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How to Survive a Road Trip

Hubbie and I hit the road last weekend to attend an economic summit in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. (I know, you’re supremely jealous.) Having driven this stretch of road before, I knew I could expect miles and miles of boring scenery–cows, barbed wire, more cows, weathered barns, did I mention cows?

Packing for a road trip can’t be taken lightly. You’re basically stranded for 5 hours with nothing to do. Sure, I could talk to my husband–but I can do that at home. So I do things I don’t usually indulge in, like:

Eating bags and bags of Twizzlers, Swedish Fish and trail mix. (Well, I also eat those at home, but because I’m traveling at 65 mph, the calories don’t stick.)
Reading trashy magazines. I usually persuade my hubbie to take the latest Cosmo quiz: Test Your Sexual IQ, Is He Devoted To You?, Are You Way To Good For Him? This usually ends up in a fight before we get to the freeway, so I just answer the questions for him. It’s easier that way.

(Great way to initiate divorce proceedings.)

Catching up on sleep. I forget that sleeping in a car is worse than dozing off on a plane. On a plane, you don’t have to keep braking for cows, slow RVs or pedestrians. (I stopped braking for pedestrians when it was my turn to drive.)
Jammin’ to my tunes. Here’s where hubbie and I disagree. His choice for traveling music: Kenny Loggins (Who?) My choice: Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, Tiesto and anything with a beat. (We sat in fuming silence for several dozen miles.)
Stopping at local diners for fresh fruit milkshakes, greasy onion rings, homemade burgers and Tums.

(Red Baron Drive-In, Afton, Wyoming. Where your gastrointestinal system goes to die.)

Getting to know local law enforcement. Officer: “Can I see your registration?” Me: “Nope. It’s stolen.” Officer: “Whose car is this?” Me: “I don’t know. The guy’s in the trunk. Ask him.” (Highway patrol officers have no sense of humor. Just sayin’.)
Using sagebrush as a toilet. (Self-explanatory. And gross.)

When someone says to you, “Getting there is half the fun!” Slap that person and book a flight for the return trip.

Top 5 Steps to Buying a Car

At the risk of whining about a first-world problem; buying a car sucks. Watching your previous car go up in flames sucks, too. But after the flames cooled on my Buick, I realized I had to face the clichéd car salesman. I considered the “get drunk and obnoxious” plan, but opted to go in with an open mind and a closed wallet.

(My charcoal-powered car.)

Here are 5 important steps to buying a car:

#1–Pick a car based on how cool it looks: Forget the price. Forget the miles per gallon. Forget your budget. Just choose the coolest, most epic car you could possibly imagine, then run out and buy it! Haha! Just kidding. Expect to lower your standards. (1965 Dodge Dart, anyone?)

#2–Find a “reputable” dealership: Mention you’re looking for a car, and you’ll hear car-buying horror stories. “The dealer held an AK-47 to my daughter’s head until I signed.” Or “The dealership drove a dump truck over my trade-in, and said they wouldn’t take it.” I ignored those legends and chose a dealer based on specials offered with car purchase. Will I a) get a side of beef, b) receive a lifetime supply of Turtle Wax, or c) get nothing except a car payment and a cup of flat Coke?

(Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.)

#3–Prepare for the onslaught: We drove to the car lot, a nice man helped us find a car, and THEN his cohorts attacked. “If you don’t sign within the next 5 minutes, this price is going up!” Or “I’d let you think about it, but I’d hate to see you miss this great deal.” (Actual statements.) We said we needed to think about it. (Strangely enough, we got the car for the same price the next day. Weird.)

#4–Negotiate price:–My husband and I went into the dealership with a firm number in our head that we could NOT exceed for a monthly payment. And we got it! (It was actually $20 cheaper than we’d hoped.) But then–the finance guy added in tax, warranty, tires, a brake pedal and a steering wheel. Turns out, our payment was $100 more than we’d budgeted. So we had to sell one of the grandkids.

#5–Drive home: If it’s possible to swagga in a new car, I did. With windows rolled down (temporarily because it was 115 degrees), I let the wind blow through my hair, blasted the radio and used the new sun visor the whole way home. (Note: the sun visor in my previous car had fallen off pre-fire.)

(Don’t be hatin’. I’ll be paying for it for the next decade.)

Enjoy the ride, folks!

Best Reasons to Have a Birthday

Today’s my birthday! (I accept gift cards, cash or traveler’s checks.)

I’ve always had a child-like love for birthdays–mainly because I like presents, cake and spankings. And even though I’m turning 45 (?!?!), I’m still kickin’. (And, by “kickin'” I mean I can get dressed without help, and feed myself. Usually.)

Here are the best reasons to turn one year older:

It means I’m not dead. I’ve known many people who will never have a 45th birthday. So glad I made it this far.
Because “old age” is 10 years older than I am at any given time. I will never give in.
Young whippersnappers will finally respect me. (Riiiigghht. And Ke$ha will enter a glitter-free convent to devote her life to saving two-headed kittens.)

(Don’t laugh. All that glitter is actually caused by a glandular problem.)

I can try all the age-defying products at Sephora. And there are LOTS.
At some point, older people become “cute,” as in, “Look at that cute old lady lifting weights. Isn’t that special?” Or “Did you see that cute lady hiking in the mountains? Bless her little heart.”
I’m one step closer to getting a senior discount card at Walgreens!
I can be bitchy, and blame it on being pre-menopausal.

I can finally give up my dream of being a child star. (So much pressure.)
I can swear more. (See “older people become ‘cute'”)
All my high school clothes should be back in style soon.

I hope your July 5 is as good as mine will be! (But it won’t be–unless it’s your birthday, too.)

Top 5 Signs I Shouldn’t Be A Gardener

Everywhere I look, flowers are blooming. Unless I look at my yard, where plants are held hostage in my little death camp garden. I can not grow things. I’m like a foliage serial killer–without the cool TV series.

(“The hedges needed a little. . . trimming.”)

Some people use gardening as meditation, working the soil, feeling the fresh earth between their fingers. But instead of dropping me into a Zen state, gardening pisses me off. If I spend 5 hours pulling the damn weeds, they’d better stay pulled.

Here are the Top 5 Signs I Shouldn’t Be a Gardener:

#1–I’m a Tad Forgetful: Wildflowers don’t need someone dumping water on them, so why do my flowers insist on being hand-fed every day?Seems kind of lazy to me, petunias. It’s sad to watch my plants implore passersby to either give them a drink of water, or stone them to death.

(My trees are such drama queens.)

#2–I Don’t Like Pain: I’ve spent my entire life avoiding painful things. I don’t run with scissors. I don’t do base jumping. I’ve never ridden a bull. So, why would I shove my hand into thorny shrubbery to remove the weeds slowly choking the life out of it? Everything I touch seems to have bristles that leave my fingers consistently swollen and sliver-infested.

#3–My Houseplants Commit Suicide: Self-explanatory. I’ve even had plastic plants shrivel up and die.

#4–It’s Never the Perfect Temperature: Gardening in Utah has to be quick. Flowers bloom in April, but only have until July before the sun bakes their little petals into tea leaves. Whenever the urge to “garden” hits me (usually in the form of my husband telling me to get outside and weed), it’s either a) too windy, b) too hot, c) too cold, d) too dry, e) too boring or f) just not of interest to me at the time. (Let me finish this little George R. R. Martin book, and I’ll be out.)

(Not optimal gardening weather.)

#5–It’s Boooooring: I’d rather watch NASCAR. I’d rather clean grout. I’d rather listen to a book on tape read by Forrest Gump. I’d rather sit through a marriage seminar (and I might have to if I don’t start watering the roses). I’ve heard people say, “Time just stands still when I’m in my garden.” Yeah, because it’s boring as hell.

Luckily, my husband enjoys doing tedious tasks while being impaled by overgrown brambles. So, we compomised. He does the yard work–and I don’t.

Top 5 Cool Things About My Dad

One year, mom bought dad a hammock for Father’s Day. As kids, we thought it was the perfect gift, and immediately took it over. I don’t remember dad lying in it–ever. Not because it was filled with kids, but because he was always tinkering, repairing, fiddling (not the music kind), mending or inventing. He always had something on the drawing board.

Here are some cool things about my dad:

#1–He can build things: You think MacGyver was a bad-ass? My dad makes MacGyver look like a Keystone Kop. Give my dad a toothpick, an empty Coke can, a Ziploc bag and a pair of tweezers–and he can make a working, life-size replica of the Red Baron’s triplane. He can build anything from wooden toys to high-tech, space-age cameras. And that’s just in his spare time.

(I picture my dad flying through the air, laughing hysterically.)

#2–He’s an Ultimate Treasure Hunter: Using his Indiana Jones-like intuition, my dad can find pirates’ treasure, Incan gold or my lost library book. He can also determine the value of any item in such a way to make the guys on Pawn Stars look like imbecilic rookies. Arrowheads, dinosaur bones, infamous air pirate D.B. Cooper–there’s a good chance he knows where to find them. It’s entirely possible my dad is D. B. Cooper.

#3–He Never Slows Down: I called my dad on Father’s Day to see what he was up to. Well, he was up a tree, trimming branches at a local museum. Typical dad behavior. Other examples: “Hey, Peri. I just finished making a spinning wheel out of a fallen log (see #1).” Or “Hi, honey. I found a cache of sapphires in my backyard (see #2) and I’m making jewelry to sell at the farmer’s market.”

(A cool marble tower my dad built. He also built the banjo, and probably the cassette player.)

#4–He’s an Expert at Blowing Things Up: Gunpowder is in my dad’s blood. My dad and brother spent copious amounts of time trying to pack explosives into rocket engines. Then they’d blow up the rocket and laugh like maniacs. The 4th of July was Dad’s pyromaniac paradise; as explosions rocked our quiet Utah subdivision, neighbors would hide in their bathtubs praying for July 5th to dawn.

#5–He Finds Value in Everything: Whether it’s an obsidian arrowhead or a wayward child, my dad doesn’t throw anything away. That old woodpile? Not kindling for the fire, but future toy trains, trucks or picture frames. An abandoned church? Nope, a potentially really cool home with all kinds of hiding places for great-grandchildren. Disobedient kids? Well, don’t we all make mistakes?

(My handsome dad and my nephew.)

Thanks for an exciting childhood, Dad! I love you.

How to Tell if the CIA is Tracking You

Maybe those people with the tinfoil hats were right.

I guess you’ve heard the claims that the U.S. Government used electronic surveillance to track “terrorists.” My first thought was, “Duh.” I assumed the CIA tracked us from the moment of our birth. But maybe tinfoil does keep the government from reading your mind. Because that’s about the only thing they haven’t infiltrated. . . . or have they?

(No matter what they say, these people are not milkmen.)

Here are some ways to tell if the CIA is tracking you:

You have a new friend on Facebook named Agent Johnson.
You think about ordering pizza and Domino’s shows up at your door.
You’re trying to watch Game of Thrones but the channel keeps changing to the latest congressional hearing.
General David Petraeus moves next door.

(“Hi. I’m the new PTA president.”)

Your Comcast installer says he has to add a special “feature” to your landline and cell phones.
As you listen to your police scanner, you realize they are talking about your house.
Your water meter has been checked several times in the last few days.
You find someone living in your doghouse.
You type “Is the CIA watching me?” onto Google, and this is what shows up:

The ice cream truck has been parked in front of your home for a really long time.
You reach in the fridge to grab the milk, and someone hands it to you.
You see someone run across your lawn yelling, “We’ve been compromised!!”
All your mail has been opened and re-sealed with duct tape.
You hear someone say “Bless you” when you sneeze. But you’re home alone.

Now, granted, some of those things can happen with no CIA involvement. But if one or more of these occur regularly, you might want to change your name and move to Brazil. Stay safe, my friends.

Stores That Overwhelm Me

I hate making decisions. I hate choosing where to go for dinner, what movie to watch, what T-shirt to wear, etc. Makes it hard to live with me. (Just ask my husband.) But sometimes I’m faced with so many decisions, I just lie down on the floor and pull a rug over my head. This usually happens at one of the following stores:

Sephora—This mecca of beauty stores is so overwhelming, I need a shot of tequila just to walk in the door. Instantly, I’m pounced on by heavily made-up “ladies” trying to decide if they can “fix” my face or if it’s too late to repair. I don’t know which phrase is worse. “Yes, I can improve your skin’s texture, tone and taste–but it’s gonna cost you a LOOOOOT of money.” (Insert evil laugh.) Or “I really think what you’re already doing is the best it’s gonna get. Maybe come back when they invent the Sephora Time Machine.”

At some point during my visit to Sephora, I break out in hives. But that’s okay, because there are hundreds of products to cure, or cover, the offending rash.

(And this is just the orange colors!! Of one brand. On one aisle.)

Quilted Bear–This Utah-only shop is the largest craft store in the galaxy. Vendors try to out-decorate their booths, competing against women who grew up embroidering tablecloths, making furniture from grapevines and landscaping their Barbie’s townhouse. When I have the urge to walk through The Quilted Bear, I’ve devised a plan. I hit the deli for a soup bowl, the fudge display (for free fudge) and then I get the hell out before the Ghost of Better Homes & Gardens Past comes to hem my skirt and braid my hair.

(Picture this booth. Times 10,000)

Costco–With the big families in Utah (and I mean “big” in every sense), a bulk shopping center makes sense. However, for those of us who feed two (occasionally three) people and a dog, a tub o’ mayonnaise seems unnecessary. Unless I get a job as a fry cook for the U.S. Marine Corps, I don’t imagine I’ll ever buy 50 lbs. of baking soda, a 40 lb. wheel of cheese or a quadruple case of laxatives. Although looking at all that stuff makes me crap my pants.

(Big aisles for big people.)

TJ Maxx –This is one store I visit on a monthly basis, but I need to brace myself each time. There are GREAT deals at TJ Maxx. The problem is looking through the thousands of NOT GREAT deals to find the good stuff. Some days, I walk in–and walk right out–not ready to delve into tons of clothing and shoes. Other days, I plan ahead, stock up with trail mix, plug in my iPod and search the racks thoroughly.

(And these are just the handbags!!)

Barnes & Noble—Once I enter B&N, I get heart palpitations. Because I’ve made it a life goal to read every book ever written, seeing the shelves and shelves of books is a little discouraging. But, just like eating an entire cherry pie, I take it one bite at a time.

Top 5 Healthy Food Groups

I spent the holiday weekend eating. Non-stop. Things like pork enchiladas, Fat Kid pizza, Harry & David candies, Mrs. Field’s cookies, popcorn, margaritas, hamburgers and bacon. But I did have a fruit-cup on Monday morning . (Calories don’t count on holidays. Duh.)

As many people do, I decided to wake up this morning (following a weekend of binge eating) and start shoving healthy food into my face. After researching the bests kinds of foods, I’ve compiled a list to help me stay on track.

I vow to eat:

Brown Foods: Things like brown rice, whole wheat pasta and breads fall into this category. But (if I understand colors) this also includes chocolate cake, fudgsicles and caramel corn. I’m pretty sure I can rock this area.

Vegetables/Fruit: I can easily incorporate foods like spinach, asparagus, berries and grapefruit into my diet. And then there’s what I call the “fancy” veggies and fruit: Pringles (potatoes), Bugles (corn), Sunkist Gems and Gummy Bears (assorted fruits) (also found at Harry & David).

(So many healthy choices to choose from!)

Nuts/healthy oils: Natural butters like almond and peanut, and products like olive oil, can easily be spread on the aforementioned brown foods–and even some fruits and veggies. But avocado?!?! (yuck. nope.) Also falling into this category is See’s Toffee (this delicacy is ROLLED in healthy nuts), chocolate covered nuts of all types, and, my favorite, a Reese’s Peanut Butter Sandwich. (This consists of two Reese’s Cups glued together with a glob of peanut butter.) Good times.

Lean meats: Unless someone is selling supermodel jerky, I’ll assume this means skinless chicken breasts, healthy pork cuts (probably not bacon), roasted turkey and small cuts of beef. B.O.R.I.N.G.

Cut back on sugar: Hahahahaha! Nope. (I’m sure this was the FDA’s idea of a joke. Those wacky FDA employees.)

So, starting today, I’m on a healthy eating mission. Just as soon as I finish my chocolate covered cherries from Harry & David. Or . . . maybe that counts as a brown food AND a fruit! Shazaam!

Top 5 Things I Learned in Kindergarten

Kindergarten was pretty laid back when I was 5 years old. We weren’t pressured to actually learn anything; it was more of a social experiment. If we didn’t know basic shapes, colors or letters, our teacher assumed we’d learn what we needed from Sesame Street. So instead of being stressed, we played for a year before the harsh reality of First Grade kicked in.

(This is where I learned all the important stuff.)

My teacher was the amazing Miss Hansen at Viewmont Elementary–and I wanted to marry her. She was pretty, smart, fun and full of ideas to keep a room full of curtain climbers entertained for four hours every day.

Here are some important things I learned in kindergarten:

Don’t eat snow. After watching us eat snowballs, Miss Hansen got out her handy-dandy hot plate, dumped a pile of snow in a pot, and melted it so we could see what we were eating. Floating in the melted snow were various items including gravel, a rodent skeleton and the bumper of a VW Beetle. I haven’t eaten snow since.

(This pile of crap was found in a melted snowman.)

Boys are strange creatures. When I started kindergarten, I hadn’t been blessed with my little brother yet. He wasn’t even a naughty grin on my dad’s face. So encountering boys on a daily basis induced several levels of culture shock. Boys made weird sounds. They banged dump trucks into my ankles. They ran around with no purpose. And they thought the word “poop” was literary genius. Turns out, boys didn’t change much as I got older.
Sitting incorrectly is dangerous. If you lean back in your chair you’ll fall over, break your neck and end up in a wheelchair forever. This horrifying lesson stayed with me long after kindergarten graduation. I still think of Miss Hansen when I see somebody balancing on the back legs of a chair.

Coconut milk is pretty nasty. During the spring, Miss Hansen planned a faux class trip to Hawaii. We drew pictures of what we’d pack (swimming suit and candy), made leis (nobody snickered), went on a “plane trip” and had a sip of coconut milk. And promptly spit that crap out.
It’s okay to wear pants. I wore dresses all the time. It gave me the illusion I was a sweet little girl. My dad bought me a new dress for kindergarten and I wore that blue dress with the attached red apron until it fell apart. But, before the annual zoo trip, Miss Hansen insisted everyone wear pants. I was shocked. And then I discovered I loved pants! I could climb without boys looking up my dress (see Boys Are Strange Creatures)! Haven’t worn a dress since.

Attention Whore Techniques

We’ve all been in settings when one person dominates the conversation. You could be in the middle of delivering a eulogy, or a child, and attention whores will still steal your spotlight. Short of manslaughter, there are not many ways to stop them. They live in a world of their own. These people include:

The Explainer: This person thinks everyone around him has the IQ of a legume. Therefore, it is his responsibility to explain, in excruciating detail, what is happening. “In case you’ve never heard the term ‘thermometer,’ it is a device that measures temperature.” Or “Let me explain the situation in Libya in terms you can understand. Blah, blah, blah. Breath. Blah, blah, blah, etc.”

The Interrupter: You’re in the middle of a great story when, from out of nowhere, The Interrupter pipes in–guessing the end of your story, or changing the subject altogether. Most Interrupters are murdered before they turn 45.

(Typical Interrupter behavior.)

The Redundant: This person is also called The Echo, The Superfluous, The Back-Up, or The Repetitive. The Redundant has several irritating behaviors which include a) exactly repeating what has already been said, b) repeating what has been said in a different way, c) echoing the last few words that were said. Example:

First person: I think this must be the hottest day of the year.

The Redundant: It sure seems like it’s the hottest day of the year.

First person: I could use a cold drink.

The Redundant: I think drinks are in order!

First person: Are you a professional echo?

The Redundant: Echo . . .

The Irritated: Not only does The Irritated have NO TIME for your conversation, she goes out of her way to let you know her time is MUCH MORE IMPORTANT than yours. Irritated tendencies include finger drumming, toe tapping, knee bouncing, a pursed expression and playing on her phone while you’re explaining how sad you are your dog died. They’re not listening. Leave.

The One-Upper: You just climbed Mount Everest. But The One-Upper climbed Mount Everest in the off-season, carrying his sherpa up the hill even after losing three fingers to frostbite. Or. You received a job offer from Apple that will double your salary. Too bad, because The One-Upper now operates Apple. You just can’t win. Stop trying.

(“You call that a knife?” Typical One-Upper.)

The best way to deal with attention whores is to walk in the other direction. They won’t realize you’re gone until they need someone to refill their coffee.

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