Brumotactillophobia

Dear friend

Last night I was sitting and thinking about you and your childhood. It’s funny how we think that other people have had an ideal childhood.

Within my head is another voice besides that of The Voices/Stalkers. He is quiet, gentle, understanding, hardly ever criticizes and lets me rant on and on. And last night as I was thinking about what you said, he said to me. “Well, that big strong man was once a small child. When his food touched, that showed that he had taken too much and there were severe consequences for that. Remember when you were an unwanted guest in someone else’s home.”

Now I get it.

A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth

 

JC Penny

 

 

A few weeks ago, I read a Yahoo News Article that stated JC Penny Stores were on their way out, as in out of business.    Knowing how much my step-mother (a world class marathon shopper) shops in this store, I found that hard to believe.  So, I undertook the task of seeing first hand what the problem might be with JC Penny.

So, last Friday, on my day off, with debt card in hand I strolled into JC Penny intent on spending about an hour in the store.  Not being an avid shopper, one hour is about as much time as I want to spend in any one store.

Let me say right off that I spent about thirty pleasant minutes in JC Penny and then I was really frustrated.  Why?

A hint as to why is in the paragraph below which was taken from another Yahoo, News Article, entitled ‘3 Retailers Rebuilt to Last’, By Jeff Macke.  

“Not only do I think they’re hot now, but I think they’ve been hot for a while now,” Prabhakar explains. Nordstrom knows exactly who their customer is, a focus that distinguishes the chain from its failed peers, like J.C. Penney (JCP). Department stores die because “they start to lose who their customer is and they don’t know who’s going in there shopping.”

http://finance.yahoo.com/blogs/breakout/3-retailers-rebuilt-last-173649575.html?vp=1

 A typical JC Penny customer, I imagine, would have been a mall rat in the 1990’s and have fond memories of Saturdays spent at the mall with her friends.  She also would have had a mother who did the majority of her clothes shopping at JC Penny because back then JC Penny was a ‘status store’. 

 That same mall rat today will have children.   She will be short on time and she will want use her debt card, not a credit card.   Shopping at JC Penny, today, you’ll note that they have NOT made allowances for any of these. 

 If I were a young mother, I wouldn’t shop at JC Penny either and/or if I did, I would not buy multiple items there.  Why?  Keep reading.

 OK.  So maybe she won’t shop there but her mother might because she knows the quality of the goods.  Maybe.  But unless her mother is a world class marathon shopper, she, like me, won’t buy multiple items there.  Why?

 The answer is something so simple as to be inane is missing. 

SHOPPING CARTS.  

 You savvy shoppers know Target has shopping carts and most definitely Walmart has shooping carts.  But JC Penny.  No carts.   

 

 

Photo courtsey cookingfordads.wordpress.com

What are you supposed to do, carry your stuff around in your arms.  What if you have young kids with you?  How are you going to carry your purchases and hold on to your kid at the same time?

JC Penny move with the times and put in shopping carts.  Americans aren’t looking for status symbol stores anymore, they’re looking for convenience.

And JC have you noticed how many stores are becoming One Stop options.  I like stores where I can shop for clothes, food, makeup, and pharmacy all in one stop.  And don’t forget the wine!

JC  SHOPPING CARTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth

 

‘Poodle Bait’

Poodle Bait

For my first Thanksgiving as host, I bought the biggest turkey they had in the store, along with a backup ham the size of a small bus.

I’ve been a fan of General Hospital for many years and I’ve always gotten a hoot out of how every year the Quartermaines end up having pizza for Thanksgiving dinner. It was all very hilarious until it happened to us.

And by us, I mean me, my husband, our two kids, my parents, his parents, my single spinster sister and a friend of Richard’s that he had invited to dinner as a possible match for my sister.

It all started so innocently. The doorbell rang. Of course it was my parents. Who always arrived first for everything, football games, parties, weddings — you name it. Like there’s a prize for being first. And of course my mother insisted on helping with dinner.

Next to arrive were Richard’s parents, Molly and Engleburt. Who name’s their child Engleburt? My dad and Engleburt stationed themselves in front of the TV for the Army Navy game while my husband plied them with alcohol. Molly, my mother-in-law, as you have probably already surmised also insisted on helping in the kitchen.

Things were going well, if you can call three women in the same kitchen, three drunk men hyped up on football, and two teenagers with iphones plugged into their ears, and one toy poodle roaming aimlessly from room to room, going well. Did I forget to mention the dog?

Henry, our dog who is so mild-mannered and content that we often forgot that he’s around. With so much activity in the house today, Henry had found himself a quiet spot by the fireplace and was busy rather nonchalantly licking himself when the door bell rang.

It was my sister, Liz. Liz is, how can I say this, WEIRD. Liz came for Thanksgiving dressed as a witch. “Why are you dressed like that I asked”. “Like what,” she said surveying herself from the chest down. “Like that!” I said pointing to the long sleeved black peasant blouse and floor length black skirt. “I’m depressed,” she said. “I’m prettier than you. I should have been the one to get married first. This should be my first Thanksgiving as a wife.” she said brushing passed me. “What’ya mean, “you’re prettier than me?”

“Richard, she yelled to my husband, I don’t have a drink in my hand!”

“Coming up Liz, yelled back my good natured husband.

“Richard, look at how she’s dressed!” I quipped as he placed a double Manhattan in my sister’s left hand. “Thanks bro.” “How is she dressed?, asked my clueless hubby. “Like a witch!” “I’m not seeing it.” “OK. If not like a witch, then like a very depressed peasant. Do you think your friend, John is going to find her attractive in that outfit? “Don’t worry about him. He hasn’t had sex in so long I don’t think he’ll car how she’s dressed.” A roar erupted from the other room and off went my wonderful husband for the replay. Ding Dong. “Doorbell, quipped by witchy spinster sister before downing more of her Manhattan. “Damn!” I stomped over to the door knowing that it was probably Richard’s friend. I opened the door and John ‘Poodle bait’ Walker stepped through the door.

Out friendly docile poodle Henry was a blur as he tore past me and into John ‘Poodle bait’ Walker. There was ripping of fabric, screams of pain, and, oh yes, a lot of snarling and growling, while I stood transfixed by how fast our little dog could move. “What’s all the noise?” yelled Richard “I don’t think Henry likes your friend!”

John ‘Poodle bait’ Walker screamed passed me and into the living room knocking over the coffee table, Henry snapping closely at his heels. “Down, Henry!” I commanded. “Call him off! Call him off!”, screamed ‘Poodle bait”. “Henry heel!” That didn’t work. Next, I tried getting in between them, but Henry was too fast. He had tasted blood and caught the scent! The scent of fear. Flaring his teeth, he aimed himself for another attack. John ‘Poodle bait’ Walker leapt over the sofa where my sister was still sitting and crashed headlong into the dining room table laden with my best china and stemware. Henry was not to be outdone! He made the leap with champion show dog precision landing solidly on ‘Poodle Bait’s’ butt and sunk in his claws so as not to slide off. ‘Poodle bait’ let out a high C wail before sprinting off to the next room. The kitchen.

And that’s why we all ate hamburgers this Thanksgiving.

 

Love you Pepper

 

 

 

A View From The Single Lane

 

A View From The Single Lane

 

Lately, I’ve found myself toying with the idea of giving up on marriage and fully embracing my singleness.

Yea, I know what you’re thinking. At nearly sixty years of age, it’s about time I gave up on the dream of meeting my handsome prince or “my soul mate.” But some dreams need to die a horrible gruesome death — with torture thrown in — before we can let go of them. Such is the case with the ‘wedded bliss’ dream.

You know the one that goes like this, you meet handsome prince on a blind date fall madly in love over dinner and are married three weeks later in a big church wedding. And the two of you spend the rest of your lives together. He never cheats on you. He is never without a job. You buy a two story house — complete with white picket fence, raise two point three kids, have a collie named Lassie, and all the kids grow up to be doctors.

And speaking of the dream, its holiday time in America and the dream rises to its full zenith is thrown at us full force by Wall Street Advertisers. The TV tells us how happy and satisfied we’ll be surrounded by family, friends, and a table laden down with delicious, exciting, and expensive food. Kids running around squirting and/or splashing each other with or in the latest toy dressed in the most fabulous fun summer wear on a thick green luscious — manicured to perfection — lawn. And a handsome dark haired six foot hunk of a husband — pumped up on Viagra — manning the grill.

But at sixty, the cold hard reality of it is that I’d most likely have to deal with an ex-wive(s) (or worse yet the idolized dead wife) hateful grown children and wicked little step-grand kids that I’d end up having to baby sit during the holiday. And my hunk of a husband would come shuffling in on a walker and in order to get it up, would have to own stock in Viagra.

So, by process of slow reasoning, and a host of failed celebrity marriages, I’m coming to the decision to let go of “The Wedded Bliss Dream” and see where the tried and true single lane takes me.

Instead of longing for the wedded bliss life, this fourth of July you’ll find me indulging in a Will Smith movie marathon – Independence Day, I Robot, and I am Legend – while sucking down slow oven cooked (not grilled) tender to perfection country style ribs, a pint of Jerry Garcia ice cream, and a fifth of blue Agave Tequila. Hooray for the red, white, and blue!