds," I thought, horrified.

And it did. It ended! On with the show.

Until 10 seconds later, when the rap song busted out to let me know I had a new voice mail.

Needless to say, I had to change the ringer on my phone to keep my cover in the future. I'm usually so good with cell phone consciousness.

Inappropriate Kiosk Behavior

Have you ever been assaulted by someone in a shopping mall kiosk trying to sell you cream, cheap jewelry, cell phones, newspaper subscriptions, Dead Sea something, etc.?

I found a recent tactic displayed by a hair care product company very invasive...if you can even call it a tactic. Walking along, minding my own business (and trying desperately to appear interested in something far, far away), I was aggressively approached by a non-smiling woman who said in a very forceful tone, "What HAIR CARE products do you use?"

It was a little personal for me. And very annoying. In retrospect, here are the top 5 answers I wish I had on the tip of my tongue:

• Rid Lice/ Rid Flea
• I'll trade you an answer for the assurance you won't say anything else to me, including "but--"
• What kinds of FEMININE products do you use?
• Look. What do you want from me? I'm just going to lay it out for you. "No."
• I have a raging case of herpes. Is that okay?

What do you do in these situations? In a way, I feel bad for them. Business sucks everywhere. But I just don't like this kind of approach.

Sea Bond Commercial = Bad Mood

One slip of the channel changer resulting in a land on this, and it's bad mood Gropius. It's like a vengeful advertising firm did a pro bono job for a client's friend...a client who screwed them over. They set out to make the most annoying commercial of all time, featuring the blood curdling singing of a drunk senior trio.

Tell me it's not just me. As you board Cruise Ship Annoying, imagine how many times this was filmed to get it right. (True, it looks like this was captured on a single, spontaneous round.) But if it was anything otherwise, someone earned their silver stars on the set.

One positive attribute: it's over in a jiff. Like a gunshot, it spares us from the slow torture of something more enduring. The memory of the ringing, nagging jingle remains, however, for a long, long time.