I'm online looking for flowers to send to my aunt*--it's her eightieth birthday tomorrow--and I stumble across this:
This is the Sweets in Bloom® Ultimate Happy Birthday Snack Attack Basket.
Here's how the pricing breaks down:
--Sweets in Bloom® Happy Birthday Snack Attack Basket: $34.99--GOOD (I think "good" means the snacks are NOT stale, yet there are not that many of them and the basket is mostly filled with green tissue paper.)
--Sweets in Bloom® Deluxe Happy Birthday Snack Attack Basket: $44.99--BETTER (I think "better" means that there are significantly more Combos to cheesy your hunger away and you pay $5 more for the word "Deluxe." But, it also might simply mean a bigger basket and more green tissue paper.)
--Sweets in Bloom® Ultimate Happy Birthday Snack Attack Basket: $54.99--BEST (Okay. Surely FTD does not throw the word "Ultimate" around indiscriminately? I'm guessing there must be pirate gold underneath the extra large amount of green tissue paper in the bottom of the extra large basket.)
This does not include shipping and handling.
1) No, I will not be sending this item to my aunt--I believe her personal weapons in the war against snack attacks are iced tea and little sugar-free waffle sandwich cookies (they come in pink, tan, and white).
2) I figure my aunt and I aren't in FTD's demographic for this item--it's a "dorm room and den" kind of gift. But, I have to admit that I keep staring at it (and I need to stop now and close the deal on the flowers) and thinking, "Couldn't I slap together that Ultimate version in one trip to Costco for $5.00?" and "Snack attack? More like heart attack. Look at all that salt and sugar!" which is yet another sign that I'm not in the demographic for this item.
3) Still, there's something about this that bugs me. And FTD's disclaimer, "All items featured on this Web site represent the types of products FTD.COM offers and may vary depending upon availability in certain regions" does nothing to smooth my feathers. Which regional delicacy might they leave out--the M&Ms or the Nutter Butters?
4) And, I keep thinking about all of those ripped open Snack Attack wrappers and all of that scrunched-up tissue paper (in the Ultimate version, this might be as much as 8 lbs. of tissue paper and 25 Snack Attack wrappers) fluttering around landfills just off the main highway like debauched butterflies. (Why like debauched butterflies? I have no idea.)
To sum up: I am Old and Cranky.**
*Her larger gift is 80 books, which I imagine she'll tear right through. But, I don't have a catchy name for it.
**Yet not quite Old and Cranky enough NOT to wish you a wonderful weekend. Have a wonderful weekend!
FTD Phones It In (aka I am Old and Cranky)
Operation!
There's a big scandal afoot! All of these cops have been arrested and are on "desk duty" (which sounds kinda comfy and relaxing--is this a reward or a punishment? Are they denied cheese danish privileges? Are they included in the lunch run? "Okay, what do you want for lunch, Stan?" "Ham on rye and a..." "No, Stan, you can have gravel or you can have bark chips--which?") for being involved with a drug ring.*
The local news media has dubbed this entirely shocking turn of events...wait for it, wait for it...
OPERATION DECEPTION (but there's no ominous theme song, as yet--they might be working on it)
I think two things about this.
Thing 1: I now want to become a criminal because I can outrun these guys.
Let me be clear: I can outrun very few people and if I laughingly pretend to "lose a foot race" to a 2-year-old, I am lying. I am losing a foot race to a 2-year-old. I am built somewhat along the lines of a dachsund--without the tail and cuteness. But, it fills me with pride to know that I can outrun these guys. Later today, I go out to buy my bandit mask and the special soft-soled shoes you need to creep around on your tiptoes. G'bless, boys. You have given me a new career.
Thing 2:
What kind of half-hindquartered name is this for a sizzing hot scandal? C'mon. You can do better. I can do better. Here goes.
"Operation Snow Blows!" (this is to set an example for the DARE kids)
"Operation Whaddya Mean 'Deception'? Haven't You Ever Seen A Crooked Cop Movie?"
"Operation Expected" (okay, perhaps this is a bit cynical)
*Are drug-selling cabals always rings? Why circular? Aren't drug operations more complex than that? Wouldn't a Drug Dodecahedron be more accurate? Sheesh. It's always up to me to point these things out.
The local news media has dubbed this entirely shocking turn of events...wait for it, wait for it...OPERATION DECEPTION (but there's no ominous theme song, as yet--they might be working on it)
I think two things about this.
Thing 1: I now want to become a criminal because I can outrun these guys.
Let me be clear: I can outrun very few people and if I laughingly pretend to "lose a foot race" to a 2-year-old, I am lying. I am losing a foot race to a 2-year-old. I am built somewhat along the lines of a dachsund--without the tail and cuteness. But, it fills me with pride to know that I can outrun these guys. Later today, I go out to buy my bandit mask and the special soft-soled shoes you need to creep around on your tiptoes. G'bless, boys. You have given me a new career.Thing 2:
What kind of half-hindquartered name is this for a sizzing hot scandal? C'mon. You can do better. I can do better. Here goes.
"Operation Snow Blows!" (this is to set an example for the DARE kids)
"Operation Whaddya Mean 'Deception'? Haven't You Ever Seen A Crooked Cop Movie?"
"Operation Expected" (okay, perhaps this is a bit cynical)
*Are drug-selling cabals always rings? Why circular? Aren't drug operations more complex than that? Wouldn't a Drug Dodecahedron be more accurate? Sheesh. It's always up to me to point these things out.
My Sister Teaches the Basic Thrill of Golf!
My sister does not use blogger, facebook, etc. She uses e-mail for work. But, she does not have a cell phone. She does not text. Indeed, she and I share a primitive fear of texting. Perhaps rightfully so. Here's an e-mail she forwarded to me that a lady sent to her from her phone (it's nothing bad...just kinda funny):
-----Original Message-----
From: Lady who mistakenly e-mailed my sister from her phone
Sent: Some Day, Some Month, Some Year 2:12 PM (I do not know why I am making the date anonymous and keeping the specific time--just am)
To: My Sister
Subject: Thank you
Again it was great lesson with you today. You taught me basic thrill of golf. Now it is up to me to practice and continuously produce what I've learned. I cannot wait to practice when the clubs are ready next week. In the meantime, have safe journey and have a wonderful season in Palm Beach. I am very grateful to you that now I have new excitement in my life. Thank you so much and warmest regards,
I cannot explain why I enjoy this message so much. "...basic thrill of golf"? Perhaps. But, I also like the concept of "...continuously producing what I've learned..." We could all stand to do a little more of that.
Now, can someone please explain who the old lady with the party hat is that someone e-mailed to MY phone?
-----Original Message-----
From: Lady who mistakenly e-mailed my sister from her phone
Sent: Some Day, Some Month, Some Year 2:12 PM (I do not know why I am making the date anonymous and keeping the specific time--just am)
To: My Sister
Subject: Thank you
Again it was great lesson with you today. You taught me basic thrill of golf. Now it is up to me to practice and continuously produce what I've learned. I cannot wait to practice when the clubs are ready next week. In the meantime, have safe journey and have a wonderful season in Palm Beach. I am very grateful to you that now I have new excitement in my life. Thank you so much and warmest regards,
I cannot explain why I enjoy this message so much. "...basic thrill of golf"? Perhaps. But, I also like the concept of "...continuously producing what I've learned..." We could all stand to do a little more of that.
Now, can someone please explain who the old lady with the party hat is that someone e-mailed to MY phone?
Auntpocalypse Then
Note: Today's Tuesday's Tune is "So It Goes" by Nick Lowe! And now...The Auntpocalypse
My aunts brought gossip that I wasn’t allowed to hear and freaky candy I didn’t want to eat. Brown horehound drops tasted like dirty beets dipped in root beer. Powdery orange marshmallow circus peanuts fought your mouth with a sort of banana-y chemical warfare. With this non-candy, they packed non-presents, such as scratchy knitted elf costumes clearly designed to make adults laugh at small children. Once I could have sworn I heard my mother mutter, “Am I wrong? Does she look like a little raisin in that?” This was all very rough. Yet, it was my aunts’ lipstick that really had me on the run. I had a severe lipstick phobia, and it got wildly worse during the summer visiting season, when the six riders of the auntpocalypse came surging toward me in a relentless fleet of Fords—their tooting, waving numbers swelling to 600 in my nightmares. Shrouded in a hazy funk of tobacco smoke, Maybelline face powder, and Windsong perfume, they all, to an aunt, clamored to kiss me. What to do? What to do? HIDE!
I always chose the same small bush, and my legs stuck out from beneath it quite visibly—or so my sister told me later on. So, each summer, all of these aunt mouths, all Revloned up in the whole red and purple sector of the Crayola Box—mulberry, plum, red orange, violet red, red violet—swarmed down upon me. Only Auntie Hazel—the former saw player in an all-girl Hawaiian band—didn’t wear lipstick because she was too busy watching the Red Sox, smoking, and swearing, not necessarily in that order. So, I wasn't that worried about Auntie Hazel during the on-arrival smooch fest, when all of the aunts attempted to deposit their mouths all over my face, even as I perfected my aunt-B-Gone move, one arm flying dramatically in front of my face as if to ward off a blow. As I cowered and sought out the company of sparsely-branched shrubs, my sister made polite conversation and passed nimbly through the throng, processing them quickly and with great diplomacy, “Ah, you’re looking well, auntie. Yes. To be sure. School. It is fine. And, my recorder skills? Here, let me play you ‘Merrily, We Roll Along.’” She got it all over with a honed, five-minute meet and greet, a pro forma recorder tootle or two, and then she oozed smoothly, chameleon-like, into the background.
In contrast, by ducking and feinting and going to ground, I managed to prolong the agony of the auntslaught, and I became prey that had to be stalked through the whole visit. “Where is she?” “Oh, she’s shy. She’s hiding.” “What? Why, that’s silly! Where’s my girly girl? Girly girl? Girly girl? Why, you’re going to hurt my feelings, honey! Come out, auntie has a kiss for you!” Off I scooted, and with each and every aunt-ditching maneuver, I kicked up the suspense another notch or two. The air went electric with the thrill of the hunt. “Do you think she went down into the basement? Let’s see!” While I spooked around wild-eyed, my sister kicked back at the kitchen table, sipping an Orange Crush with a flexi-straw and cutting out paper dolls. Occasionally, for sport, she’d misdirect the posse as I crouched behind the furnace, sooty-faced and sure I was invisible.
My aunts brought gossip that I wasn’t allowed to hear and freaky candy I didn’t want to eat. Brown horehound drops tasted like dirty beets dipped in root beer. Powdery orange marshmallow circus peanuts fought your mouth with a sort of banana-y chemical warfare. With this non-candy, they packed non-presents, such as scratchy knitted elf costumes clearly designed to make adults laugh at small children. Once I could have sworn I heard my mother mutter, “Am I wrong? Does she look like a little raisin in that?” This was all very rough. Yet, it was my aunts’ lipstick that really had me on the run. I had a severe lipstick phobia, and it got wildly worse during the summer visiting season, when the six riders of the auntpocalypse came surging toward me in a relentless fleet of Fords—their tooting, waving numbers swelling to 600 in my nightmares. Shrouded in a hazy funk of tobacco smoke, Maybelline face powder, and Windsong perfume, they all, to an aunt, clamored to kiss me. What to do? What to do? HIDE!
I always chose the same small bush, and my legs stuck out from beneath it quite visibly—or so my sister told me later on. So, each summer, all of these aunt mouths, all Revloned up in the whole red and purple sector of the Crayola Box—mulberry, plum, red orange, violet red, red violet—swarmed down upon me. Only Auntie Hazel—the former saw player in an all-girl Hawaiian band—didn’t wear lipstick because she was too busy watching the Red Sox, smoking, and swearing, not necessarily in that order. So, I wasn't that worried about Auntie Hazel during the on-arrival smooch fest, when all of the aunts attempted to deposit their mouths all over my face, even as I perfected my aunt-B-Gone move, one arm flying dramatically in front of my face as if to ward off a blow. As I cowered and sought out the company of sparsely-branched shrubs, my sister made polite conversation and passed nimbly through the throng, processing them quickly and with great diplomacy, “Ah, you’re looking well, auntie. Yes. To be sure. School. It is fine. And, my recorder skills? Here, let me play you ‘Merrily, We Roll Along.’” She got it all over with a honed, five-minute meet and greet, a pro forma recorder tootle or two, and then she oozed smoothly, chameleon-like, into the background.
In contrast, by ducking and feinting and going to ground, I managed to prolong the agony of the auntslaught, and I became prey that had to be stalked through the whole visit. “Where is she?” “Oh, she’s shy. She’s hiding.” “What? Why, that’s silly! Where’s my girly girl? Girly girl? Girly girl? Why, you’re going to hurt my feelings, honey! Come out, auntie has a kiss for you!” Off I scooted, and with each and every aunt-ditching maneuver, I kicked up the suspense another notch or two. The air went electric with the thrill of the hunt. “Do you think she went down into the basement? Let’s see!” While I spooked around wild-eyed, my sister kicked back at the kitchen table, sipping an Orange Crush with a flexi-straw and cutting out paper dolls. Occasionally, for sport, she’d misdirect the posse as I crouched behind the furnace, sooty-faced and sure I was invisible.
Bob and Precious
So, yesterday Lily and I went out wilding. We took a nice, long Junior Explorers' Club walk in the woods near a ruin of a factory and whatnot and there were amazing smells--decomposing leaves, moss getting mossier by the moment, nefarious/scurrilous squirrel poop, all the best stuff. Lily was power-sniffing, I was strolling, all was good. Then, in the distance, I could see the unmistakably menacing forms of The Elderly Man With the Cane and his Giant Dog Who Is Unleashed And Runs Two Miles Ahead of The Elderly Man.
"Menacing? Why menacing?" you might ask. "Are you worried the Giant Dog will savage Lily?"
No. On the contrary, I am worried that Lily might savage the Giant Dog.
I have learned something interesting about Lily in the last several weeks. She loves people INSTANTLY. The second she sees you, she will prostrate herself at your feet, lean her head back lovingly against your legs, and melt. Yet, it takes her several weeks to begin to warm up to another dog. I'm pretty sure that this is due to her being beaten up by other dogs when she was a sick lil' street dog in Mexico. My hunch is she feels like she has to get off to a strong place in the poochy hierarchy before another one jumps her.
Unfortunately, my poor friend's little dog Elvis was shocked by her latina fury upon their first encounters. The second she sees another dog--such as the hapless Elvis--she makes a complicated series of noises composed of yearning, wariness, concern, and what I like to call "a wild surmise." It sounds like "mmm mmm MMM? MMM! mmm errrrrrrrrr." The girl mutters pensively. She kinda seems like she wants to play, she kinda seems like she wants to flee, she kinda seems like she wants to hide behind me, and she kinda seems like she wants to jump the dog in a dark alley with some of her chicas as back-up.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. It was a sad, perplexing time with Elvis and Lily at first. Happily, they're pals now. But, it took a couple of scary weeks....We'll see what happens with ol' Bob and Precious.
Happy Zolo!
Aunt: "So, Rita Mae was wondering why your sister's card says "Happy Zolo!"
Sparkle: "Tell Auntie Rita that it says 'Happy 2010!'"
Aunt: "That's what I told her, but she doesn't believe me."
Sparkle: "Did she think it was some weird new city folk holiday?"
Aunt: "Probably. With Rita Mae, you never know."
Sparkle: "Tell Auntie Rita that it says 'Happy 2010!'"
Aunt: "That's what I told her, but she doesn't believe me."
Sparkle: "Did she think it was some weird new city folk holiday?"
Aunt: "Probably. With Rita Mae, you never know."
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