When There's No Way to Help...

I am really, really tired. I feel like I've been run over by a giant truck carrying the space shuttle back from Texas.

The reason? Honestly, I think it's from the stress of what is happening to people all around me who I adore to no end. One of the dearest people in my life is in the hospital (again) as she faces an illness that will win when it's all said and done. Ingrid, I love you! You are so brave and amazing in your journey.

A very treasured soul friend has been struggling for some time with significant life/work changes and it pains me to see her enduring this for so long, when she has so much to offer and has been so generous to so many people. She is faithful, resilient. But also growing impatient out of need and frustration. Of course! It's been a long time. Where is the return?

There are others. And the one commonality: it exhausts me to feel so helpless. There's so little I can do, and this is the greatest upset for me. I know in the end, there's a purpose and a place for everything, for everyone. I do believe there's much more to any of our stories than we can understand.

The idea of enduring means a lot. But for now, I just want peace and comfort for them. And good things, like the simple joy you can feel when you're not worried about death, money or the unknown.

Is it a crime to wear this shirt?

Shut UP, Bealles. You are not carrying this shirt.

When I came upon this "thing" hanging on the rack, I was breathless--stunned--like a deer in headlights, blinded by the craziness of one part jail break, one part bike messenger and one Bermuda tourist.

As a 17 year vegetarian who will not buy leather, Bealles is one place I can count on for the plether shoes I must wear. I know now not to move too close into the apparel department to prevent myself from being bombarded with other shock to the system.

One must have a license to buy this, and a second license to wear it. Even then, it could be legal to discriminate against anyone who dares....

If you have this shirt or something like it, please forgive me. But it's unbearable. Save yourself. Save us all.

Sarcastic Sentiments: A new direction for Hallmark?

I'm one of a dwindling few who loves to send greeting cards just for the hell of it.

Hubbie gets furious when asked to sign cards for Halloween, Thanksgiving and especially Valentine's Day--that particular 24 hours being "the holiday that Hallmark just made up"--a fact he reminds me of every February. But today on the card aisle, he was jovial and right on point.

I got to see the worst of someone today and am pretty annoyed about it. But hubbie isolated a perfect selection of cards I could send to address the situation....after adding some choice sarcastic comments to the inside.

Manipulating "congratulations" sentiments, "thinking of you" wishes and other common card slogans to fit my frame of mine seemed to ignite a new spark of Hallmark affection in hubbie. Once on a roll, the comments started flowing like a heated Jerry Springer guest. I've never seen him like this anywhere near paper products.

Hallmark, this could be a new direction for you. Just like those anti-motivational posters, sarcastic sentiments represent the other side of your typical clientele. Can't you be about the whole person too?

Clean cups & forks...too much to ask?

Ever go to a restaurant to find someone's lipstick smacked right on the lip of your glass? What about unrolling that utensil package to find an ABU spoon? Already Been Used is fine, as long as it was thoroughly washed and sanitized before it's passed along to me.

This morning at Word of Mouth, there was a plethora of grime on the dishes. My coffee mug looked as if it had been kissed by a Mary Kay rep on crack...and it wasn't the baked-on kind that just won't come off in the dishwasher. With one easy wipe, it came off on my finger. Such was the case with my neighbor's water glass and with my fork. So that's three dirty dishes that would have looked clean with even a half ass effort in the sink.

I don't know about you, but clean dishes are sort of an expectation for me. Here's the word: get a decent human or mechanical dish washer to keep customers from talking about how many people have passed the cup and added on grub. It was just a little too gross for me, and I'm super forgiving.

Dumped

If you've met Flanders, you know she's an independent kind of girl. Left on the streets around the age of 6 months, this tough pit bull made it into my life just before getting sentenced to death at the pound. After a three week period of feeding her from a distance, in one surrendering moment she was all over me like a long lost friend. We've been joined at the hip ever since, and that was 10 years ago.

One thing you get right away with Flanders is this: she completely does not appreciate you coming too close unless she knows you reaaaaaally well. Not a bad example for a girl. She's unbelievably adorable and unusual looking (to me), but not one of the pretty girls. Definitely not material for the Farmer's Market on a Saturday. ...Although that could be a fun and grand experiment one weekend--just to shake things up a bit there.

Flanders loves a good jaunt on the trails and doesn't make apologies about growling at passing rat terriers or whatever toy breed dares to tempt her. This is the part I don't like. Today some old guy picked up his little dog like Flanders was going to consume it for brunch. She's never actually done anything like that, but I felt pretty bad. Where is the dog whisperer when I need him?

Here's a not-so-savvy human error on my part. Walking along our favorite path at Emerson Point, we came upon the Bay Buddies, a group of youth volunteers doing their part and more to keep the bay clean. Being overseen by a friend of mine from the Estuary Program, they were quietly planting native plants.

Stopping to chat with her, what does Flanders do but take an enormous dump right in front of them. And where's my bag? Er, um, what bag? I was very busted. Bad, bad Gropius! Perhaps this made me look much worse than the dog. What a pair. But you have to give it to Flanders, capitalizing on choice moments is one of her specialties.

Blog posts about dieting are pretty lame...

...but I just have to share. Remember that little contest at work?

It's going well so far. Aside from the fact that it sometimes feels like I'm digesting my own stomach, I'm on the epic journey toward greater health and hopefully a weight that's 5-10 pounds less.

Discipline is like a slow moving virus that's winding through my system, torturing both mind and emotion. Today I took a seat in our break room to do some editing and enjoy my fake sausage links. (Don't those sound appetizing? Completely vegan, I might add.) Into my space of 80 calories walks our prize-winning chocolate chip cookie maker with a fat tub of them, which she plops down right in front of me. Hmm. Interesting test. Go ahead, ask me if I ate one. No! I did not. (And other than chocolate chip ice cream, cc cookies are my fave.)

I've never been a big calorie counter but I'm learning. (And still think it's ridiculous.) Here's an interesting tidbit: there are 180 calories in 1/3 bag of Pop Secret Homestyle and 210 calories in an entire Hershey's. Let's see--a few kernels of corn or a candy bar?

I hope to one day be strong enough to say no to both, but one step at a time, baby. One step at a time. Just to torture myself, I'm thinking of blogging about the best pizza places in Sarasota & Bradentucky. Any favorites?

Really, Sprint, 32 cents?

My satisfaction with Sprint for the past few years had been relatively high. When they did a major screw up on a new order, however, and all 5600 people I spoke with in the company gave me a different (unsatisfactory) way to resolve it, I lost enough faith to drop them. The first round kind of went like this:

Gropius: "So, I wanted a replacement phone and upgrade on my existing account. You added a second phone with a new phone number, and tacked on a new plan."

Sprint: "Yeah? You'll have to cancel the new account and call us back at a different number to order a package to send us the phone back. And 14 days after we receive it, we'll credit you for it. Then we'll order the exact same phone but assign it your old phone number. You might be billed for the time the new phone number was connected."

Gropius: "That's stupid. Isn't there some other way to resolve this?"

Skip down through another 10 conversations with multiple Sprint representatives, and it came to cancelling the account altogether. And although the cancellation process itself was pretty laborious, there wasn't a single occasion where they tried to woo me back into staying with them.

Nearly one month after I paid my final bill...good riddance, Sprint...I opened the mail box to find a cute little surprise: yet another bill in the amount of $0.32. Really Sprint, REALLY. YOU SPENT MORE MONEY ON POSTAGE THAN YOU'LL GET FROM ME.

Anyone have an idea for what I can put on the check memo?