Skeptics R Us

When did the world become so jaded?  I know, as a newscaster, I’m at least partially responsible for this.  Hardly a day goes by that we aren’t talking about some new scam, but last week I was stupefied by just how skeptical we’ve become as a society.

A couple of weeks ago, Purity dairy was trying to help raise money for Rocketown.  (For those of you who have been living under a rock, this is a downtown ministry that caters to teens and young adults.)  Anyway, Purity has a fundraiser they offer non-profits where they GIVE the charity about fifteen gallon drums of Moose Tracks ice cream.  Purity will then pay the charity one dollar on top of that for every scoop they hand out in a three-hour period, up to 10-thousand dollars.  Are you following me?  Purity is giving the ice cream away, AND paying the charity a dollar on top of that for every scoop they hand out to people on the street… FOR FREE!

A couple of weeks ago, Rocketown was the beneficiary of this good fortune, and they asked a couple of us here at the station to come down and be “celebrity scoopers”.  I was quite flattered by this, being that I’m only a “D” level celebrity at best, and all of the real celebrities were already in town for CMA week. 

So I’m standing next to Scott Hamilton (yes… the Gold medalist) scooping out ice cream like Lindsay Waggoner on an episode of the bionic woman, when I realize… no one’s biting.  People were literally walking by the tent, REFUSING, to take a free scoop of ice cream.  This should be punishable by a fine in my opinion. 

You would have thought we were luring them to some seedy time share off Nolensville road in exchange for a scoop.  These people looked at us like we were a bunch of carneys trying to steal their money.  No matter how many times we said, “It’s free… take it,” they simply couldn’t process the fact that  we were GIVING them something… FOR ZERO DOLLARS. 

At one point, Scott “the gold medalist” Hamilton had to physically walk out into the street and start begging tourists to take a scoop.  This guy could be busting out a triple toe loop on any ice skating rink in the country, but instead, he’s standing out on lower Broad in 90 degree heat, with moose tracks running down his elbow.  Talk about taking one for the team!  Eventually, people started recognizing him and asking for a photo ops… but still wouldn’t take the free ice cream!      

Finally, I decided… time was money, and we were losing the battle.  I went out to the street corner to work my magic, but I wasn’t nearly as courteous as Scott.  My pitch went something like this, “Do you want some free ice cream?  Ok great!  Thanks for nothing.  You just cost a kid a dollar.  I hope you’re happy with yourself!”  This got their attention!

Unfortunately, it also got the attention of the big wigs at Purity who were less than thrilled about my strong-arm tactics.  I was quickly ushered back to the ice cream scooping chain gang… far out of sight (or earshot) of any potential clients.    

Anyway, the whole ugly episode just made me wonder when and how we became so jaded.  When did we lose all faith in our fellow-man.  Not EVERYTHING that seems to good to be true is.  The next time someone tries to give you a free ice cream cone, just shut up and take it!

If you are what you eat… I’m a Funyun

    While many of you are probably spending your day thinking about how to stop hunger in Africa or promote world peace, I’m sitting at my cubicle trying to figure out what it is about the Funyun that’s so ridiculously addictive.  If you don’t know what this is, stop reading now.  We have nothing in common.

     Every day for the past week (ok, month) I’ve found myself drawn to the break room where I proceed to mindlessly exchange a dollar for a bag of funyuns… knowing full well that they probably have the nutritional content of a ziplock bag.  Why… why?????

     It’s not like I don’t know any better.  We do stories every single day about what a bind the country is in when it comes to obesity.  The feds have repeatedly called Tennessee one of the fattest states in the nation.  I can’t get through a newscast without reading something about healthier living, yet here I sit… scarfing down a bag of onion flavored air, and washing it down with a diet coke.  What is my problem?

     Last week, we did a story about how the way to eat healthier is to shop around the perimeter of the grocery.  Apparently, that’s where all the healthy food lives.  All of the fat and msg laden items are sandwiched between the aisles.  I actually tried this on my trip to the grocery last week.  Unfortunately, all of it is still neatly stacked in the fridge, untouched. 

     Speaking of which… I need to vent here for a second.  Did you guys know that there are some supermarkets that have no cashiers working at night?  There is literally no other option after a certain hour, but to use the self check-out and bag your own groceries.  This would have worked out fine if I had been picking up a pack of Wrigley’s spearmint on the fly, but unfortunately, I spent the better part of an hour on Sunday night looking up PLU codes for all of this healthy food I bought on the outside perimeter (that I’ll probably never eat.) 

      Anyway, I digress.  My point is, why do we continue doing those things we do not wish to do?  This funyun thing is becoming compulsive, along with my desire to go through the McDonald’s drive-thru every day between shows for a soft serve ice cream cone.  I realized this had become a full-blown obsession yesterday, when the lady at the window said, “Hey girl!  Where have you been?  I ain’t seen you in a minute!”  By minute… she means since yesterday.  Am I being tracked?  Do people, besides me, know that I have a problem?  It looks like I’m going to have to start going to Bobbie’s Dairy dip once a week to mix things up.

      When I dropped my daughter off at sleep away camp last week, a fresh-faced college student proudly told us that they provide a vegan diet for children who don’t eat meat.  Instinctively I said, “Oh we’re on an all junk food diet our house.  I hope you can accommodate that!”  The counselor (who was all of 22) was not amused.  He looked at me as if I had just kicked a Golden Retriever and laughed about it.  After all, what kind of barbaric mother feeds their child JUNK FOOD?!            

     The other thing I can’t get enough of are those Arctic Blasters from Kroger.  It’s a good thing these are only a buck fifty a box or I’d be bankrupt.  My body refuses to shut down at the end of a day without one.  Forget the Ambien and Lunesta.  Just grab a box of Arctic Blasters, and call it a day.  It’s a lot cheaper, and you don’t need a prescription.  Plus, they only have 100 calories per blaster.  I accidentally stumbled across that little factoid one day while throwing the box away.  I was so relieved.  They’re practically health food!

     Why is it that I can’t develop an unhealthy obsession with something like house work or weeding or building houses in Uganda?  Like Paul said in the Bible, it’s always the things I do not wish to do… that manage to capture my attention. 

     I should be writing a blog about how to get rid of the ants that are taking over my kitchen, but I’m starting to wonder if annihilating them with a can of Raid is the right thing to do.  We obviously have a lot in common.  What other creature do you know, besides maybe a racoon, that’s as obsessed with a good snack as the ant?  Are we really that different… me and the ants?  Apparently not.  I just saved myself a trip to the grocery, which we all know is a good thing!

Birds of a Feather

     It’s always interesting to me to see who people surround themselves with.  You can tell a lot about a person by who they hang out with.  The law of attraction knows no boundaries.  Whoever you are… you will attract.  For me, it’s neurotics. 

     Karl Jung defines this as, “those people who are successfully adjusted by normal societal standards, but who nevertheless have issues with the meaning of life.”  To me… that seems a little harsh.  I like to think of it as more of “a tendency to fixate on things that have no real significance or bearing on the meaning of life.” 

     We’re obsessive compulsive, but not in the way that makes our homes look immaculate or requires medication.  Instead, we go over the deep end quickly over just about everything.  Such was the case a couple of weeks ago when my best friend texted me on a Sunday night.      

Friend:     Clear the deck tomorrow night.  We’re taking a field trip.
Me:              Ooohh!  I love field trips.  Where are we going?
Friend:     Lewisburg
Me:              Not what I had envisioned.  What’s in Lewisburg?
Friend:     Whiter teeth!
Me:              ????????
Friend:     I sold a BMW to a dentist today, and he offered to
                       whiten our teeth!
Me:              What kind of dentist is in the office at 9:30 at night
                       whitening people’s teeth?  Is this guy licensed?         
Friend:     Don’t be ridiculous.  We’re going to his house.  You’ll love
                       him!

            I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I still have a set of whitening trays from the year 2000 that I haven’t seen or even cared to look for in at least five years.  When you consume the volume of coffee and Diet Coke that I do on a daily basis, it’s all pretty much a moot point anyway. 

            My teeth are yellow… so be it!  I’ve got bigger fish to fry, like these sagging eye lids.  I’d Rollerblade to a barn in Kentucky at midnight if someone could help me out in that arena.  They don’t even necessarily have to have a degree, but my teeth… not so much.   

            Nevertheless, his enthusiasm was infectious, and I ended up agreeing to go.  It’s not like I had anything better to do on a Monday night.  Plus, if I’m honest, the idea of meeting a dentist who’s even willing to whiten our teeth in his kitchen was intriguing enough to justify the trip.  I’m such a hypochondriac… most of the doctors and dentists I know have started screening my calls.    

            Monday night, as promised, we pulled up to a home in the middle of nowhere that was fit for an episode of MTV cribs.  The next thing I knew… I was sitting on an expensive bar stool, holding a Papillon in my lap with a wad of that rubbery gel gagging me. 

            While waiting to cure, the dentist and his lovely wife proceeded to tell us how their son got married in the back yard last summer on a reality t.v. show.  Instantly, I knew we were going to be great friends.  This is precisely the kind of off kilter nuance about someone’s personal life that intrigues me.  Normal people don’t agree to such things.  They’re obviously one of our own.            

            On the way out the door, the good dentist offered us a weekend in his lake house on Tim’s Ford and promised to teach me how to get up on a ski chair, something that… until now… I had assumed was an urban legend.  Apparently, these contraptions do exist, and this summer… I’ll likely be mastering the art of the “air” chair.

            Fast forward five days, and this is when things got really interesting.  My friend popped by after work.  We hadn’t really spoken much of the whole whitening episode in days, but when he smiled… I gasped!  His teeth were borderline translucent. 

Me:                 What happened to you!

Friend:        What do you mean what happened?  Do they look good
                          or what?

Me:                 I mean, how?  Outside of the extreme photo shopping
                          done by People magazine I’ve never seen such a
                          transformation.

Friend:        I went for the triple play baby!

Me:                 I’m afraid to ask.

Friend:        Well, I used the ten minute whitening gel and didn’t
                          notice a difference, so then I followed up with the
                          daytime gel, and slept in  
                          the night-time gel.  Pretty cool huh?

Me:                 Pretty… scary!  Have you examined them closely?
                          Is there any enamel left?
               
            After much skepticism on my part, he finally admitted that, in addition to the “triple play”, he had upped the ante by purchasing some device at the tanning bed that holds your mouth open for an even fuller glow!  The last time we talked about it, he was considering 6-thousand dollars worth of porcelain veneers.  See how quickly things can spiral out of control.  I’m just hoping this week he sells a BMW to a plastic surgeon.

I’m a Cheapskate, and I Know It

      Ask any of my close friends, and they will tell you… I’m cheap; not just a little cheap, but a borderline tight wad.  I’ve gotten slightly better over the years.  There was a time and a day when I wouldn’t set foot in a grocery store without a wad of coupons in hand and a detailed strategy.  I couldn’t fathom the idea of splitting a dinner check with someone, for fear that they might have ordered something slightly more expensive, and I’d be out two extra dollars.  I refused to buy individually wrapped bags of anything because I was convinced this was some ploy by the big shots at the food manufacturing company to get me to spend more for less.

     I no longer have time to do many of the things my former cheap self would like.  At 7:30 in the morning, with the dog barking, my child screaming and the all-important clock ticking… I will sometimes throw a bag of pre-packed Lays into the lunch box instead of buying a 40 lb. bag of Doritos and transferring them into a reusable ziplock, but I don’t like it.  Each time this happens, I feel like I’m giving up a little piece of my soul.    

     I think it must be hereditary.  My parents were both cheapskates.  In fact, I have to keep an eye on my mother, or she’ll pull a money exchange on me like those professionals who go into a store and rip off the clerk.  One day I picked up something for her at a shop near my house.  When we met for dinner that night, she offered to buy, as a way of saying thank you, and gave me a twenty-dollar bill.  It wasn’t until the drive home that I realized I hadn’t even broken even!

     I can barely contain my excitement right now because today, my boss has given me a dream assignment.  He wants me to start doing a segment during our four o’clock show helping people find ways to save money.  If you think about it, I’ll be getting paid to look for ways to cut corners and then share them with you.  I know you’ll think I’m overstating here, but this is like hitting the Powerball jackpot for me.  I will now be afforded the time necessary to let than inner cheapskate thrive again, but I need your help.       

      I’m afraid I’ve become rusty.  The other day I bought Valentine’s candy at a DRUG STORE, of all places, without doing any kind of recon whatsoever of the major discount stores to see what kind of deals were out there.  This is a true sign of weakness.  People who are good at this could never just mindlessly swipe their debit card without knowing, beyond a shadow of the doubt, that it couldn’t be bought somewhere else cheaper.  It’s a complete violation of the code.

     I’m prepared to do battle again, but I desperately need you guys to help me get started.  To make this possible, I’m going to need to enlist an army of the biggest tightwads this city has ever seen.  I want to make Ms. Cheap (who I love by the way) look like a flagrant money spender.  My e-mail is jennifer.johnson@wsmv.com.  Fill up my “IN” box!  This economy is robbing us all blind.  Let’s stick it to the man on this one!

     If there’s a free event for our kids, a way to get access to healthcare without paying, an unprecedented deal being offered around town by a particular business, or just something original you’re doing at home to pinch pennies… I want to know about it.  At the end of each week, the person who gives me the best idea will get… a heaping load of self-satisfaction.  What did you think I was going to give you?  Money  I already told you I’m cheap! 

I’m a Cheapskate, and I Know It

      Ask any of my close friends, and they will tell you… I’m cheap; not just a little cheap, but a borderline tight wad.  I’ve gotten slightly better over the years.  There was a time and a day when I wouldn’t set foot in a grocery store without a wad of coupons in hand and a detailed strategy.  I couldn’t fathom the idea of splitting a dinner check with someone, for fear that they might have ordered something slightly more expensive, and I’d be out two extra dollars.  I refused to buy individually wrapped bags of anything because I was convinced this was some ploy by the big shots at the food manufacturing company to get me to spend more for less.

     I no longer have time to do many of the things my former cheap self would like.  At 7:30 in the morning, with the dog barking, my child screaming and the all-important clock ticking… I will sometimes throw a bag of pre-packed Lays into the lunch box instead of buying a 40 lb. bag of Doritos and transferring them into a reusable ziplock, but I don’t like it.  Each time this happens, I feel like I’m giving up a little piece of my soul.    

     I think it must be hereditary.  My parents were both cheapskates.  In fact, I have to keep an eye on my mother, or she’ll pull a money exchange on me like those professionals who go into a store and rip off the clerk.  One day I picked up something for her at a shop near my house.  When we met for dinner that night, she offered to buy, as a way of saying thank you, and gave me a twenty dollar bill.  It wasn’t until the drive home that I realized I hadn’t even broken even!

     I can barely contain my excitement right now because today, my boss has given me a dream assignment.  He wants me to start doing a segment during our four o’clock show helping people find ways to save money.  If you think about it, I’ll be getting paid to look for ways to cut corners and then share them with you.  I know you’ll think I’m overstating here, but this is like hitting the Powerball jackpot for me.  I will now be afforded the time necessary to let than inner cheapskate thrive again, but I need your help.       

      I’m afraid I’ve become rusty.  The other day I bought Valentine’s candy at a DRUG STORE, of all places, without doing any kind of recon whatsoever of the major discount stores to see what kind of deals were out there.  This is a true sign of weakness.  People who are good at this could never just mindlessly swipe their debit card without knowing, beyond a shadow of the doubt, that it couldn’t be bought somewhere else cheaper.  It’s a complete violation of the code.

     I’m prepared to do battle again, but I desperately need you guys to help me get started.  To make this possible, I’m going to need to enlist an army of the biggest tightwads this city has ever seen.  I want to make Ms. Cheap (who I love by the way) look like a flagrant money spender.  My e-mail is jennifer.johnson@wsmv.com.  Fill up my “in” box!  This economy is robbing us all blind.  Let’s stick it to the man on this one!

     If there’s a free event for our kids, a way to get access to healthcare without paying, an unprecedented deal being offered around town by a particular business, or just something original you’re doing at home to pinch pennies… I want to know about it.  At the end of each week, the person who gives me the best idea will get… a heaping load of self satisfaction.  What did you think I was going to give you?  Money  I already told you I’m cheap! 

The Gift of Giving

     A couple of weeks ago, my bible study group decided to “adopt” a family to cook Thanksgiving Dinner for… a pretty interesting concept, given the fact that only two of us know how to boil an egg.  It’s amazing how something so seemingly simple can spiral out of control.  Once you decide to take on a project like this, there’s a litany of questions to be answered.  Who do we give it to?  What do we make?  When do we deliver it… or do we even need to?  Maybe we should just invite them over?  If we invite them over, should we do it ON Thanksgiving or the day before.  Oh… and who’s going to make this stuff? 

     Before we knew it, we had a good old-fashioned conundrum on our hands.  One wanted to take it to a hospital and give it to people with sick loved ones.  Another wanted to give it to a woman who just moved into a Habitat home.  A third person thought we should find someone who was homeless.  At one point, we actually debated whether one of the families we were considering was “misfortunate” enough since they recently bought a flat screen.  Who knew doing something nice could be so wrought with questions. 

     Eventually, we decided to enlist the help of Aimee Fortney, “Not the Perfect Cook” (since we’re clearly not).  She gave us six idiot-proof recipes.  Instead of cooking the meal, we’re all going on a field trip to Kroger on Sunday night to buy the ingredients.  Hopefully we won’t get into a brawl in the aisles over whether to buy name brand or generic. 

     Once we’ve secured the loot, we’re going back to my house to package up each dish separately with the ingredients and the recipe tucked neatly inside.  I thought I’d share those with you in case you’re feeling altruistic, or you’re just an idiot in the kitchen and need some help figuring out what to take to your sister in-law’s.  Happy Thanksgiving! 

THANKSGIVING TURKEY

10 – 12 pound turkey
1 stick of butter, softened
1 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon sazón completa (I don’t have the slightest idea what this is… so don’t ask)
1 teaspoon seasoning salt
dash of cayenne
pinch of salt 
pinch of pepper
freshly squeezed lime juice
1 lime, cut in half
1½ to 2 cups white wine

Remove neck and giblets from turkey.  Set turkey in roasting pan and pat dry with paper towels.  In a small bowl, stir butter to soften completely and add all seasonings and lime juice.  Stir together to make a paste.  Lift the skin from the turkey, and rub underneath the skin with the butter paste, as well as on top of the turkey.  Sprinkle a little bit of salt and pepper on top of the turkey.  Stuff limes inside turkey.  Pour white wine in the bottom of the roasting pan.  Place in a preheated 325 oven, and baste every 30 minutes.  After about two and a half hours, when turkey is golden brown in color, cover with aluminum foil.  (if it is not golden brown, do not cover with foil yet, wait until the color is there.)  Roast for a total of about 3 ½ hours.  Let turkey rest before carving, to keep it moist.

CORNBREAD DRESSING

1 stick of butter, melted
2 cups diced celery
1 cup diced onion
4 cups crumbled cornbread (cornbread that has been prepared prior; either homemade or from a mix)
1 ½ Tablespoons sage
1 teaspoon salt
½ to 1 teaspoon celery salt (use amount to your taste)
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper (again, use amount to your taste)
dash of cayenne pepper
1 ½ cups to 2 cups chicken stock
1 egg

Mix all ingredients together in a large bowl.  Lightly grease a 9 x 13 casserole dish and press all ingredients into bottom of dish.  Bake at 350 for 30 to 40 minutes.

Mashed sweet potatoes

3 large sweet potatoes
 2 tablespoons of butter
spoonful of brown sugar
1 tablespoon of cinnamon
a couple of splashes milk drizzle of honey

Pierce the potatoes with a fork, and bake at 350 for 40 minutes.  Remove from the oven, peel, then add to a mixing bowl, and mix all ingredients together until it’s creamy. 

Aimee’s Corn casserole

2 cans cream style corn
1 small box ( 8 ½ ounce size) corn muffin mix
1 small container ( 8 ounce ) sour cream
 2 eggs, beaten
3/4 stick butter, melted shredded cheese

Beat all ingredients together in a medium-sized bowl. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes.  Top with shredded cheese, and continue cooking until the cheese melts.

CRANBERRY SALAD

2 cups fresh cranberries; (use the whole bag, actually)
2 packages of red jello; raspberry, strawberry or cherry
2 cups boiling water
2 cups sugar
make jello with the sugar, following package directions
2 oranges, cut into pieces or 1 can of drained mandarin oranges
2 apples cubed
small can crushed pineapple, drained
1 cup of pecans 

Pulse cranberries in the food processor.  Dissolve jello in hot water, then add sugar.  Mix all ingredients together and let it congeal in the refrigerator.

Broccoli cheese Casserole

1 (10.75 ounce) can condensed cream of mushroom soup
1 cup mayonnaise
1 egg, beaten
1/4 cup onions, chopped
3 (10 ounce) packages frozen chopped broccoli
8 ounces shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
salt and pepper to taste
1 dash paprika

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Butter a 9×13 inch baking dish.
In a medium mixing bowl, whisk together condensed soup, mayonnaise, egg and onions.   Place frozen broccoli into a very large mixing bowl. (I like to use my large stainless steel bowl to mix this recipe thoroughly.) Break up the frozen broccoli. Using a rubber spatula, scrape soup-mayonnaise mixture on top of broccoli, and mix well. Sprinkle on cheese, and mix well. Spread mixture into prepared baking dish, and smooth top of casserole. Season with salt, pepper and paprika.   Bake for 45 minutes to 1 hour.

Santa’s on Life Support

     It’s not like I didn’t know this day was coming.  Sooner or later, those of us who made a decision to reproduce know we’re going to have to answer that burning question our kids have been dying to ask for years, but were afraid to know the answer to.  Last week, it was my turn in the hot seat.  “Mom… (terminally long pause)  Is Santa Claus real?” 

     O… M… G!!!!!  Despite all prep work and studying I had done over the years to answer this very question… I completely froze up.  I pulled a Rick Perry right there in the middle of I-65.  Before the stammering and stuttering became any more awkward than it already was, I did the only thing I knew to do.  I answered her question with a question.  “Gosh!  What would even make you ask such a question.”  Really?  That’s the best I could come up with? 

     When you remove the emotion from the situation and think about it rationally… what self-respecting 10 year-old WOULDN’T be curious as to how a grossly obese man with the gift of omnipotence delivers toys to the entire world in a mere eight hours on a flying sleigh???  I mean it sounds completely plausible… right? 

     In my defense, I may have been still been a little shell-shocked over how the whole Tooth Fairy deal went down.  I loathe to admit this, but my former husband and I were closet smokers.  No lectures!  I know it’s disgusting, but back when I was married… my husband and I would bond at the end of the night by having a cigarette.

     We were so self-conscious about our dastardly deed we were committing that we always smoked outside and were very careful to always flush the evidence afterwards.  Unfortunately, one of the cigarette butts escaped our sewer one night… only to be discovered the next morning by our then five year-old. 

      I can still remember her blood curdling scream from the bathroom.  “Mom!  There’s a CIGARETTE… in our toilet.”  She marched out and looked me square in the eye as if to demand an answer.  I feigned a look of shock and said, “What?  That’s weird!”  About that time her dad walks by and says, “You know… the tooth fairy was here last night.”  (Yes… he did.)  Our daughter had this look of complete horror on her face.  With tears welling up in her eyes she said, “The tooth fairy SMOKES!”     

     Realizing the horrible turn this was taking, he quickly assured her that the Tooth Fairy did NOT smoke!  Clearly, some degenerate had left the cigarette butt out on the sidewalk, and the Tooth Fairy, being the good citizen that she is, merely picked it up and disposed of it for us.  Needless to say, we aren’t exactly experts in the imaginary hero department.  All I could think last week is how I was about to blow it for a second time. 

          I should have seen this coming last year when she refused to sit in the guy at the mall’s lap and called him a “faker” under her breath as we walked by.  I still remember the year I figured it out for myself.  My 5th grade year, I got over ambitious and asked Santa for a horse.  Of course I knew good and well there was no Santa Clause!  This was emotional extortion plain and simple.  My parents had already refused to get me a horse.  In my mind I remember thinking, “Whatcha gonna do now?  Huh?  You gonna blow Christmas for me?” 

     I underestimated my parents.  When confronted with the prospect of purchasing a 300 lb. live animal, they had no problem whatsoever destroying my dreams and telling me the gig was up. 

     I guess I was just hoping we could get a few more years out of it.  I envisioned us having this discussion the summer after high school… as we were getting her things together for college.  Why do we have to cross the Santa Claus bridge a mere six weeks before Christmas? 

     For now, my stall tactics have bought me another week at best, but I know the dreaded question could come at any time, like a thief in the night.  The one thing I am sure about… is that I’m not ready.

Lessons I Learned My 39th Year on Earth

Lesson 7:  The illusion of happiness and happiness are not the same animal

    Have you ever noticed how fantastic everyone’s life seems on Facebook?  I can hardly get on-line without noticing that someone just got a new car, earned a promotion at work, or received a letter saying their kid got accepted into Mensa.  Some days, it’s enough to make you want to puke. 

    This week, I went to a charity luncheon that reminded me what true happiness really looks like, and let me assure you… it has nothing to do with all this self aggrandized nonsense we all tend to get wrapped up in (myself included).  Happiness is an elusive state of being that most of us have a hard time finding in this chaotic world of ups and downs, but this week, over a plate of chicken cordon blue, I saw it… right there in the flesh.      

     First, let me back up and explain how I even ended up at this shin dig.  A couple of weeks ago, my boss sent me and the other anchors at the station an invite to the Community Foundation’s Humanitarian Award Luncheon.  Candidly, I thought to myself, “Oh great!  Just one more thing to squeeze into my already jam-packed life.  Like I have time for lunch!”  (By the way, this is a fantastic example of how most of us miss the precious moments in life.  We’re too busy!!!!!)

     The honorees this year were Vince Gill and Amy Grant.  No surprise there!  They do stuff for the community all the time.  Good choice!  Let’s get the show on the road.  This is what I was thinking on my way to Lowe’s Vanderbilt.  By the end, I found myself moved to tears by all the lives they’ve helped change, and looking for the nearest hole I might be able to crawl into for not doing more to help my fellow-man. 

      I had no IDEA all the things these two people have done, not only for Nashville, but for people all over the world!  They do more charity work in a month than I have in 40 years combined.  At one point they were saying things so profound I started taking notes on my program, and I decided to share some of those with you in this week’s blog.  They were some good life lessons for all of us.    

     Instead of giving them another award to sit on some shelf, they gave them a quilt, and Amy Grant made one of the most profound statements I’ve heard in a long time… “I always felt like quilting was the original recycling, and just such a picture of all of our lives.  You know, how we all get torn apart, and put back together.  It’s always more beautiful and ALWAYS endlessly more interesting… when it’s put back together.”

     Wow!  What she said is so true.  No matter who you are or what your status… life is filled with a lot of painful moments.  You can sit around and grumble about it, or you can view those situations as something that are producing maturity and adding texture to your life.  The next time I face a challenge, I’m going to consider it just another swatch on that amazing quilt that is my life.          

     When it was Vince’s turn at the mic, he said this about his wife, “She inspires me to be better… be a better person.  I couldn’t ask for a better partner to show me and teach what the art of giving really looks like.”  This statement provided a lesson as well.  Whether it’s a mate or just your circle of friends… surround yourself with people of strong character who make you want to be a better person.  Look closely at the people you’re hanging out with.  If they’re not adding to your life in some way, there’s a good chance they’re taking away from it.      

     Vince also read the words to a song he recently wrote for Amy called “The Red Words”… a reference to the words in the Bible spoken by Jesus.  These are just a few of the lines I jotted down for thought. 

“She’d take a bullet for her children.  She’d give them all her last breath.  Always there and always willing as a mother’s love never rests.”

“I know that black’s her favorite color because without it there’s no depth.”

“Show some kindness for a stranger.  And be grateful for today.  Open up your family bible and read what the red words say.”

     Though all of those lines were great, my favorite was the one about the color black.  Other than my go to LBD, I’ve never really given much thought to the color black.  In fact, if anything, I usually associate it with darkness… something I’m not particularly fond of.  As I thought more about it though, I realized what Amy sees in black.  Without darkness, there is no light.  Without sorrow, there is no joy.

     There was one last statement that I loved, and I hope it gives you all some food for thought.  Amy said, “Your focus in life comes from a combination of your passion and your pain.”  The person who can find that focus is someone who is truly happy indeed.  Have a great weekend!

Lesson’s I Learned in my 39th Year on Earth

Lesson 6:  No Matter How much you fight it… one day you will look in the mirror and see your mother staring back. 

It’s Friday.  I figured you could all use a good laugh, so I might as well provide one at my own expense.  You may remember, a couple of years ago I wrote about the demise of my triceps.  It was a dark day, indeed, when I looked down and discovered they had somehow morphed into a sagging blob of chicken-like skin.  Mother Nature is a cruel, cruel operator, and unfortunately… she has struck again.

Last month, the station brought in a consultant to give us all a once over, and advise us on how we might “improve” ourselves.  In the course of a half hour, I discovered that my hair was too blonde, my clothes were too casual, and I needed a set of fake eyelashes to make my eyes “pop” on camera. I’m pretty sure that’s code for, “we need to create a distraction so viewers don’t notice the dark circles under your eyes and enormous crow’s feet that are starting to appear next to them.”

I can’t say that I’m offended by her suggestions.  She’s almost always dead on, but I still manage to walk away feeling like one of those people in the DON’T section of Glamour magazine with a shameful black rectangle covering their face.  I always wonder if those people get a heads up they’re going to be featured in the magazine?  Do the editors get permission, or do the people just flip to that section one month in hopes of making fun of someone… only to find themselves a target?     

Because I’m so obsessive compulsive, I spent weeks asking everyone I came into contact with if they thought my eye lashes were falling out.  Trust me when I say… you don’t want to be around me when one of these revelations takes hold.  My friends are used to my neurotic behavior so they ignore it, but the guy bagging my groceries didn’t seem nearly as amused.  In fact, I’m pretty sure he quit after I forced him to inspect my eyelids on the way to the car.

I spent the better part of September testing out every fake lash on the market.  After gluing my eyes shut several times, nearly failing to make the 4 o’clock show altogether on occasion, and scaring the bejesus out of my cleaning lady with all of the spider looking leftovers laying around my house… I finally mastered the art of the fake lash.

For weeks, I basked in the glow of my new secret weapon.  All was perfect in the world… until two weeks ago, when I discovered that my lids were nearly bald without their camouflage.  Apparently, my real lashes got their feelings hurt and started dropping out of the race one by one.  What started out a thin lash was quickly turning into no lash at all!

I did what every girl does in a situation like this.  I texted one of my bff’s.

Me:  Hey… where are you?  I’m having a crisis.

Ursula:  I’m at the Dr.’s office.  What’s up?

Me:  My lashes are falling out!   (Mind you… I’m standing 2 inches from my magnifying mirror counting while texting.)

Ursula:  I just need an antibiotic, but they won’t give it to me unless they see me… so I’m wasting my whole day here.  Wow!  Kacy’s interviewing someone named Ursula.  There are two of us!

Me:  What are you babbling about?  Did you not get my text?  I said my lashes are           FALLING OUT!

Ursula:  I got it. Are they down on your cheek or something?  Just put more glue on!     

Me:  My REAL ones you idiot!

Ursula:  OMG… LOL  You need to steal some of your mom’s Latisse samples!

Me:  Already on it.  Bye!

    For those of you who aren’t self-absorbed enough to spend your life fighting the aging process… Latisse is like miracle grow for lashes.  It works like a charm, but costs about $200 a tube.  My mother managed to get her hands on a sample two months ago, and her eyes have looked like caterpillars ever since.  Soon she may have to trim them! 

     Back in the day I used to fight the idea of turning into my mother.  Tonight, I’ll sneak into her medicine cabinet like a teenager just hoping that in another 27 years… I might actually look that good!

Lessons I Learned my 39th Year on Earth

Lesson 5:  You can greatly reduce the stress in your life by automatically assuming  everything will be ten times harder than it should be.

      Growing up, I was a big fan of fairytales.  For many years I actually lived my life under the pretense that some Prince would sweep me off my feet and we’d live happily ever after.  At the very least I figured I’d become an independent career women who could keep a dozen balls in the air seamlessly without ever breaking a sweat.  Eventually I discovered… both scenarios are fiction.      

     Unfortunately, life is a series of unexpected twists and turns that even the most methodical type “A” planners on earth could never anticipate.  Instead of a fairytale, I’ve decided life is more like a mechanical bull.  The best you can do is train hard, saddle up, and hold on for dear life.  Even then… there’s a good chance you’re going to end up with your arm in a sling.  I was recently reminded of this fact with something as simple as my phone service going out.

     This should have been a fairly simple problem to solve.  You’re phone’s not working, so you pick up your cell and call the repairman.  Little did I know that something that should have taken an hour, at most, to resolve was going to usurp my energy for the better part of two weeks.

      After discovering my dilemma, I called Comcast which provides my phone, internet and cable service for “convenience”.  This was a little frustrating because it’s only been a month since I spent some quality time with the Comcast repair man over the very same issue.  If you’ve ever had to schedule an appointment like this you probably already know what a mind numbing experience it can be.  I’d rather be gut punched by a mixed martial artist than place one of these calls. 

     First you have to actually get a human being on the other end of the line.  Once you’ve crossed that major hurdle, the person usually proceeds to spend the next half hour having you run all over the house jiggling and unplugging cables and wires before concluding that you need a repair man… which is why you called in the first place. 

     After you’ve finally convinced the unidentified guru that you’re up a creek without a paddle, you then have to find a three-hour ”block” of time when it would be “convenient” for the repairman to show up.  I don’t know about you, but I don’t have a three-hour “block” of time free in September… let alone in one day. 

     Less than two minutes after making the appointment, I got an automated call on my cell phone from Comcast asking me to confirm that I still had a problem.  Really?  Could the passage of 120 seconds have really changed my situation that drastically? 

     The day of the service call, the robot checked back with me again to make SURE my stuff was still broken.  I patiently pressed two, assuring the inanimate object that I was still helplessly without a phone or internet service.  Before leaving for work, I wrote out a list of detailed instructions for my girlfriend who had agreed to be there and work with the cable guy when he showed up.

     Well imagine my surprise when I stepped off of our news set on Tuesday and received a voice mail from the repair man saying he wasn’t showing up because I didn’t answer his call.  Apparently, I’m supposed to keep my ringer on at all times and just put you guys on hold out there in t.v. land whenever  the cable guy calls.  I’m not kidding when I say, this message was the adult equivalent of being told… “there is no Santa Claus”. 

     I frantically dialed the number on my caller ID to beg for mercy.  Of course, instead of reaching him, I was re-routed to the robot and eventually a human being who informed me that if you don’t answer your phone you’re basically dead to them. 

    How can this be?  What if I were a heart surgeon?  Do they expect me to put someone’s transplant on hold to chit-chat with the cable guy?  What about when President Obama’s cable goes out?  Does he say, “Pardon me Mr. Netanyahu… it’s the cable guy.  I absolutely must take this call.”  It’s preposterous!  Have a little faith Comcast.  I’m already begging for help and giving you a three-hour window.  Do you really think I’m going to stand you up? 

     After debating this for several minutes with the nice guy from Comcast, I finally booked another three-hour window of time I don’t have to get it fixed last Friday.  Everything seemed fine.  The phone was working.  My internet was lightning fast.  I actually found the cable guy to be quite endearing. 

     My daughter spent the weekend with her dad, but on Monday she bolted up to her room to watch a little Spongebob.  Imagine my surprise when she said, “Mooooooom… my t.v. isn’t working.”  Anyone know a good mixed martial artist?