Bear Necessities

Now I know I can be somewhat naïve at times and when faced with certain concepts will say, “Wha, wha, what?”

“I don’t get it.”

These can range from Lady Gaga’s meat costume to the idea of a television show devoted to a ladies obsession with sniffing baby powder.

But someone seriously has to explain the idea behind the Charmin Bath Tissue commercials featuring the big multi-colored talking bears.

Again, “Wha, wha, what?”

First of all why are any brands of toilet paper called “Bath Tissue”?

They are not used in the bath. 

Maybe the bathroom perhaps, but using this product in the bath would definitely be useless.

And gooey.

Plus, this could be deemed politically incorrect by those folks who do their doody in an outhouse…..hello!

Second of all, the term tissue is usually used in reference to those squares of paper used to blow your nose.

Unless you have a really bad case of runny noseitis you really should try not to carry around a toilet paper roll in your purse.

That’s just nasty.

And bulky.

And makes the waiter despise you if you put in on the table at a restaurant.

So, I’m trying to envision the concept coordinators for Charmin sitting around one day brainstorming and someone says,

“Hey, why don’t we use some colorful, fat bears to push our product?”

“It would be awesome!”

“We could have the mama bear following her adorable cub everywhere making sure he doesn’t harbor any unsightly fanny fuzz.”

“Her sole purpose in life would be to monitor his bathroom bottom remnants and make sure he is tidy in the tush at all times!”

“What cha’ guys think?”

“Oh my gosh, you are a genius, Walter!”

“I wish I had thought of that!”

And then Walter got a million dollar bonus.

We hate him.

So what I am taking from this is that they equate most American households to a family of bears, and assume a major family crisis problem is the fall-apart, 99-cent-store bum cleaners we use now.

I know I lie awake at night thinking about it.

If you ever go the Del Mar Fair, they have an entire restroom devoted to the Charmin bear theme.

Whimsical flower decorated stalls, Charmin logos everywhere, and for your “standing in line” entertainment, a music video of the hibernating hustlers doing a boogie dance with a four pack of double rolls.

All very inspiring.

I’m just trying to use the bathroom, people!

And inevitably, after suffering through the 10 second loop 64 times, you get in the stall and…..

You guessed it.

No toilet paper.

I guess the other Del Mar farm animals enjoy the Charmin too.

………….I’m just sayin’

On a day like today

On a day like today someone dreamed a dreamed,

That changed history.

On a day like today someone Invented a drug,

That cured a disease.

On a day like today someone had a vision,

That changed technology.

On a day like today someone sang a song,

That touched a soul.

On a day like today someone danced a dance,

That inspired someone to move.

On a day like today someone wrote a book,

That put the world at someone’s fingertips.

On a day like today someone told a story,

That moved someone to tears.

On a day like today someone gave birth to a child,

Who would carry on a family tradition.

On a day like today someone smiled at a stranger,

Who needed a glimmer of joy.

On a day like today someone helped a friend,

For no reason other than friendship.

That day was probably not anything extraordinary.

It could have been sunny or rainy or snowing.

It could have been a Friday or a Saturday or even a Monday.

But it was a new day.

A brand new day.

Each one of us is given a new opportunity with each new day.

To dream or invent or envision or sing or dance or write or perpetuate joy or create or smile or lend a helping hand.

Or give hope.

We create our reality by our actions and our thoughts.

What’s on your agenda today?

......I'm just sayin'

“How much I missed, simply because I was afraid of missing it.”…..Paulo Coelho, Brida

Junior Mint Fixation

I love chocolate.

Any kind of chocolate.

Dark is not my favorite but it will do in a pinch.

For some reason I always have a candy bar stashed in my sock drawer for chocolate emergencies.

Usually an Almond Joy or Hershey’s with almonds.

Just in case of disaster it would be one of the first things I would grab.

An Almond Joy Armageddon.

Some people keep a bar inside of their purse for random munching pleasure.

My friend has an office at work and inside of her door is a basket with the candies of the season up for grabs.

She spends a fortune keeping the chocolate beasts satisfied.

I’m one of the worst offenders.

Years ago a friend of mine told me that she loved Junior Mints and would eat them in bed at night while reading her current novel in progress.  Her husband hated this practice, so of course she didn’t stop doing it, but would just sneak a box while he was taking his evening shower.

The minute he would turn on the water, she would crack open the box and the minty wafers would transport her to chocolate Nirvana.  One particular night he cut his shower short and she was forced to quickly gobble the last few forbidden goodies before he stepped back into their bedroom. 

Little did she know that in her haste one of the candies had slipped past her eagle eye and wedged itself inside her nightgown against her warm heat producing bottom. 

Now apparently after munching the few candies and stashing the box in her nightstand, her plan was to scooch on over toward the middle of their bed to greet him after he had finished his nighttime hygiene rituals.  She figured this would tame the angry manbeast, lest he smell the tell tale mint on her breath and begin to chastise her.

It sounded good on paper…..

So he saunters into the room still damp from his shower, smelling of Old Spice and pulls back the covers to jump into their warm inviting bed and………

Poo..

Or at least he thought it was poo….

A big, long dark streak of faux chocolate poo trailing from his wife’s bottom and staining her nightie.

“What the heck??”

At this point she peers down, following his horrified gaze to the “stain of shame” and screams,

“NO!!!!!”   “NO!!!!!”

“IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK!!!!!”

“IT’S A JUNIOR MINT, IT’S A JUNIOR MINT!!”

Leaping from the bed like a man possessed, he began to circle the bed, yanking the sheets from the mattress and squealing like a baby piglet.

She was amused.

I don’t know why he was so upset.

It was just a Junior Mints fixation.

It could have been much worse.

She could have truly needed to depend on “Depends”.

Which was almost what I needed when she was telling me this story.

…….I’m just sayin’

A Golden Chicken

I saw one this morning.

On my way to work in the back lot behind the building.

Squatting low in the brush with a Subaru in her sights.

Stealthy, crafty, relentless.

What I’m referring to is the infamous "Parking Lot Predator".

They can be spotted in parking lots all across America.

Lying low at the end of the row of stalls waiting for that perfect spot to park.

Their quest is the ultimate parking space, in the front of the mall or movie theater or the donut shop. 

The one right next to the handicapped parking spaces.

My nephew used to call them a “Golden Chicken.”

I don’t know why but the expression always makes me chuckle.

They are the most aggressive during the holidays when any parking spot at all is hard to come by and the predator will stalk you from the moment you exit the building, sliding slyly behind you like a puma in the grass trying to guess which row you are parked in.

Sometimes they pull up next to you and roll down the window,

“Are you leaving??”

“Yes, yes I am.”

“Where are you parked??”

“Right down this aisle on the right.”

Now apparently in the mind of the predator this means they now have “dibs” on your parking spot because they proceed to follow you at a slow crawl until you reach your car, with their blinker on the entire time lest someone have the ridiculous idea that they might get your soon-to-be-vacant spot.

You can almost hear them salivating when you take out your car keys.

The worst is when you are putting your stuff in the trunk and they are tapping their proverbial foot at you the entire time. (How dare you take the time to actually buckle up and not just pitch your 90 year old mother in the trunk to save time!)

I love how guilty you feel when you don’t realize you are the target on the predators road kill radar and have to turn around and say, “I’m sorry, I’m not leaving.”

Just make sure you don’t walk in front of them going back into the store.

You could end up with tire treads down your backside.

And Heaven help anyone who is coming from the opposite direction and tries to zoom into their space unawares.

There is nothing better than watching a predator confront a space stealer by knocking on their driver’s side window and having the person feign innocence.

“What?  Oh, was this YOUR space?”….sweat, sweat. (while locking their door.)

I love that scene from “Fried Green Tomatoes” when Kathy Bates is cheated out of her parking spot by the young obnoxious chicks in the red Volkswagen.  It always makes me laugh out loud when she is ramming the girls car repeatedly with her big Detroit special and screaming, “Yes Ma’am!!!”

My dream is to do that someday to a pushy parking lot rude dude.

My Mama told me a story of one day when my parents were going downtown and while my Daddy was backing into a parking space, some young guy tried to pull into it from the back and steal his spot.

When he saw in his rear view mirror what the young whippersnapper was trying to do, he immediately gunned the engine and slammed his car backwards so that they locked bumpers. (my Daddy had a problem with people who thought they were too big for their britches)

My Mama said that the door slowly swung open and this young, burly, HUGE man unfolded himself from his car and walked around to survey the damage.

(Bear in mind my Daddy was all of 5’7’’)

Dad, “Back it up fella!”

Now at this point in time my Daddy has climbed onto the bumpers and was jumping up and down on them trying to get them unstuck.

My Mama said that because he was elevated by the added height of the gleaming chrome he was now face to face with the pushy giant.

“I SAID, BACK IT UP FELLA!!!”

My mother was terrified that this rude ruffian would attack my Dad and beat him senseless and said, “Just get back in the car and let’s go!”

“No way!”  “If anybody’s leaving it’s going to be him!”

“This was my parking space first!”

Now the theory of “never challenge a feisty pitbull” comes to mind at this point and apparently the guy saw the crazy resolve in my Dad's eyes and decided he better do exactly as he suggested.

He got back in his car.

My father proceeded to jump up and down on the bumpers until his car was sprung free, the guy squealed away and my Dad parked his car in “his space.”

“Golden Chicken Justice”

As for the lady this morning, I thought I would pull her chain a little and motioned for her to roll down her window.

“Excuse me ma’am, I was just wondering."

"Are you leaving?”

……..I’m just sayin’

Methuselah's Microwave

I hate my microwave.

We bought it when my daughter was 12 and she will be 26 this year.

The first day we got it she decided to make popcorn and instead of setting it for 3 minutes, hit the timer for 30.

Jiffy Pop disaster.

Let’s just say it almost involved a call to the fire department and the inside of the new microwave turned black.

It never fully recovered.

It has one of those turning carousels inside that turn the little glass plate for warming up stuff and because it is so old, it has broken through to the metal and makes this creaky sound like a wagon wheel whenever you use it.

Plus it takes forever to heat your food cuz it was manufactured by Methuselah and skews my microwave sensibility whenever I use one that is not prehistoric.

Thus I always think the ones at work take 10 minutes to heat up a frozen food item that says 2 minutes on the box.

This produces a plethora of meals with incinerated entrees and blistered break goodies.

I try to bring healthy stuff to work for lunch and am always amazed at the varied varieties of lunch box fare.

There are the weight conscious gals with their nutritious salads and lowfat yogurt.

Then there are the people with the rib sticking homemade stuff that makes all of us frozen food lazies drool with jealousy.

And then there are people like me.

I usually have the lunch of a four year old.

I am lucky if I throw together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a sandwich bag of oreo cookies.

On a really ambitious day I may have a tuna sandwich.

This is a big deal as it involves opening a can and draining off the juice.

 I can never accomplish this without squirting some of it on my shirt or in my eye.

Then you walk around smelling like a “catch of the day” from Red Lobster.

On the rare occasion when I cook dinner, (which happens as often as Halley’s Comet flies through the sky), I put some leftovers in a container and proudly produce the home made marvel for my fellow co-workers to envy and covet.

And immediately burn it to a crisp in the high powered microwave in the break room.

It’s not my fault.

I’m microwave time judgment impaired.

As I said before, I hate my microwave.

……..I’m just sayin’

They say you are a Snuff Queen

I have always marveled at the accomplishments of the many tough, powerful women in history as well as those who have lived in my lifetime.

Women who have overcome numerous obstacles including sexism, racism, ageism and the age old misconception that women are weak willed as well as second class citizens.

The extraordinary stories of Anne Frank, Margaret Thatcher, Mother Theresa, Beatrice Potter, Queen Elizabeth I, Isabella I of Castile, Frida Kahlo and countless others, as well as contemporary women such as Oprah, Maya Angelou and Barbara Walters are diverse and limitless in the challenges they faced, as well as their courage and motivation to succeed.

But by far one of the strongest women I ever knew happened to be my Grandma Mac.

Don’t get me wrong, she was not your average “cuddle up with me and bake cookies” kind of gal.

She could frankly be, what’s the word?

Oh, I know!

Cantankerous....

She could be pleasant when she wanted to be, but most of the time if she was only “cranky” it was a red-letter day.

I loved her cuz she was a woman after my own heart.

I remember my mother telling me that she was a schoolteacher before she married my Grandpa at the age of 21, which was kind of late in life in those days for a girl to be married.

She was not allowed to teach after her marriage because of social pressures and I think that kind of ticked her off.

In my memory I never knew her to be anything but old.

My Grandpa and Grandma were both born in 1892 and sadly he passed away when he was only 69 years old.

My Grandma Mac died two months short of her 95^th birthday.

So she learned to be very self sufficient and set her in her ways.

And she didn’t care if you liked her or not.

My mother called her one day and unlike her normal routine, she took quite a while answering the phone.  As she was old, my Mom was obviously concerned until she finally picked up the receiver, out of breath and excited.

“Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone, I had cornered a possum on my back porch and had to cut off his head with a hoe.” (she was in her 80’s at the time)  “The devil was eating my potatoes and making a mess in there!”

Seriously??

Where do you think I got my "Samurai Snake" abilities from?

Her passion was baseball and she watched every game she could, kept up with all the stats, players and standings up until the day she died.

She also LOVED wrestling!

You know the pre-WFW kind, all fakey with the guys in onesies, jumping on each others heads, growling and throwing each other into the audience.

Heaven help the poor fool who said something like, “You know this is fake, Grandma.”

You better grab your butt and run cuz she would be all over you like stink on a skunk!

WHAT???

WHAT???

“NO IT’S NOT!!!” 

“WHO TOLD YOU THAT???”

“JUST LOOK AT WAHOO MCDANIEL THERE. DOES HE LOOK LIKE HE’S PLAYING TO YOU??”

“THIS IS SERIOUS BUSINESS HERE, MISSY!!!!”

“Okey, Dokey Smokey” (as you slunk from the room with your tail between your legs.)

But by far the coolest/grossest thing about my Grandma was the fact that she indulged in the lovely habit of dipping snuff! (I told you she wasn’t the typical Hallmark Granny!)

Brown powdery snuff in tiny mason jars with twist on lids which she kept in her kitchen on the same shelf with the sugar and dishes.

I remember watching her spoon it into her mouth and trying not to stare.(or gag)

This meant that strewn throughout her house were old empty tin cans with Grandmas snuff-tinted spittle.

You were in big trouble if you ever messed with these strategically placed spittoons.

Totally disgusting and yet strangely alluring to a youngster. 
Kind of like picking a scab and looking at what was underneath it.

Many a time I would stand and stare into the iridescent brown murky water and think, “Just what is the point of this?”

We would always go visit her in the Summer in Oklahoma as that was the only time my Dad could get a vacation from work.

And my mother would spend the entire time cooking and making sure she had everything she wanted.

She was one tough customer.

We came out of church one Sunday and to any of you who have not visited Oklahoma in the Summer, it is not for sissies.

110 plus in the shade with 95% humidity. 

As we were pulling away from the church parking lot my Dad said,”let’s pick up some hamburgers from the drive-thru cuz it’s too hot for your Mama to cook.”  To which my Grandma said, “I don’t want anything cuz she said she would cook me some lunch.”  My Dad replied, “She isn’t cooking anything today because it’s too hot.” “Do you want anything?”   Grandma, “I don’t like their food.”(bear in mind this was one of her favorite places and she enjoyed their burgers on many occasions)……My Dad, “Suit yourself, but she isn’t cooking in this heat.”

Now as a side note to the story, if you ever travel to the Mid-West they have a lot of something we don’t have out here on the West Coast, (at this point my cousin would slyly suggest common sense), and that is cemeteries.  Just about every neighborhood or street  has a very large conspicuous cemetery complete with numerous massive headstones. 

So as we sat in the drive-up window, positioned across the street from us, right in our line of vision, was one of these gigantic cemeteries.  

Grandma: aka “Drama Queen”, “Well if you guys won’t make me anything for lunch you may as well just drive me over and bury me in that cemetery across the street cuz I will be starving to death anyway!”

My Dad: aka “One Cool Customer”, “As I said, suit yourself, but she isn’t cooking for you.”

“But I will drive you over there after we pick up our hamburgers.”

Crickets…….

Grandma: “I guess I’ll have a cheeseburger.”

Which she quietly ate and was appropriately appreciative and thankful for.

Grandma Mac......

What a woman.....
I miss her, she was one of a kind.

It is because of her that I never even dreamed of smoking or whipping out a package of Redman and having a "chew"!

Although in my life I have gone toe-to-toe with my share of critters.

…………I’m just sayin’

Spring Cleaning Coercion

Years ago my Daddy and I were discussing a home improvement project that my Mama had requested him to do and he said, “you know, if it were up to men we would still be living in a cave.” “We really don’t care what color the curtains are, as long as we have a television set in the room and something to eat.”

A simple but true statement.

I’m sure back in prehistoric days the Mama Cavelady was sitting there watching her husband grunting and slobbering over her well prepared daily kill and she looked up and exclaimed,

“You know Curly, I’m tired of that Mastodon skin over the cave opening, can you find me something a little more contemporary, like a leopard?”

And thus the cycle of home decorating began.

They say our homes reflect our souls and the way it looks is a mirror to our psyche.

Mine is screaming that I am a Home Depot “Oops” project.

My living room is seven different colors and can’t decide what it’s theme should be.

It’s a cross between Pee Wee’s Playhouse and the Shire from Lord of the Rings.

I love it.

My best friends house is beautiful.

Always clean, well-groomed, timeless and perfectly decorated.

If it was a celebrity it would be Betty White.

Mine would be Lady Gaga.

Complete with meat on the floor.

With every new season, (especially in Spring and Summer), the home improvement stores pour out commercials encouraging us to redecorate and paint.

People leaping through their houses with magical paint brushes, mowing their already pristine lawns and building new patio furniture, complete with dancing dogs and helpful children.

These are meant to inspire us to open our purses and change our living quarters to uplift our hearts and do those much needed projects we have been putting off all year.

They just make me want to take a nap.

Or go over to my neighbors’ house and steal one of the hamburgers he is cooking on his clean BBQ grill.

Mine is still crusted over from last years Fourth of July celebration.

There might actually still be a forgotten left over weenie on the bottom burner.

Whatever......

I say you should do what makes you happy and keeps you within your budget!

Don’t let others coerce you into buying and doing things you don’t need or can’t afford!

Enjoy your home with it’s scarred up walls and 1950’s bathroom tile despite all the outside pressure to “tear that ugly crap down!”

It’s Spring and we should celebrate another new season leading up to a fantastic Summer!

And you never know, I may actually work up the energy to clean that grill before I invite you over for the Fourth of July.

…….I’m just sayin’

Anybody got a flashlight?

Glossophobia is defined as having speech anxiety or the 

fear of public speaking.

I read a survey once that people rank speaking in front of an

audience right with up there with death as one of their

biggest fears.

Whoa there….

That’s amazing…

Maybe it goes back to those good old days in elementary

school of abject humiliation,when the teacher would make 

us stand up and read or ask us for  

an answer with everybody watching.

I remember as she moved around the room and crept 

closer to me, my heart would begin to race and I would get

all nervous and sweaty.

Kids are brutal little demons and you knew if you messed

up or didn’t know the answer, the tittering would begin and

you would get laughed at and poked in the back with
pencils.

Which brings me to a story I was told by my friend who

belonged to a church that encouraged the young men to

give “talks” in front of the entire congregation.

She told the tale of this particular afternoon when a friend of

hers was scheduled to present his lesson to their ward.

Now this guy was a comedian.  He was always the one

telling the joke or acting a clown and this day would be no

different.

But he (like most people) for all of his bravado, was nervous

about his speech and decided he would do something to

draw the attention away from himself and make sure that no

one would actually listen to what he had to say.

His name was announced, and he slowly walked to the

center podium to face the crowd and proceeded to do the

most bizarre thing ever!

What he did next is based upon the premise that there are

four words that are almost impossible to say to someone.

I mean there is, “I want a divorce.”, or "your baby is ugly",

but with a little encouragement you can usually squeak

those out if you really need to.

The four words I am referring to are, “You have a booger.”

As in, dried nasal mucus.

King, Queens, Presidents and commoners alike are

suddenly struck dumb when faced with a nose sporting a

dangling particle of nasal matter.

We either try to ignore it (which is impossible and makes

you stare at it more), or we try the infamous horizontal finger

nose sweep hoping that the "booger haver" will pick up on

our signal.

That never works.....

Or we usually just say nothing and spend the day with the

co-worker, boss, friend, neighbor or casual acquaintance

and try not to gag when we have to look them in the face.

It’s a tricky situation.

So the young comedian had managed to procure a tiny

opaque flashlight bulb which he had placed in a

handkerchief the evening before his soon to be infamous

presentation.

As he walked to the front of the church, he pretended to

blow his nose and while doing so placed the bulb inside of

his nostril.

He strategically pushed it into his nose just enough so that

from a distance it appeared he had a large, gleaming snot

bubble threatening to fall at any moment.

He then proceeded to give his talk with courage and

enthusiasm to the stunned audience.

I know in their disgust and horror not a single word that he

spoke registered in their brains.

All they could think about, all they could concentrate on,was

this giant boogery snot pouch hanging from his nose.

He was just like Charlie Browns’ teacher “waa, waaing “

what could have been total nonsense for 30 minutes.

They didn’t care what he was talking about.

They couldn’t take their eyes off of his train wreck of nasal

waste!

But the most brilliant thing of all was at the end of his talk

he calmly pulled out his handkerchief, pretended to blow

his nose, and yanked the bulb from its nostril nest.

No one was ever the wiser.

Nobody in the audience was EVER going to say, "Hey

buddy, did you know you had a huge hunk of snot in your

nose during your talk?"

A perfect crime!!

The only people who were in on the joke were a few of his

closest buddies.

Until now.

So if you ever have a major presentation scheduled at

work ,take a page from his book and bring along a flashlight

and a handkerchief just in case.

And if you ever give me a horizontal nose sweep, I will know

just what you are trying to say!

…….I’m just sayin.

"Be Safe, Buckle Up!"

I don’t know if any of you remember this, but years ago they made these small flash card flip sign paddles that you were supposed to keep with you in your car.

Sadly, I don’t remember what they were called.

Each one had a number of quaint, polite sayings and you could flip through them until you found the exact thing you would love to impart on your fellow motorists.

“Have a nice day”, “Hi”, “Peace”,” “Make Love not War” and “Smile” were amongst the many heartfelt quotes that you could choose from.

I don’t remember how long this fad lasted but it was probably and literally squashed when someone took their eyes off of the road to flip someone a cheery sign that read, 

“Be Safe, Buckle Up!”

Unfortunate.

Not really smart to be reading a flash card and driving at the same time.

Kind of like eating a Big Mac and merging.

I just got to thinking that if the idea was re-visited in this year of 2012, just what it would have evolved into.

First of all you wouldn’t have anything written on paper.

Too archaic.

It would have to be some kind of electronic texting device that you could hold up and beam your message to the cars around you.

This morning on the way to work mine would have read,

Dear Moronic Driver in the Gray Car Next to Me,

In case you flunked this part of your driving test, this is a sign that means the lane is ending.

In case you are color blind, this is another one in red.

This means that either you or me must slow down and let the other one in front of them to fit onto the road.

Since we are surrounded on both sides by a cement embankment, this is important.

I have been trying to allow you to go in front of me to accomplish this simple maneuver for the last five minutes.

You have not cooperated.

And when I speed up to get in front of you, you stay right by my side

You are a slow learn.

News flash…

We are not Siamese twins.

I do not like you.

And I do not own the car from Men In Black.

’So unless you want me to jump from my car and start tap dancing on your hood like Jed Clampett from The Beverly Hillbillies, please try to figure it out and BACK OFF!

Thank you and “Be Safe, Buckle Up!”

Oh, and “Peace.”

…….I’m just sayin

Trash Day Rorschach

It’s trash day today.

And as such I just got to thinking this morning how the personalities of the neighbors can be measured by their trash can techniques.

As you know, the city distributes little cards with magnets on the back of them to stick on your fridge that show us the schedule for trash collection in your area.

The cards have little calendars with the holidays highlighted in orange and the week that the recycling can goes to the curb notated with blue stripes.

This is not rocket science.

But inevitably you will drive down the street on trash day and certain people have their recycling cans at the curb on the non-recycling weeks…….Duh

What’s wrong with these folks?

Aren’t they lemmings like the rest of us?

Once they see that no one on their block is putting out the blue can wouldn’t they check their little frig calendar and figure it out?

These are the same people who when they were in school would turn in their assignments a week late and whine , “I just didn’t know!” “I thought it was due this week!”

So then to cover up their faux paus, they leave the can out for an entire week until the recycyling day rolls around again. 

That way the next week they look like they are really on top of the trash day program.

This is a waste of time.

We already know they are calendar challenged.

Plus people put junk in there to hassle them that is not recycling.

Like their children.

Some psychologist should do a case study on determining peoples personality traits by their trash can habits.

A "Trash Day Rorschach" test.

There are the procrastinators like me who are startled awake by the sound of the trash truck and scamper to the curb dragging the dewy can in our wake.

Then we race through the house grabbing the stinkiest garbage that HAS to go out RIGHT NOW!

The trash truck guys have seen us in our jammies countless times…..

There are the anal retentive trash owners who meticulously take out their trash on a daily and or hourly basis so as not to miss a single crumb of waste

You will see these folks the morning of the recycling day sneaking out to put that one last toilet paper roll in the can before the truck gets there.

Can’t have that massive paper product hanging around for another week!

When I was a kid real people used to ride on the back of garbage trucks!

The truck would roll to a stop.  Large burly men would leap down, grab your stinky cans and dump your trash into the grinding jaws of the masticating machinery.

Then they would wave at me and continue on down the street.

I thought that would be a fun job.

I was dumb.

I’m sure hour after hour of back-breaking lifting of the grossest stuff imaginable in the scorching sun or cold and rain was just incredibly fulfilling!

Now there is one guy that drives the truck with the giant claw whose job is to yank the can away from the curb and press the lever to empty it into the top of the bin.

Easier.

But not as cool.

I bet he gets lonely in there.

Which is why I always time my dash to curb so I can wave at him.

And I love it when he honks the horn for me.

And he LOVES my new spring jammies!

…………….I’m just sayin’