As a perfect transition from my last Fogo de Chao post expounding on the joy of roasted meats, here is something else to chew on. In a recent Boston Globe story, Burger King announced its entrance in the "fine" fragrance category. I purposefully place "fine" in quotations here as Burger King does not necessarily play on the same brand level as oh . . . say Chanel. And, what would you expect in a cologne from the purveyor of the Whopper? Well . . . how about the subtle scent of flame-broiled beef? Yep, that's right. The Flame is a meat infused spray for men. Ahh, whaaa?!! BTW, does the Burger King King creep you out as much as he creeps me out? 
Apparently, the smart folks at BK feel this smell will lure in the ladies like some sort of addictive pheromone. Now I like a good burger. Don't get me wrong. But, the thought of a meat cologne makes my stomach turn. The story reminds me of something out of the Onion -- a spoof, a lark. I think this one might be real, however. Watch out everyone. The Flame might just be 2009's hot ticket stocking stuffer. Good luck with this one BK. Might I suggest sticking with the fried foods and do what you do best? Leave the production of fragrance to the folks who know a thing or two about it . . . Jessica Simpson, Britney Spears, Sarah Jessica Parker and J-Lo. Thankyouverymuch.
Today was the official start of an unusual 8 day festival known, in some circles, as the week of my birth commemoration. The spectacle of joyous triumphant glory was kicked off in a rousing fashion with a weekend visit from Abysmal Scribble and Mr. Scribble. Calloo Callay!! Before I dive into a rundown of the festival events thus far, let's take a momentary station identification break and update on a couple late breaking news stories, shalls we??Firstly, many of you have been kind enough to reach out during my recent Slumberland "oh, how I loathe thee" dramatic re-enactment. This was a WAY off, off-Broadway production and has been garnering rave reviews among the critics and general public alike. Tickets are sold out through February, so if you haven't seen the show yet, you are SOL. Sorry. I've added a third act to the play and have changed the format from a docu-dramady to a musical. Andrew Lloyd Webber is composing as I type. My viewing audience will be pleased to find Act 3 moving from caustic rage to redemption for Slumberland as today I received the phone call I had been waiting for. Furniture delivery is set for sometime on Thursday!! No doubt the corporate overlords have been tracking my blog and were quaking in their boots. I am assured that my loyal readers were also incensed to the point of berating said corporate overlords with scads of emails, phone calls, faxes, picketing and rioting on the streets, etc. Slumberland, bending to the will of the people, has seen the error of its ways and caved to our demands. Viva la Revolution! Well played everyone. Well played. Secondly, kitty cat Spencer Bob, took a bad health turn this week and landed himself in the hospital with a terrible cold. Poor little guy was neither eating nor drinking for days. Dehydrated and sad, he spent a few days under the care of a veternarian and seems to have bounced back somewhat. He's back home safe and sound. Thank you City Cat Clinic. You are AWESOME! Finally, onto the festival of birth commemoration . . . Day 1 was marked with rejuvination at the spa. Abysmal and I kicked it with a relaxing facial followed by a massage. Can you say, niiiiicccce? Sure. I knew you could. Mind you, I have NEVER before had a facial and I was a tad nervous? What if the potions and elixers they used caused my face to break out in hives or something? Well, it didn't, but I'm not sure my skin knew what hit it. It is still in shock. I also tried a new thing on the massage -- the hot stones. Have you tried this? If not, you REALLY should. Wonderful experience. I believe, at one point, I fell asleep and started snoring right there on the massage table. Pure bliss. After an afternoon of shopping, me and Mr. Oz and Abysmal and Mr. Scribble headed downtown for the traditional roast meats and cheeses gala concluding day 1 of the festival. It was meat-fest at Fogo de Chao y'all. Definitely not for the faint of heart, you roll up in this joint and throw down your $46 for an all-you-can-eat onslaught of roasted meats. Sure, they have a fine salad bar and some sides served family style. This is all well and good, but people line up around the block for the protein at Fogo. The gaucho-wearing cowboy waiters fly around the vast dining room carrying long spears of garlic beef, bacon wrapped filet, sausages and lamb chops. In their other hand they wield sharp knives which they use to slice these glorious meats onto the plates of the hungry patrons. Heaping piles of glistening pork, chicken and beef lay out as far as the eye can see. Burp. I feel kinda sick just replaying it here for you. Tomorrow, Day 2 of the festival will begin with a trip to the gym and a fasting session. One must pay penance for the gorging on Day 1, but oh what fun we had.
Have you ever had one of those days when, oh say, about an hour into it you realize you want a 'do over?' In golf terms, a mulligan? You wish you had those Hiro Nakimaura powers (blatant Heroes reference) where time is stopped, reversed and everything starts all over again? I had one of those days today. First, the drive into work was SSSSSLLLLOOOOOOWW. We are talking snails' pace. My typical 22.5 minute commute turned into nearly an hour trudging along the sloppy, snowy highways. It is in these times, in these moments, when one really relies on the radio. Right? Well, mine just froze up. I punched buttons. I moved dials. Nuthin. The LED display was stuck. Anyone want to tell me where the re-boot button is on my car radio? I couldn't find it. I had absolutely no tunes on my long drive. Hang on, I'm just getting warmed up. As my trip to work neared an end, I got a funny feeling. A sort of, "what did I forget to do this morning" kinda feeling. Hmmmm. What was it? Then it hit me. I completely failed to apply deodorant. Yep. I was sans speedstick. Crap. Double crap. I took quick action, scampered into the company store (yes, we have one where I work) and snatched up a mini-size of Secret solid. Whew. Crisis averted. Thank you company store. In my haste to get my hands on the precious anti-perspirant I forgot my laptop in my car. Of course, it wasn't until I finished the approximately 1.2 mile walk to my desk that I noticed this. The next 15 minutes went something like this: Drop purse on desk. Say good morning to my teammates, covertly apply deodorant, walk my arse back downstairs, out the door, into the vast parking lot, retrieve laptop, get back into work. I think I finally hit productivity at about 9:45am. Triple crap. Fast forward an hour or so later. Mr. Oz calls me to ask "do we have insurance on our wedding rings?" PAUSE. PAUSE. PAUSE. Me: "Uhm, yyyyeessssss, why?" Mr. Oz: "I lost my ring." Me: "huh? how?"Mr. Oz: "scraping snow off my car." OK, so this is not good. Not at all. Mr. Oz felt terrible. I was upset and then sad. He looked for it everywhere, but to no avail. The ring, it seems, has left the building. Luckily, we do have insurance so we'll get it all taken care of. It's only an object, right? Material stuff that can be replaced, no? But, I'm sure you can appreciate the impact this news might have on someone who is already having a (pardon my French) shitty day. BREATHE. BREATHE.BREATHE.The day quickly devolved into a flurry of meetings, emails, phone calls, etc. Things started to look up. Then I got home, worked out, made and ate dinner, plugged in to do a little more work. Then I heard it . . . "sniff, sniff, wheeze, wheeze. sneeze. cough. wheeze. hack." What could it be? Sounds of respiratory distress filled the air. It was my cat. He seems to have caught a cold. Did you know cats get colds? Google it. I did. The poor little guy needs some Sudafed. They don't make Sudafed for cats. Google it. I did. Given kitty's pre-existing medical condition -- ideopathic epilepsy -- his cold does not bode well. Looks like Spence and I are taking a trip to the vet tomorrow. Like I have time for that. Can I just have a mulligan for the entire week? Please???
After speaking to my Slumberland salesman yesterday, it appears that the highly anticipated bedroom furniture is arriving in multiple shipments. Much of it is coming from foreign parts unknown. My suspicion, although I have no way to confirm this, is it is on its way from a southeast Asian child labor sweatshop. Maybe the kids went on strike Norma Ray style and my dresser has sat partially finished while the union peeps lock horns with the corporate lords. I don't know. What I do know is this -- I cannot stand the Oz sleeping situation as it is much longer. Now it appears that I will be lucky to get my goods by 2009. What!?!!! My itemized invoice, which I currently have in my possession, clearly states arrival on, or near, Dec. 5. This is some rotten business. What should I do? Cancel my order and find something else? Complain vehemently and demand a free nightstand or table lamp or something? Start a blog and tell everybody in the blog-o-sphere about my crappy experience? Oh wait . . . I already did that one. Thoughts??? Once again I repeat, "curses to you Slumberland and your forced child labor practices which I can only assume stands at the root of all of my restless sleep woes!"**IMPORTANT LEGAL DISCLAIMER: The contents of this blog should in no way be taken as a statement of provable fact. The are the opinions of one bitter person and do not represent reality in any way, shape or form. Thank you.
I just spotted this story on MSNBC.com. It is as if the universe was answering my last post with some cosmic creepiness. Apparently happiness is contagious and you can catch it like a virus from your friends and family. Who knew? It's science (as infamous San Diego Anchorman Ron Burgandy would say).As you read the article, you will notice that this catchy contagion of happiness can only be picked up within a one mile radius. In other words, you have to be in close physical proximity to those happy buggers in order to grab some of their happiness. Abysmal, Hollow Squirrel and all you other far flung comrades out there in the infinite beyond -- you know what that means, don't you? You needs to be moving to the Twin Cities and, ah, preferably around the corner from moi. Only then will my happiness radiate out and penetrate your soul. Ha. Not that anyone would EVER accuse me of cornering the market on overt happiness or anything. Now, that's just plain silly. This happiness study also claims that people who are happy are less likely to get sick. Nice! Does this help explain why Mr. Oz, who is almost perpetually happy, does NOT seem to get a cold or the flu whilst I am bombarded by the sore throat, dry eyes, sneezy, stuffy, achy, coughing demons multiple times each year? Rat salad. From now on, only happy people will enter my sphere. If you are happy and you know it, clap your hands -- and then get your butt to my house ya hear!!
Equilibrium is the condition of a system in which competing influences are balanced. Equilibrium plays a role in chemistry, biology, mechanics, physics, and economics. In all of these arenas and in all ways, the world is programmed to seek a state of balance; to bring that which is out of order or too extreme, back into its place of status quo. In other words, the very nature of our existence is one big quest for enforced balance. This helps support my theory that nature (you can call it the supreme order of things) doesn't like it when we get too happy, too successful or too excited. Just when you start to gain this sense of contentment, at that very moment when joy fills your heart, when your cup overfloweth with goodness, well, that's just about the time when some proverbial bird poop hits your windshield and you've run out of that blue juice spray and you can't get it off. I also believe this theory jumps into effect when someone is down, depressed, sad or otherwise glum. The universe does what it can to raise the spirits and spread a little sunshine. But, oftentimes, the person is so bummed out that they fail to see the universe's attempts to achieve equilibrium. They miss it. Well, ladies and gents, my eyes are wide open. I see both sides of this little see saw -- the ups and the downs. This equilibrium roller coaster is a twisty, turny MoFo. Why do people -- whom I believe are acting as unwitting agents of the equilibreum seeking universe -- try to rain on others' parade? Now, I know what you are thinking, "damn girl, if every person on earth exists as a pawn in the universe's desire to bring you into some perpetual state of emotional mediocrity, you are obviously a narcissist of unbelievable proportions!" Ok, OK. I hear ya. And, NO, I don't believe this to be the case. But, I do believe that every person we come into contact with has something to teach us. There is a reason for their presence and one of those reasons might be, just might be, to check us; bring us back to our own equilibrium. So, why all the waxing philisophical? Let me tell ya. I'm feeling happy. I've got a case of post-Thanksgiving bliss and holiday cheer. I am in a rare zone where much is right with the world (at least my tiny sliver of the world), gratitude abounds and optimism reigns. This won't last. It never does. I want to enjoy it while I can. But, then the cranky attitudes, the cynicism, the "this sucks," grump-tacular, general malcontent of others intrudes. My equilibrium is once again restored making me question whether it was ever really gone. I try to block it out, to ignore it, but the universe won't allow it. It seeks BALANCE. This "law of balance" has a strange effect in small groups of people as well. If you are a parent, a teacher, a coach, you may have encountered this interesting phenomenon. Have you ever noticed that if one person is "up" then another person has to be "down?" Why? Why can't everyone in a given family, class, tribe, team ALL be happy at the same time? Pay attention. You'll see it. I'll tell you why . . . it's equilibrium. Word.
It's going on week 4 and still no sign of my new bedroom furniture. What the "H" Slumberland? Why don't you call me already and schedule that delivery? I'm getting sick and tired of sleeping in the tiny spare bedroom. I've just about had it with the piling up of clothes and laundry baskets and bins full of crap just waiting for the copious storage space and ample drawers that the new dressers are guaranteed to provide. For the love of all that is good and holy, call me already and get your butts over to my house and BRING ME MY DAMN FURNITURE!! Uhm, if I didn't mention it before, I have out-of-town guests coming on Dec. 12 and if I don't have my furniture by then, well let's see . . . me, Mr. Oz, Abysmal and Mr. Scribble are ALL going to be sleeping together in a single queen sized bed in that cramped little room. BAD! But, don't worry. Mr. Oz has a plan. We'll arrange ourselves so the boys are on either side and the sisters are in the middle. Wouldn't want any awkwardness happening, now would we. SLUMBERLAND, you are on my list. The only way you can possibly redeem yourself is to call me and tell me my furniture is ready to ship a.s.a.p. Thank you very much. Your loyal (and increasingly crabby) customer.
