Roll That Orange!

I'm just a blogging fool today! Something else has come up that I needed to get a general opinion on from my 6 readers.

This might be going back to my mother's "ideas" but growing up my mother always told me that the easiest way to peel an orange was to briskly roll the orange on a flat surface - something about it loosening the rind from the orange or something. So this is what I've done my entire life. I get an orange, orange gets "rolled", orange gets peeled, orange gets eaten.

For the past three days I've brought in an orange to work and when I'm ready to eat it, I stroll over to the kitchen area to peel it. For three days straight, whom ever was in the kitchen at the time has questioned my orange rolling method.

"Are you trying to squash it?"

"Are you making juice?"

"Playing with your food, huh?"

"If you don't want it, I'll eat it."

Today's question was a very basic, "Why are you rolling it?" At the time, I didn't really know how to respond so I just shrugged with a basic, "I dunno. It's how I've always done it." Of course the minute I got back to my computer I had to look it up. Surely I wasn't the only person on the face of the planet that rolls their orange prior to peeling it.

Yeah, I'm pretty close to being the only one on the planet that rolls their oranges if the internet has anything to say about it.

The only mention I found was here on the London Times.

I'm starting to wonder if my mother's "ideas" are loosely based on a previously unnoticed anglophile notion.

7 Random Musings for your enjoyment

This is going to be a random post - just getting that statement out of the way in case you had some sort of hope for a cohesive, well thought out entry. Then again, you’re reading my blog; I already know your expectations are low.

RANDOM MUSING #1: HR just passed out Clorox Disinfecting Wipes to everyone. Best comment overheard: “So we’re expected to clean the entire building then? What happened to the late night cleaning crew? Were they eating by wolves?”

RANDOM MUSING #2: Andy has decided to start his own blog. It’s his first blog from what I can tell and his entries so far are, well, what you would expect from Andy. Please go and visit his blog and make lots of comments so I’m not the only one in the ‘Recent Comments’ section.

RANDOM MUSING #3: I’m pretty sure that the whole 6 of you who read this blog are aware that Andy and I are getting married on January 10th. In an effort not to look like a pork belly sandwich in photos that I’m sure I’ll be passing out and looking at for many years to come, I’ve been trying to lose some poundage before the event. I recognize the fact that I’m not going to lose the 50 pounds I wish I could lose in two months, but I was hoping for 10 maybe, or 15 if I really really work at it. Last week, after busting my ass at the gym and getting myself familiarized with vegetables again I managed to lose… a half of a pound. HALF of a pound. There’s like a little Indian man in my body smirking, “Thank you, come again.”

RANDOM MUSING #4: I hate the gym.

RANDOM MUSING #5: Andy and I are headed to England for 3 weeks in December. While I’m incredibly excited to go, I’m already getting nervous about the 13-14 hour flight there as I’m still quite terrified of flying. While most people have fantasies of a sexual nature, two nights ago I was laying in bed fantasying about how awesome it would be if I was able to fall asleep during the New Jersey to Manchester lag. Seriously. I was thinking about what kind of pillow I’d have and wouldn’t it be cool if there was an empty seat I could stretch out on, and debating whether or not I could have Andy wake me up in 3 hour intervals to take another Xanax, etc. etc. I got all giddy with the thought that I could fall asleep over Canada and not wake up until we were over Ireland. All this, of course, is a fantasy…just like Johnny Deep is never going to be knocking at your door…and I am sure I will be wide awake for the entire 14 hours hoping and praying that the pilots didn’t knock a few cocktails back that afternoon and that the engines decide to not only stay attached, but also continue to do their engine things…OH, and those damn birds and their damn strikes! AHHHHH!

RANDOM MUSING #6: I hate flying.

RANDOM MUSING #7: Andy’s birthday is tomorrow, so if you haven’t already, go to his blog and flood his comments with birthday wishes. He’ll love that.

Get my humor dammit!

So I posted this on Facebook and didn't get one bit of response on it. Obviously no one bothered to open it up bigger or else I would have gotten plenty of LOL's. Or perhaps I'm just easily amused.



LOL DAMMIT!

Cuppa

I was over reading WNP this morning when I got to an entry about tea. It was a great entry and I was a little put off that I couldn’t comment on it as the entry is old and the comment section are closed for it. An epiphany happened as I realized that I have my own damn blog in which I can write as many comments as I damn well felt like. So here I am ready to tell you all about ME (it’s all about ME in this here blog) and tea. I can sense your enthusiasm already. Of course, I do run the risk of you all heading your ass over to WNP and reading her entry about tea and having yourself a big ole “blog entry about tea” comparison in which I lose miserably as I don’t write nearly enough anymore and she’s all cool and foreign and shit and I’m not. Again, stop with the enthusiasm, it’s practically deafening.

SO YES! Tea…

I will begin this tale by letting you know that growing up in the quiet suburbs of Wisconsin, my mother would make me tea and toast whenever I was ill with fever. Seeing my mother slide into my room with that little white cup meant only one thing – it was ‘Price is Right’ and ‘Love Connection’ all morning baby, with a splash of Nickelodeon and crap cartoons in the afternoon. My mother always made Lipton tea with milk and honey and while plopping it down in front me would announce, “This is the way the English drink it!” I love my mother, but my mother gets “ideas”, if you know what I mean.

I didn’t know about my mother’s “ideas” back then. Like most children under the age of 10, I tended to take anything my parents said as the Absolute Truth. It’s was only at age 34, when I made my first cup of tea for my English boyfriend asking him very politely if he’d like it with milk and honey like “the English drink it” that I realized that some of my mother’s “ideas” might have gone amiss. And here I thought I had my tea follies eradicated by never referring to Lipton as “real tea”. I know better now.

I drink tea a lot, though probably more so than ever before considering Andy’s influence in my life. We drink PG Tips tea mostly, and I still take mine with milk and sugar (honey when I’m sick, some things never die). What I like about living with Andy in regards to tea is that he finds it impossible to turn down the offer of a cuppa. “It’s in my blood, I can’t refuse!” he will exclaim. It’s true. He could have just opened a beer and I’ll say, “Care for a cuppa?” and he’ll dutifully respond, “Oh, go on then.” Or he’ll be ready to go to bed, “Oh, go on then.” Late for work…”Oh, go on then.” Herd of elephants about to attack…”Oh, go on then.” What I find incredibly funny, besides his inability to refuse, is that he rarely actually DRINKS the tea. He’ll have a couple sips but more often than not, the tea will sit there over half full getting stronger in taste and colder by touch. It’s almost as though he just likes the IDEA of the cuppa sitting there. Funny Brit.

In regards to WNP, I would have to agree, there is nothing better than a cuppa with a Digestive or chocolate Hob Nob. I’d elaborate, but she said it a lot better than me.

All this talk has made me want a cup. Hey Andy, care for a cuppa?

Short but sweet memory from the Moe file

Short but sweet: A memory from the Moe file

Sometime in 2000-2001, I went to visit Buxy up in Portland.  One of the days that I was there, Buxy, Staley, and I drove up to Mt. Hood to, you know, go somewhere high up to look at stuff.  I believe Buxy had his Need A Walker It's So Old Volvo at the time, which was a manual, and on the way down the mountain decided to put the Volvo in neutral to see how far we could go without stepping on the gas.  We made it quite a few miles with little effort this way but it started getting to the point where there were uphill bits and much as there were downhill bits.  On an uphill bit, the three of us would start pleading with the Volvo to roll a little bit faster, rubbing the dash of the Volvo to spur it to No Gas Greatness, making bets between ourselves if this indeed was the last hill.  I think all and all we made it 5 some miles in this manner and had a big collective sigh when the Volvo finally found its way back into gear. 

And that is a short but sweet memory from the Moe file.

The curious case of the grumpy Monday

I'm grumpy today.  It's not a PMS grumpy, it's a general Monday grumpy that appears to be highly intensified by...well, I don't know.  All I know is that it can't be humanly possible that everyone in Southern California is lost and driving in front of me.  Or has a brand new car that apparently did not come with a gas pedal that is unable to exceed 25 miles per hour.  And I know it can't be possible that every single person that has our software is unable to navigate the computer past the Start button.  It's just not possible.  For this reason I can only ascertain that I am grump-tastic.

At lunch today I actually said to the very new cashier girl at Daphne's in response to the question, "Would you like the plate lunch?"

"Um, yeah."  -and not "um, yeah" in that indecisive sort of way, "um, yeah" in that horrible sarcastic way.

I'm not this person!  I've worked in the service industry for the first half of my working life.  I'm nice to cashiers and wait staff and bartenders!   "Um, yeah" is not part of my regular vocabulary!

I hate being grumpy.  The worst thing about being grumpy is knowing full well that you are grumpy and have no control over it.   It's that look people give you when you've been particularly grumpy: 

"Oh, you're grumpy" or, if they don't know you, "Oh, what a bitch."

I'm going to go sulk now.   Sulking is the bastard love child of grumpy.