Recently a friend went to view “her”, the new Spike Jonze flick about a man who falls in love with his OS (that would be computer Operating System for those of you as technologically illiterate as myself). After hearing my friends thoughts on the movie (double thumbs up and a box of Kleenex later) my wee little brain began whirring….what about a little something for the ladies? Below is my creative compilation comprised of components from my kitchen cabinets. Viola! Movie release date Spring 2014.
An open letter to retailers:
Hello out there – anyone listening to the consumers? I DO NOT want to buy markers and notebooks and backpacks in July!!!!! I don’t want to see them in your flyers, littering my mailbox with unwanted thoughts of the back to school madness. Your one day only sales that pressure me into buying things long before class lists are ready because now I am wondering: if you are doing this in July does that mean it will all be gone by late August and I will be facing isles of Christmas wreaths and Menorahs when instead I need protractors and pencil cases?
Why when teachers and parents and children have just started to dig toes into sand dunes, are busy splashing in pools, and summer camp has just kicked off for the season, do you think for any reason that we want to be lining up for crayons and calendars?
Do you know what I want to buy now? Bathing suits and flip-flops and fun things that float in the water. You know – all the things that are harder to find IN THE SUMMER than Jimmy Hoffa’s body. PLEASE – stop forcing the seasons to change months ahead of time. Let us, the poor consumers, have a rest. Let us enjoy the sunshine and saltwater for the brief time it lasts.
Trust me, we will be back – we love your ten-cent pencil cases. But we don’t love them until school starts.
Sincerely your very tired and in desperate need of a break from your onslaught of marketing gimmicks (and in need of sunscreen and a beach towel) consumer,
Every now and again the universe sends you exactly what you need in the seconds before you think all is lost. In my case it was a piping hot $5.00 pizza from Price Chopper. Now you are most likely thinking to yourself right about now that I need to step up my expectations in life if this is my version of Heaven. Just read.
Won’t bore you with the minutia of my endless Friday but here’s the condensed overview: Awake at 5:00am after a couple of hours of sleep, get kids up, ready, out, work, errands, run Girl Scout meeting, pick up rest of the pack from babysitter, home, more errands, and then St. Patrick’s day grocery shopping. That brings us to the moments before my manna from Heaven (if manna comes with tomato sauce and a heavy handed layer of mozzarella).
Picture three tired children along with their cranky mom (insert my face) on their way to the second grocery store because first one did not have all of the necessary Irish accoutrements for our upcoming celebrations. It’s after 8pm; no one has eaten, and trust me when I say that doesn’t make anyone in this family any nicer. The wall of glass slides open and in we walk to be greeted by a woman in a flowing robe and a halo. Okay – the children are saying that she was in a Price Chopper polo shirt and the light over her head was the glare off the donut case but hey, we all see what we want, right?
Anyway…..in we walk to find this angel (a.k.a. underpaid Price Chopper employee) approaching us with a box held regally before her. Angels sang as she asked us, “Would you like a fresh, hot, five dollar pizza tonight?”
And there it was – the one thing I didn’t have to think about taking care of on our never-ending Friday. Dinner. Gifted to us from a woman who had to be Heaven sent. Wasn’t the best pizza we’ve ever had, nor was it the worst, but last night it was the most appreciated pizza I’ve ever eaten.
Day 4 of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge April 2012 – “D”
Deriving from dedicated daily discourse is the danger of detraction from domestic duties. Doomed are the decadent desserts, daily deeds, dangerously dirty dishes, and downtrodden duds. Days disappear while doodles, diction, and dissertations develop. My daydreams are dedicated to despicable, deceitful dowagers, dainty debutantes, and dashing, delicious daredevils.
Decidedly determined denizens of our domestic domicile, dearly desiring dinner, dare to draw me away from my desk. Dicey actions dictate decidedly discreet doings. Darling daughters dabble in depowering my digital desktop data-processor. Disheartening it is to see my developing dreamy dude, dated a delicate half decade of years , disassemble doctrines with delight. Oh dastardly devils of my design. Damn that Darwin* as doubtlessly they will be my demise.
Drowning in despair (definite dusty cliché) at the destruction of documentation and disintegration of distinct, deviceful time, I designed a diagram for a new dichotomy. Developed to discourage discontent, the details are designated by dusk and dawn. During daylight I will do for the denizens deeds of domesticity and during the domain of darkness I will document dreams, deflocculate dits, deign to be a decadist, and occasionally, dance.
Disaster by descendant demons diverted. Delightful!
PLEASE NOTE: This is my original material so: Dare not duplicate my design as I hate dealing with the déclassé and I will be forced to describe you as a dapocaginous, duplicitous dirtbag. And I definitely don’t desire to do that.
Dag! (it’s Dutch)