Holiday Shopping

I went to Target yesterday, and filled a cart to overflowing. I had to go to the second level, and decided to take the escalator, because they have those contraptions that will take your cart up alongside you. So I shove mine in, whereupon it gets immediately stuck because the toilet paper and tissue boxes I had underneath fell off and jammed the equipment. Of course the whole thing stops, and as I look around - both on the first level and up above on the second level - everyone is giving me looks that say, "Thanks a lot you f***ing idiot."

Trying to solve the problem myself, I reach over and pull the toilet paper up - Got it! - but the tissue boxes are still down there, and just a wee bit farther out of reach. So I step onto the first step of the regular escalator - which is still working fine, by the way - and try to reach down for the tissues. Naturally, as I reach down, the moving hand rail begins to pull me upward, and my feet kind of fly up and I have to clumsily leap off and get myself down off of the escalator before it carries me up to the next level and I then get looks that say, "Please go back to the home for special needs where YOU OBVIOUSLY LIVE and where your caretakers clearly made a bad decision giving you permission to go out in public without a guardian."

A very nice Target associate helped me out of my predicament, and I got all of my shopping done without any more fiascos, but let this be a lesson to you:  Don't go shopping at Target with me. It will only embarrass you.

Panic

  A few weeks ago, Mark Lipinski emailed about interviewing me on his Creative Mojo radio program. He sent me a list of items he needed - which I returned on time (So responsible! So on it!) - and gave me the date and time for my interview. He did a thorough job of explaining how it would work, what we would be discussing, etc. I was invited to talk about my involvement with Art Saves, one of Jenny Doh's most recent extraordinary creations.

I put the interview date and time on every calendar I have, burned it into my brain, and started the day of the interview confident I was ready and excited to talk about Art Saves. The interview was scheduled for Wednesday, November 16 at 4:00pm. ("What time zone?", you ask? Oh don't worry - we'll get to that.)

Fast forward on that day to about, oh, 2:30pm, when I am doing some early holiday shopping. While standing in line to check out, a sudden wave of sheer panic washes over me.

"Holy crap," I thought, "I never double checked the time zone."

So I slowly, hesitantly pull out my cell phone - the secondary number I gave Mark for the call - and sure enough, a call had come through right on time, at 1:00pm PACIFIC STANDARD TIME, which is the same as 4:00pm EASTERN STANDARD TIME, which Mark had clearly specified in the information he sent me. So I did this, because what else could I do?

"No worries!", exclaims Mark the next day, "We'll just move it to next week!" and we both have a good laugh about my space out. I say, "Great! Here's the number for you to call on Wednesday, November 23rd. Talk to you then!"

Fast forward to today, and I am sitting at my computer with the phone, listening to Mark's show. His introduction of me begins - which was all about my time zone space out from the week before - then finishes, and then I hear him say, "Hello? Hello.....? She's not there! Again!"

Let me just stop right here and admit that as I was listening to this, beginning to panic, I actually held up the phone up to my ear - the phone that had not yet rung - and said, "Hello?"

Hilarity then ensues on the radio show about the fact that, once again, I am nowhere to be found, and in the midst of this, I see a message on my phone that the main phone in our house has been unplugged. The main phone in our house is in a room that is now having shelves installed, and the exact thirty-second period of time when our woodworker unplugged the phone was the same thirty-second period of time when Mark was trying to call me.

So I see the message on the phone and I run like a mad woman across the house, race in the room, plug the phone back in while announcing to the woodworker, "I'm supposed to be having a radio interview right noooooooow!" as I race back into the bedroom where the other phone is.

When I ran in, my cell phone was ringing, and so - at long last - I answered! Interview accomplished! Giggles all around!

Who knew a radio interview could inspire such an adrenalin rush? Who knew it could be such a wild and thrilling ride?

* A podcast of today's interview will be available soon, and I'll post a link to it on this page when it's up. In the meantime, I extend my most sincere thanks to Mark Lipinski for his patience, flexibility, and sense of humor! I'll be speaking with him again in January about Desire to Inspire.

Yoga Pants, Part Two

This entry has inspired what is now an ongoing joke in our household, whereby all of my peeps make it a point to use the term "yoga pants" every time they are within earshot of my husband. And because I can't ever resist the opportunity to give my husband a hard time, I'm here to take it to another level.

Write a sentence using the words "yoga pants" in the comments section and you'll be entered in a drawing for a "You Are" Postcard set, shown here.  The drawing will take place July 31st and the winner will be announced here Monday, August 2nd.

Don't be shy ~ the zanier the better!

Update:  The winner of the drawing is Lisa from Sommers Breeze Antique on Etsy!

Yoga Pants

I don't remember how the term "yoga pants" came into a recent conversation with my husband, but as soon as I said it he stopped me and said, "Honey, don't say yoga pants," as if I had just tried to talk dirty to him using anatomically correct terminology. I don't know how - because I wear yoga pants (ha!  I said it!) multiple times a week - but my husband has this image of "yoga pants" as thick, baggy, unflattering items of apparel that no self-respecting woman would dare wear (let alone talk about).

All I have to say is that after walking around for most of my life with a butt so flat you could grill pancakes on it, I now have a little booty, and nothing screams "Look at my bum!" more than YOGA PANTS.  I would think he would like having his wife prance around in stretchy attire that accentuates the curves in all the right places.  Or am I just stone cold crazy?

YOGA PANTS.

YOGA PANTS.

YOGA PANTS.

YOGA PANTS.

What's he going to do?  It's my blog, after all.