dar liomsa (in my opinion)

Dinner is a big deal around our house.

'What's for dinner', 'did you take anything out for dinner?', 'when are we going to eat dinner?'

Quite often, we begin planning the next night's dinner, in the midst of dinner.

Halfway through chicken , corn and mashed potatoes, I am already thinking about what we will  eat tomorrow night.

A lot of planning and conversation are involved in this end of the day meal.

Sometimes I think too much energy is focused on dinner.

A meal that is thought about, planned, prepared, and served.

And on cue, two minutes into the meal, cries begin.

Can I be done?  I am so full."

Stomach clutching, waterworks, etc.

The same antics that were used in anticipation of the meal as they cried, 'when are we going to eat, I am staaaarving!"

Some nights I think about not cooking dinner at all, just to see if anyone will notice. 

 

Remind me not to get famous.

Like so famous that, if I'm a  chef who loves to load my dishes with butter, and then one day I announce to the world I have diabetes and I will now be selling a drug to help fight it.

You know, that kind of famous.

Because when you are that famous, it is then okay for photographers to post scandalous photographs of you all over the internet.

Oh yes.

Photos where you are mid-bite in a greasy cheeseburger.

My worst nightmare.

Someone photographing me while I eat.

I'd be devastated.

It's  not that I don't like people to see me eat.

I avoid situations where food might get messy.

I pass on jelly, powdered donuts, saucy buffalo wings, and especially baby back ribs.

Don't get me wrong, these are great tasting foods.

I just don't like to eat them in public.

Where people can see me getting messy.

If I'm famous, I'd have to worry even more.

Remind me to never get famous.

Do Me a Favor?....

It's  really not  a favor when someone holds a  door for someone else who is  nowhere near it.

You know what I mean, that man or  woman many steps ahead of you, who holds the door as if they are doing you a favor.

It is a very polite gesture for someone who is actually on your heels, extending your arm and holding the door. But when someone is too many feet, or yards away it's no longer a favor.

It's an obligation.

Better yet, you might as well be standing there yelling,' RUN!'

When I see someone far ahead of me holding a door, I feel obliged to get there quicker.

Do me a favor? Don't hold the door for me.

I can handle it, and I would rather  arrive there at my own pace.

I don't run, so now I have to do the slow jog to make the appearance that I want to get somewhere fast. For what? For a hand in opening a door/

Do me a favor?

Don't.

"I'm not really a 'let it soak' kind of girl",  I said, as I continued to scrub the blackened soup remains from the bottom of the pot.

In an effort to have a simple dinner,  my only task was to reheat the vat of soup from my husband's weekend of cooking. Somehow, I managed to screw it up by leaving  the soup unattended for too long.

More than likely I was busy folding wash, or tending to the needs of a child when this occurred.

The result was a blackened pot.

My husband suggested I let it soak over night.

Sure, and by morning I would find a pot filled with not only soapy water, but everyone's dessert bowls from the night before as well.

No thanks, I will scrub it now.

That is my philosophy, handle the mess now. Lord knows, we are always guaranteed another mess tomorrow.

Each day offering more fun than the one before.

 

Best of Darliomsa.typepad.com Week!

A weekend drive on an unseasonably warm day in November, offers many observations. Amidst the usual road rage, loud stereo systems, and careless cell phone talking drivers, one may  witness a quiet show of male bonding.

I am referring to the subtle hand gestures shared between motorcyclists. The inconspicuous wave they offer one another as they pass by. It is not because they actually  know each other. They are simply acknowledging hey fellow biker, I am a biker too let's wave and show our unity. Have a nice day.

It's a lot like the mom-look. You know the mom look, The look moms give to one another, to show they understand. Like the mom in Target whose toddler cries from the toy aisle all the way up to the cash register, and continues to cry as a frustrated mom desperately waits for her caffeine fix at the in-store Starbucks. The look you give her that says, I have so been there, I totally understand. and it's okay.

A little empathy can go a long way.

Moms need to stick together, don't judge, just smile a knowing glance the next time you see her.

Remember you've been there or you soon will be.

 

I hope it snows soon.

A winter without snow, gives people something to compain about.

Although, I fear a winter with snow would have the same effect.

Whatever the weather, you'll always find someone not happy.

Back around Christmas, we whined and complained that it just doesn't have that holiday feel without the chilly air and snow on the ground.

As we inch toward February, with snow boots and shovels in wait, we express that we wouldn't mind a little snow, you know for the kids.

But the minute it snows and snows too much, we will complain.

Will you just look at this stuff? Isn't this crazy, all this snow?

Well, no.

It's winter in the northeast, sometimes it snows nothing crazy about that.

 

I recently discovered a new website.

A website that is  a bit of an addiction.

It's the kind of website you look at over a cup of coffee, and three hours later you realize your coffee is cold and you are still in pajamas.

Yea, kind of like that.

It's a community bulletin board where members can display their favorite  photos, recipes, quotes, decorating ideas,  craft ideas and more.

It's visual candy. It's like thumbing through your favorite pages of a magazine.

The bad thing is, after a few hours on this site, I look around my own home and get angry.

Angry that my laundry room doesn't resemble the one I just saw. Angry that my photos aren't displayed in homemade frames like the ones I found on the website. Angry that my craft room isn't as organized as the one I just looked at (wait a minute, I don't even have a craft room). See, that's the problem, this website fogs the mind and makes one forget who they are and where they live. Forget that they can't even sew a button on a sweater so what makes them think they can create the homemade costumes they just found?

Damn, Pinterest!

I planned my entire weekend around a TV show.

Last week.

I have not done that since the third grade.

I have long since forgotten how to program a VCR to record missed shows, and am not even sure if VHS is available.

I don't DVR.

In my hectic life, if I miss it it's not a big deal.

Except for this weekend.

I had to watch The Golden Globe Awards.

This award show, a sneak peek into the Oscar hopefuls, is chock full of fancy dresses, red carpets and the ultimate question, 'who are you wearing?'

But that's not why I watch.

I watch, because of Ricky Gervais.

Gervais is the funny kid at the back of the classroom whispering offensive one liners about the  popular kids.

Ricky is handed  a microphone and asked to come up front and share what he has to say,  and he does.

The best part is the camera that pans the audience to reveal the shocked and offended faces.

Their 'how dare he' attitudes showing.

His very British accent making it all the more funny and proper.

He offends with a smile.

He pushes the envelope and crosses the line.

They cringe and attempt to fight back.

He wins, everytime.

These people dripping in diamonds, and designer clothes with the least important profession and highest income potential are the perfect target.

He calls them out and jabs their vulnerable egos, and this makes me chuckle.

And that is must-see TV.

 

Poor Khloe

Just as I was about to ban all things- Kardashian.

A Breaking News bomb hit, sucking me back in.

The latest scandal in this media obsessed family is not Kim's quick ending marriage.

It's the question of Khloe's Kardshian-ness.

New claims have been voiced that Khloe may have been a love child of mom Kris' extra-marital affair.

Khloe, now a grown woman, was left to defend herself to the world, that she was/is the daughter of the late Robert Kardashian.

Once again, I know way too much about this topic.

 

On the up side, I'm missing my soap operas a little less.

 

Two Words

There are certain words, that when spoken in a clear and direct manner have an impact.

Words that can change the whole tone of a conversation.

A rude person in charge of answering the phone, whose job it is to keep you from reaching whom you intend to reach, assures you that person will call you back.

After numerous repeated phone calls, you start to realize they are not going to call you back.
So you place, yet another phone call, and begin to receive the same run around,. That is when you kindly interrupt with two simple words.

"I'll hold."

That's it that's all you have to do, it works.

The phone answerer is forced to react.

Suddenly that person holding, that red light flashing holds more power than anyone or anything happening at that moment.

A call holding must be answered, it demands attention.

'I'll hold' announces to anyone willing to listen, "ahem, I am not going away and you are going to deal with me whether you want to or not."

Try it.

Try it right now, I'll hold.