The Walmart Hell

I just took my daughter to the Walmart (I like to put "the" in front of places like Walmart because it makes them sound even more backwoods than they are) and boy was it epic in its madness. Don't get me wrong. It was a normal trip to the Walmart. All my trips to the Walmart are epic in their madness.

I think it's possible that something about that place turns me into a lunatic. Maybe it's that I'm surrounded by lunatics and ludicrously placed items in a shed the size of 20 football fields, designed to make me walk by the most crap in every shopping trip. Could be. But hey, I had a gift card.

I had the Walton family jackpot of a list tonight too, from candles to shower curtains to milk and laundry detergent, I hit every blasted corner of that place. I knew I was in trouble when I was halfway through the trip with a cart half full of said items and my daughter said she had to go to the bathroom. The first parenting failure was when I let her have a toy so she would be occupied for a while. The second parenting failure was when I told her she needed to wait to go to the bathroom. As we all know, 3 year olds wait for no one. If they tell you they have to go, they've likely already waited a while.

We continued to shop and eventually we had to make our way to the bathroom. Sure enough, after parking my cart outside and making our way to a stall, she had waited so long the stream of pee rivaled that of a male...only she was sitting like a girl. So it ended up on her pants, my toes (I was wearing flip flops) and on the floor.  Let's just thank the inventor of those annoying hand dryers for a moment, as he or she (or heshe for all I know) saved my ass tonight. I just realized now that my toes probably still have pee on them.

That crisis averted and pants back on, we made our way back out to the cart. I put her in the cart. She wanted a drink. I took her out of the cart. The water fountain didn't work. I put her back in the cart. She wanted to look at something. I took her out of the cart. I put her back in the cart. Halfway back to our location pre-bathroom trip, she had opened her toy, which she knows is against the rules. She tries to put it back together...while stepping on the candles and putting the bread next to the fabric softener.

I think I had more stuff on the list...but who knows or cares at this point. Gift card balance depleted, sanity not even close to intact and I'm sure I'll be back next week.

It's Minnesota

I was born in Menomonie, Wisconsin. When my age was still measured in months instead of years, we moved to La Crosse, Wisconsin, where we lived for a few years and then we moved to Rochester, Minnesota. I've lived in Minnesota ever since. I'm telling you all of this because I feel it's relevant to share how long I've been a resident of the state. I swear, it becomes important soon.

Every year about this time, I hear a lot of whining about the weather. There's lots of talk about the cool temperatures coming, about winter or some other Fargo-esque talk. It's not too bad this time of the year, many people (like me) are happy to see the change in season and are ready to break out that Minnesota tried and true piece of clothing: the sweatshirt. It's to be expected to a certain degree, as we live in a state where we really do have to pay attention to weather forecasts.

However, the stupid talk is coming. The lamenting about the snow and the ice and the ice rain. God forbid we see a "wintry mix." I'm here to remind you: it happens every year. The shock and awe all of you display is really starting to wear on me after 30 years. Here's a tip: it's Minnesota. It does this every. single. year. Sometimes it's better, sometimes it's worse, but it always gets pretty cold from November to about April.

Here's another tip: it doesn't happen in every state! There are other states in this crazy, amazing, huge union where it doesn't get cold. Ever! Many of them have very low unemployment rates too, and I'd be willing to bet they'd love to take your Midwestern attitude and sell you a cheap house that doesn't need a furnace.

I, for one, realize that it will get cold. I live here because I kind of like it. I have this obsession with people who embrace their climate. I loved going to keggers in the winter in someone's shed in the middle of nowhere, warmed only by the alcohol, masses of people and the occasional space heater. Conversely, I loved going to a bar in the middle of the desert when I visited Arizona. Put me on a back country road and point me in the direction of that insanity any time.

Yes, sometimes I complain about the weather. Usually around February I start to think, man, I'd really like it if I could spend more than 10 minutes outside or hey, it would be dandy if it wasn't dark out when I left for work AND when I come home. Then I go outside and look at the sparkles in the snow and listen to the insulated quiet and think, wow, I'm lucky to live here.

Cilantro Rant-a-roo

Oops, sorry legions of loyal readers (legions might be pushing it...I admit) but I haven't lived up to my promise on this here blog thingie.

Sometimes the shit just doesn't come. Sometimes it does and I just don't feel like putting it onto the Interweb. Today I shall rant about cilantro.

Did cilantro exist before the last, oh, 5 years? I mean, I know it must have. It's a plant after all. Unless! Unless it is a genetically engineered plant created by the government and only people who are not prone to mind control hate it. Because I hate it. I hate it with the fire of one thousand itching and burning herpes outbreaks. Not that I know what that feels like.

Let me tell you a little something about this lady. I like food. I grew up in a household where being a picky eater was not an option. We had to try everything at the table, every single time it was served. "But I know I hate peas Dad. I had them yesterday." Didn't matter. I had to take at least one of each thing or my Dad would serve me a generous helping that I was then forced to finish. This made me able to try and eventually like almost every food. Even if I hate the food, I keep trying it. For example, cilantro. I can take it in very small doses, but I always know it's there. Like when the herpes lies dormant. Again, the herpes stuff is just from Wikipedia. No first hand knowledge here. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

My point is, I'm not a picky eater. Never have been. I make fun of picky eaters. I laugh in the face of it. But this cilantro craze has gone way too far. I was annoyed when it turned up in salsa. I was super annoyed when I went to Chipotle the first time and realized it's in EVERYTHING there. Today was when I tipped into rant land. I ordered an Asian sesame chicken salad at Panera, and there, hiding amongst the lettuce was cilantro. I was blindsided as I can usually sniff out the dishes they put that trendy crap on to make it seem more, oh, trendy.

I just wanted to spread the word: you zombies who like it are just being controlled by the government. My bet is that the government created it, made it addictive and is the only supplier, thereby funding some mind control experiment. Do you also sleep eat and have blackouts? Don't say I didn't warn you.

Book Club Haikus

I have the coolest book club. I know, the terms cool and book club seem like oxymorons, but man are we fantasmagoric. We (the MOJOs) are thinking about franchising our book club model and making money off of its amazingness. Book rating spreadsheet and formula + secret meeting ingredient + themed parties + annual trip to Red Lake to shoot guns = recipe for success. Ok, fine, the secret meeting ingredient is alcohol. Mass amounts.

Still, I love my book club friends. The minority in a world of women who love drama, I am often short on female friends who don't care that I don't wear nail polish and actually want to hear what I think about a book, world event, or, let's face it, their dip recipe.

This week, our oldest and wisest member shared the 3 rules for life she came up with while in college:
1) It's better to be smart than to be cute
2) Boys are stupid
3) Girls stick together

Wow, such concise wisdom. Really, what else does a girl need to know? I decided it was the perfect inspiration for a haiku contest! Honestly, my book club friends often pretend to entertain my nerdy leanings and mostly just make fun of me for said leanings, so I really didn't think they would go for it, but jump on the bandwagon they did. I'll keep them anonymous to protect the lame, the non-innocent and the haiku rule breaker/highest comic relief award winner(Jill).

Brains over beauty

Boys and men are stupid

Girls stick together

Achieve smart not cute

Men are eternally dumb

Stick with the MOJOs

The following is one entry (several stanzas that remind me of the sorting hat songs from HP):

A girl's rules of life

Are a simple trifecta

No matter your age

You must remember

It is better to be smart

Than simply be cute

No matter the guise

Or age of the offender

Boys are just stupid

Above all the rest

Stick with each of your sisters

Always at your side

And, finally, my favorite:

Brilliant not Bimbo

Boys are turds in a punch bowl

Xs cross whereas Ys divide

Jumping in: Be The Fern

I'm jumping in. Here goes.

I've been talking about starting a non-family happenings blog for quite some time. I occasionally feel moved to be silly, opinionated or just share stories from my wacky existence and am ready to start doing this in earnest. I hope to write something fun, share something stupid, make you laugh or at least rant or complain once a week.

So, welcome to Be The Fern. I hope to find at least a few people who want to listen to my brand of crazy.

The Old Kmart Building

Originally posted to Facebook on 4/21/11

For some reason, every southern Minnesota town has one. Locals give directions using it as a landmark, people use it as a topic of inane conversation, for example: "You know, back when Hank's Big and Tall used to be in the old Kmart building? When did they move next to Biff's Hooka Emporium? Was that '98 or '99?"

This type of talk began to cause a little itch in the back of my brain back when I lived in Austin/Spamtown since I had no recollection of Kmart ever existing in the old Kmart building. I was often confused and felt stupid when people would refer to said building in such a fashion. I actually got lost going somewhere because I substituted the new Kmart building for the old Kmart building. What a fool's mistake!

Then, once I knew where it was, I started using it like a dumbass.  I found myself saying things to younger people like "You know, over by the old Kmart building?" and when they didn't register a response, I'd say "Oh, like where Wendy's used to be?" Jebus, I was turning into one of them!

NOW, many towns have two old Kmart buildings. Here I was in the peculiar situation of still trying to find the old Kmart building in Mankato when the new Kmart closed and created yet another old Kmart building. I think it might be Gander Mountain now? Who can remember.

There's a banquet room in the Verizon Wireless Center here in Mankato that has baffled me in a similar fashion since 1999. I was a lowly Marketing intern planning my first event and everyone kept talking about the "Ellerbe" room as the perfect spot for the sponsors to set up and also to have the happy hour.

I went there for a tour of the facility to plan out the spaces I needed and damn if I couldn't find the stupid room. Well, guess what? They called it the Reception Hall. Apparently, when they built the Mankato Civic Center (as it was called when they built it), there was a historic bank there that was pretty cool and people didn't want it torn down completely, so they kept part of it as a room you can rent out. Guess what? The architect was named Ellerbe and Round or something, so people who have lived here since the dawn of time call the Reception Hall the Ellerbe Room. Sort of like I still call the damn Spam Museum the old Kmart building in Austin.

All I know is, I was pressured into changing my first agenda at my first big event to list the Ellerbe Room instead of the Reception Hall for the happy hour because I was young and thought my elders knew better. Let me tell you, when people can't find their way to the bar, they get huffy. Frickin old Kmart building was back with a vengeance.

Last week I was at an event at the Verizon Wireless Center and someone came up and asked me where the Ellerbe room was. I said: "You're not from around here are you?"

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_National_Bank_of_Mankato

Fox News

Originally posted on Facebook on 2/24/11

As today's status update noted, I was recently trapped in front of a large flat screen TV with Fox News channel blaring. 

I generally avoid the channel, and it's not because I'm what some (all) of my Republican friends would call a raging Liberal beast. It's because I think journalism should be unbiased. I realize that most journalism has some level of bias to it. We are all people after all, with experiences that make up our being and flow out through whichever medium we use to express ourselves.

Sometimes those opinions come out when we write or speak, regardless of what we are told to write or who is paying us to write it. For example, on good days, I get paid to write. I once worked for an excellent company who used common sense to make decisions, and even when it was required by business standards to change something that would adversely impact the customer, care was taken and employee feedback was appreciated. At one point, a different company took over and asked me to write some things I didn't agree with, and I had some of the worst writer's block ever as a result. My point is that even though many of us who are trained in journalism actually get paid to do it, sometimes our meager brains won't let us type if we don't agree. This, however, should be something we recognize and, when trusted with the task of delivering information under the banner of "news," our neutral gear should not be opinion unless we clearly state such.

First, I tried to change the channel. Not because I saw something I didn't like, I just wanted to watch a different news channel. I couldn't find the remote control for my treadmill's TV. I went to the next treadmill, and the remote was there, but it wouldn't work. That TV was featuring a sports channel. I had to make a choice, and as much as I hate biased journalism, I figured at least I wouldn't be bored into numbed oblivion. Besides, I had my iPod and figured I'd just listen to music and hey, just watching the closed captioning couldn't be that bad, right? It was 5:30 a.m. and I was wearing two different shoes so I figured it couldn't get much worse.

I tried not to watch, but I was facing a blank white wall with dark windows on either side. The music helped, but I need to look at something, especially when I'm having a tough time getting into the run. So, yes, I started watching. I watched as the "journalists" made fun of the protesters in Madison. I watched as a "journalist" hosted a "fair and balanced" debate (they really called it that) while asking questions that were so insanely biased, he even laughed while he asked them. I watched while the "journalists" used an abundance of adjectives, something that my journalism professors would have given me an automatic fail for even thinking of doing.

This all brings to mind my 'History of Mass Communications' class, shout out to Prof. Ellen Mrja, where we talked about how dangerous it is to listen to politicians and not question the lines they feed us, like say, Vietnam, where for years journalists took what was fed to them and reported it without question. This did a tremendous disservice to both our country and veterans who served in Vietnam. I see biased journalism of the sort one finds on Fox News as the same thing. Not reporting the facts and instead reporting what our elected officials tell us to report, adding adjectives and hate, does nothing for your cause.

In summary, I chuckled a bit as I walked away from my treadmill, because I get to live in a place where Fox News can exist, in all its insane glory. I am happy and grateful every day for that. I just don't think we should accept it at face value. To do so is lazy.

I shall leave you with the text of my favorite amendment. There's a reason it's the first one:

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people to peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances."

Scary Movies

Originally posted on Facebook on 6/20/2010

In case you haven't noticed, I like to read. I'm hooked on phonics. I am always reading at least one book, sometimes several at a time. I've been like that for as long as I can remember. 

At least a few times a year, I read something of the "classic" nature. You'd think that I would have read them all in college, what with my English/Mass Communications double major and all, but there are so many left to read. 

One of my favorite authors is Stephen King. I feel like he is totally underrated. Every time I read one of his books, I am so jealous. In his prime, he wrote 3000 words a day. In his 6th decade, he still writes 1800 a day. Aside from being beyond prolific, he just blows me away with his prose. It's really quite unfortunate that he has been written off as "just a horror author." If you have written him off, please reconsider. I promise, after he dies, he will be the subject of many literary arguments over good versus evil. Bygones. I love to love things other people overlook. 

Here's the problem. I hate scary movies. How can I hate scary movies and like Stephen King? This is one of life's mysteries. I think maybe it has something to do with the written word. I can feel happy, scared, amazed at his ability and also find it impossible to stop when I'm reading. When I'm watching a scary movie, all I feel is scared. All I want to do is shut it off. When I close my eyes, it's all I can see. This is not to imply that after reading IT, I didn't imagine sailboats and clowns when running up the steps from the basement. It just means that I also remembered that the kids win in the end.

Inside-out Underwear Kind of Day

Originally posted on Facebook on 5/24/10


Someone reminded me that I need to write for fun more, so here goes. I used to use my MySpace page as a sort of blog, so I'm going to start using the "Notes" feature on Facebook for the same thing.

So, today was one of those days. I woke up early and, therefore, tired. I had to be in Rochester by 8:30, and it's a 1.5 hour drive, plus the 10 minutes I always take to stop in Waseca at Kwik Trip to get the requisite fountain pop and junk breakfast. Aside from that, I was going to Assisi Heights instead of Mayo proper, and although I've been there for Catholic school field trips a time or two, I hadn't been there in a while and didn't really know where I was going.

I got ready while everyone else in the house was still sleeping, and put my clothes on under the cover of darkness. I was pretty happy, even though it was Monday and I had to get up early, because I was allowed to wear jeans and skip the hosiery since it was a 'brainstorming, sequestered at the nunery retreat.' I had to iron my shirt, but that's only because I'm weird about having ironed shirts.

I was pretty proud of how fast I got ready, and I coasted out of the driveway at about 6:52. This was still a little late, but the 8:30 start time was for breakfast and meet and greet, with the meat of the agenda starting at 9:00, so I had plenty of time. It was a sunny morning and I took full advantage of having that much time to myself without a screaming toddler in the backseat by cranking the music and having a gay old time.

My arrival time hovered somewhere around 8:37, and I didn't get lost on the way. I dropped off my stuff, found some coffee, and put it down at my place. I wasn't the last one there, so I went to hit the bathroom, only to find that my underwear was on inside out. What a quandry. It's not like I could take my pants off there in the stall with people next to me, plus I find it kind of silly to turn them inside out after wearing them like that for several hours. So here I sit, at 9:06, underwear still inside out. I'm glad tomorrow is my Friday.