Domenica says....

Domenica of our local NBC affiliate reports that our next "snow event" will start on Tuesday as snow, perhaps changing over to a "wintry mix" on Wednesday.  It doesn't appear to be a "Nor'easter" this time, or a "clipper."  I haven't heard the word "Snowmaggedon" either, for which I am grateful.  Mostly because I don't know how to spell "Snowmaggedon."

This winter's weather in the Northeast has generated a lot of press, primarily, I suppose, because we need something to complain about in every season.  Last summer was sweltering here in the hood, but I, for one, didn't complain, because I am very happy when I'm in heat.  I mean, when it's hot outside.

Thing 2, of course, is thrilled whenever he hears "the possibility of snow" because it might mean a snow day, delayed opening or early dismissal from school.  At this point, he should place all his bets on a delayed opening or early dismissal, as our district is already one day in the red as far as snow days go.  Which means that he will need to "give back" a day from President's weekend or spring vacation.  This works out well for me, especially since it will give me more time to plan out our President's Day shindig, including animatronic models of the Presidents, with a special appearance by a depressed Abraham Lincoln with Marfan's syndrome.

Admittedly, I still get a little frisson of excitement when I hear that the schools are closed for snow, many, many years after this announcement could possibly benefit me personally.  I have visions of snuggling up with a cup of hot cocoa in front of the fire (in our case, in front of the exploding toaster oven), reading the classics out loud with my Thing 2 and feeling as though we are the only ones in a white and silent world. 

The reality is that the phone will ring at 5:08 a.m. with the announcement that schools are closed and I will lay there for an hour with my eyes wide open trying to squelch my panic attack.  At 6, Thing 2 will bound into my room, jump on my head (scattering the cats) and announce that he is "bored."  As I fumble for my Xanax, I sweetly suggest that he go outside and play. 

I understand that there are many different novel and creative activities that children can engage in to stay busy out in the snow.  But at our house, at least now, basketball is not one of them.

Foto Friday

I intended to end the week with one of several photos I've taken this winter in the parking lots of shopping centers or supermarkets - photos that capture snow plowed into piles so high you can't even see the Blockbuster or liquor store behind them (two very necessary destinations during the kind of winter we've been having here in the Northeast).

But I decided that those of you who read Body of Work and live in warmer climes have better things to do (like frolicking on the beach or picking sand out from between your toes) than look at the evidence of the Winter of our Discontent, while those of you who live "here" have already seen enough with your own eyes.

So instead I'm going to fulfill the requirements of Foto Friday with a photo of my own family, taken last week.  I haven't really been out of the house all winter, and I wanted our family to do something together -- perhaps even make a memory or two.  (Thing 1 couldn't join us because he's away at school, but I trust he's making his own memories).

Enjoy.  And have a great weekend.

I'm Going Shopping!

I'm going back to work. 

I'll be starting in two weeks, working part time and telecommuting (and no, I won't be trying to sell you time shares in the Poconos).  For the first time in eight months I'll be earning more than what the state sends me in the form of unemployment insurance (for which, by the way, I am very grateful).

So what does a temporarily income-deprived woman do when she's suddenly (relatively) flush?

She goes shopping!

Those who know me know that I'm normally (or maybe abnormally) frugal.  Even in the best of times, I buy the bare minimum, shop for bargains, and clip coupons.  But tomorrow, I'm throwing caution to the wind and doing my retail duty.

Here's what I need:

• Mascara.  I ran out months ago and the black shoe polish just isn't working for me anymore.
• A clock radio.  See yesterday's post.
• New vertical blinds for the family room. Every time we open or close them, one or two of the verts breaks off.  Our window reminds me of the gap toothed smile of a five year old.
• Underwear.  New. Nuff said.
• A $35 haircut.  With a professional pair of scissors wielded by a professional hairdresser in a salon with ridiculously expensive shampoos arrayed on glass shelves.  Not the rounded plastic safety scissors with the pink handle that the cat uses on me after I've bribed her with an extra handful of kibble....in the laundry room.

I swear, you won't even recognize me the next time I leave the house, what with my new haircut, mascara and underwear.  You might even think I'm a member of that monied class...the class that has a job.

Radio Daze

It's really sad when the primary feature you're seeking in a new clock radio is large buttons.

But even with all the cool new features that have been developed since the last time I purchased a clock radio in the 1990s - MP3 compatibility/ipod dock, nature sounds, remote control, atomic clock ("said to be so accurate that it would neither gain nor lose a second in over 30 million years" - which is about 29.9 million years longer than the clock itself would last) and voice recognition, to name a few, all I wanted to be able to do was turn the clock radio on and off.  I hadn't been able to do this with the one I was replacing because, well, the buttons were so small that it was not only impossible to see them in the dark of night, it was impossible to see them by the light of a nuclear conflagration.

I grew so frustrated trying to set the alarm, switch from AM to FM and reset the time after a power outage, that I learned to tell time by the cats' behavior.  If one of them was sitting on my bladder, it was still the middle of the night.  If she had moved upstream and was hacking up a hairball near my ear, it was time to get up.  For several reasons.

Fortunately the old clock radio broke.  Here's what it looks like today:

Tonight I'll remove the new clock radio from its box, plug it in and set it up. If I wake up tomorrow at 6:30 a.m. sharp and there's no cat in sight, I'll know the buttons were large enough.

Pimp My Bedroom

At night, there is no place I'd rather be than in my own bed, in my own bedroom (and this, coming from a girl who is also partial to the kitchen, given the proximity it affords to the bottomless bag of chocolate chips).  I would do more traveling if I could figure out how to transport myself home at night to sleep in my own bed.

As much as I love being in my bed, I don't much like the way my bedroom looks. TV sitcoms and dramas (after which I try to model my life) feature bedrooms that look uber-comfy no matter the socio-economic status or decorating savvy of the character residing in them.  There's always a bed lovingly covered with a handmade quilt, pillows of various sizes with just the right plushness factor and a bedside table with 1) an artfully framed family picture  2) a flower vase with a Calotropis Gigantea in full bloom and a drop of dew naturally splashed on top  3) two books and a magazine and 4) a tall carafe of water (with fresh slice of lemon).

It probably doesn't hurt that Jon Hamm might be installed in said bedroom.

Contrast this with the contents of my bedside table: 

• Three years worth of paper Explanation of Benefits from our health insurance company, including the one for my colonoscopy.  (Reminders of pleasant times help me sleep).
• Two books about child rearing without tears.  Clearly, I never got past the table of contents.
• A pyrex custard cup with the remnants of the mint chip frozen yogurt I shared with the cat last night.
• A button, a zip drive and a business card for a circus clown and contortionist.  Because, well, you never know.

Under my bed are enough dust bunnies to put on a community theater production of Watership Down, my Weight Watchers literature and my computer.  Last thing at night, I hang my head over the side of the bed, stretch out my arms and slide the computer underneath; I reverse the process first thing in the morning.

Below is a picture of my bedroom.  Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to PIMP MY BEDROOM.  (Yes, that IS a piece of amigurumi candy corn and a newel post on the bookcase).

Color it beautiful.  Transform it into a sanctuary.  Make it....like my life is a sitcom.

The Dreader the Better!

My blogger-friend Karla was feeling poorly the other day, so I recommended that she get herself one of these,  the Yes, You're Probably Dying , a hypochondriac's key to worst case scenarios wheel, to help diagnose her condition.  And now I'd like to share my secret find with all of my Body of Work fans (i.e., both of you and the IRS).

A couple of years back, my cousin gifted this to me and to all of our hypochondrical relatives and I must say this gift just keeps on giving (kind of like syphilis).  It's perfect for that special someone who has everything -- or at least thinks he/she has everything, including malaria, a goiter, feline leukemia or Rift Valley fever.  In my family, we're highly educated, having all earned our Web-M.D.s. (that is to say, we acquired all our health and medical knowledge on the internet.  Who needs to schlepp to Harvard Medical School?)  With regard to diseases, our family motto is "The dreader, the better!"

The wheel works as follows:  around the circumference are listed common symptoms like nasal congestion and chills.  Line up the red arrow with that symptom and the You're Probably Dying wheel gives you an instant diagnosis.  But wait, there's more!  It also tells you what type of specialist to see, what to obsess over AND an alternative and less dramatic explanation for your ills.  Here's an example.  Today I woke up with CHILLS.  The wheel told me:

Instant diagnosis:  I may have malaria!  (How fun is that?)
Doctor-type explanation of diagnosis:  Malaria is an infectious parasite-borne disease
Specialist to see:  Infectious disease
What to obsess about (as though I needed help on this one):  Flashbacks
But it's probably just:  Not layering enough.

How cool is that????

Given the wheel's sturdy cardboard construction, if you get tired of it, you could always use it as a back brace.  Or, stick it in your patient's mouth so she has something to bite down upon when you're performing a do-it-yourself, at-home amputation and you're plum out of whiskey to knock out your patient.

Doors and Windows - An Inspirational Post

They say that whenever a door closes, a window opens - or at least Julie Andrews did, in The Sound of Music.  (Or maybe it's the window that closes, and the door that opens).  In any case, in my house, NONE of the windows closes completely, thus our very high energy bills in the winter. 

At least that's what my very supportive friends told me when I lost my job last spring.  And, indeed, this year has been one of discovery and marvel and wonder.  I've tried a  number of new ventures (which I won't reveal here, lest you copy and do them better than me) and have gained self-assurance, confidence, and about five pounds.  A sabbatical, either forced or not, is supposed to be personally expanding, a time for reflection and taking the sorts of risks that one normally wouldn't in our mundane day to day existences.

I took a significant risk this afternoon, when, in preparation for company that's a comin' on Saturday night, I cleaned the downstairs powder room and threw into the washer a rug that I've heretofore only vacuumed.  I knew that there could be only two possible outcomes  1) the rug would come out clean  or   2)  the rug would fall apart completely, the little pieces would get stuck in the little metal holes that line the drum of the washer and I would need to explain to DH why we needed a new washer and a new throw rug in addition to the dishwasher, automatic garage door opener, oven and clock radio that are already malfunctioning.

But it was okay.

Here's an "after" picture of the rug.  Note how clean and cat hair-free it is. 

As Robert F. Kennedy said, "Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly."  As I stood here today with my laundry basket, I could swear he was speaking directly to me and my Tide Original formula, with Acti-Lift technology.

Death Squad by Credit Card

Given the frequency with which I use my credit card, it's kind of unbelievable that I haven't memorized my card numbers.  I can remember the lines from my third grade play ("I am Neptune, eighth planet from the sun.  I am third biggest in size, many times bigger than the earth.  I was discovered in 1846."), but not the series of numbers that represents one of the most important relationships in my life. 

This is not a problem when I use my card anywhere I merely need to swipe it, but when I order something online, like I did with today's Living Social deal ($10 for a $20 Amazon gift card), I blank on everything but the expiration date and security code.

I believe it's a plot by our current Socialist government to force me to get up from the comfortable bed or chair where I'm sprawled doing my important web surfing (Facebook, email, Facebook, email, Facebook) and find my purse, which contains my credit card.  Typically, my purse is on another level of our home.  (No, my purse is ALWAYS on another level).  So I run upstairs (or downstairs) to fetch it and inevitably get distracted by something else (cat hairballs, an interestingly-shaped dust bunny, or my own reflection in the mirror).  By the time I've returned to the level where I started, I realize that I've forgotten my purse and have to once again run upstairs (or downstairs) to seek out my purse.  Rinse and repeat.

So that's how I get my exercise.  Which is what the White House wants me to do to stay healthy under our upcoming government-run healthcare/death squad system. It's all good.  Especially if I can take care of my co-pays online with my credit card.

Blast from the past

I am taking a couple of courses at Rutgers and yesterday I went online to see what grades I earned last semester.

I also earned my undergraduate degree at Rutgers, back in the days when abacuses and slide rulers ruled (btw, "abaci" is also an accepted alternative form if you ever need to pluralize "abacus."  If, for example, you're planning on opening up a teacher supply store in ancient China).  In other words, very long ago.

What was interesting -- and unexpected -- is that in addition to my last semester grades, I found an accounting of all the grades for every class I ever took as a Douglass College undergraduate (Douglass was the woman's division of Rutgers -- now it is a "residential college.").  Grades for classes I have no recollection of ever taking (like Prep for Calculus. WTH?).  Classes I took more than 30 years ago.

Reviewing my classes and their associated grades was like finding some very old and tattered diaries and photo albums in the attic.  They summed up four years of work and interests that have very little to do with what I do today (although more to do with who I am today - I took lots of French and Spanish classes and still love speaking foreign languages).

I felt as though I were reading an ancient history text, with myself as the subject, a curiosity from the past.

Maybe the AARP is on to something after all.

Ode to the Times

Let me start off by saying that I love the Sunday New York Times.  But like many things that I love, our relationship entails certain obligations.  Like the obligation to at least pretend to read every single section every weekend.

This is mostly a problem when I'm away for the weekend and still have the whole pile to pick through on Sunday night or Monday morning.  By then, I'm usually done with my scholarly reading, looking forward to a week of perusing junk mail or Chinese take-out menus.

When I returned from this latest weekend away, DH asked me if I wanted to save the Times.  (Note that he asked me in a way whose undertone indicated that he'd like to clear the mess off the kitchen table and that I should move on to other things).  I surprised him by saying no, that I was bound to at least look at the Times because if I didn't I might miss something very important and no one would take me seriously anymore.

But I do triage The Times.  Here's how I do it.

Main section:  Keep and skim.  Because the obituaries are located at the end.  And I seriously hate it when someone says, "Did you hear that so and so died (famous actor, politician, Nobel Prize winner) and I have to say, "I thought he/she was already dead."
Travel:  Discard.  Because I never go anywhere where people are merry and gay and warm.  And right now that's okay by me.
Arts and Leisure:  Discard.  Because I never go out socially.  Which is NOT okay by me.
Book Review:  Keep, skim, and rip out reviews of interesting-sounding books that I will never read.
Real Estate:  A MUST READ.  Because one day I hope to "slip the surly bonds" of the suburbs.
Magazine: Keep.  Because I depend on the Ethicist to solve all my moral and ethical dilemmas.  Which seem to assault me around every corner.
Sunday Styles:  Skim.  Because sometimes there's some young and cool stuff in there (i.e., an anthropological study for someone like me).  But mostly I'm trying to wean myself away from the wedding announcements, which are rife with people who are better looking, richer, more accomplished and better educated than I am.  Did I mention that they are also much younger than me?

There's more, but I've got to get cracking.  The Sports section is burning a hole in my pocket.

Somehow they know...

...arrived home from Florida this afternoon to find a letter and membership card from AARP waiting for me in the mail.

Heh.

The Top 10 Reasons Why I Should Be the Jdeal Brand Ambassador for 2011!

10)   I'm a native New Yorker and know a schlemiel from a schlimazel, whitefish from tunafish and a "great" deal from just an "okay" deal.  (P.S. the schlemiel is the one who spills the soup on the schimazel's lap).

 9)   My bubbe can beat up your bubbe.  She learned this skill while fighting it out for the best bargains in the shtetl and, as we all know, traits like these are passed on genetically.  (Ask your son the geneticist/doctor to explain it to you).




Source:  Flickr Creative Commons, NIGC NLW

 
 8)  I never pay retail for anything.  I cut my teeth on garage and estate sales. I'm always on the lookout for the next great bargain and think you should be too!  It's Tradition!

 7)  It's cold.  Put on a sweater.  But don't pay retail for it.  I know a place....





Source:  Flickr Creative Commons, Library of Congress



 6) I just bought some Chanukah decorations - on sale at Lowes for 75% off!  At Lowes - who would have thought?  On January 12!  That's the kind of representation you need.

 5) I have a shanah punim and that punim is poised for her close-up as Jdeal's 2011 Brand Ambassador!  Here I am, on my way out to "troll" the city for the best deals for you!

Source:  Joan Oliver Emmer

 4)  I am married to my beshert and together we have two wonderful, marvelous menschen who are destined to be doctors and lawyers -- or wholesale executives (even better!). Here's a picture of us relaxing at home:





Source:  Joan Oliver Emmer



 3)  I call my mother in Florida every Thursday and Sunday (when the telephone rates go down).  She's all verklempt about potentially being the mother of an "Ambassador."  But she still doesn't quite get this "web thing."

 2) I have the New York accent to go with this New York based honor.  It's especially strong when I'm in the kitchen with my mother, aunts, sister and girl cousins, pulling every single last shred of chicken off the carcass.  Because why should it go to waste?

 

and the #1 reason why I should be Jdeal's Brand Ambassador for 2011:

  1) I will work tirelessly to let you know all about the best deals in the Jewish world (don't worry about me, I'll sleep when I'm dead).

Family Pictures

We were digging out of the latest foot of snow, the kids and I, and I realized that I don't take as many photos of them as I used to.

They are growing up.

Also, I am afraid that any pictures I take of them will be used in lieu of mugshots when they are on the lam.

Desperate times....

...call for desperate measures (I didn't make that up).

It is promising to be a long, cold winter. Our first mega-snow occurred on December 26, leaving two feet of the white stuff and at least four more months of freezes and melts, biting winds and chapped cheeks before we come out the other side. And tonight we're expecting another 6-12 inchesof snow.  This, for a girl whose ancestors schlepped through the (hot) desert and whose modern day Promised Land is south of Orlando (about four hours south, in a boat-like American made vehicle, with frequent stops for coffee, danish and arguments).

Last evening, I paged through the garden diary I kept last summer, especially enjoying the photos of sunflowers. But that only took about 10 seconds and I needed something to do to make it through the next 100 or so days.

So today I made "box art."

It's my own creation, an attempt to make an original, beautiful "object d'art" from the many boxes I've collected through the years.  This includes boxes that used to contain (faux) jewelry, Camenbert, and chocolate covered cherries.  Oh yeah, that's a pill bottle on top.  I have lots of those.

If you like it, I can make one for you too.  In the meantime, I'll be at the Home Depot, buying paperwhite narcissus - Martha Stewart's back-up suggestion.

It's Double Duty Blogging Day!

In which I bitch about electronics at NJ.com

Jesus in the Canned Goods Aisle

I was pushing my cart past the stewed tomatoes in the A&P this morning (remembering my mother's warning of 10+ years ago that I should always push my cart in the center of said aisle, lest a wayward can of soup fall onto my baby's head), when I heard the telltale "ba-ba!" of a text message arriving.  I grabbed my phone (morbidly afraid that it would be the school's alert system, announcing an early closing due to the 1" of snow we're experiencing this morning).  But it was a message of a kinder, different nature.  Here is an excerpt:

 The will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not protect you. Something good will happen to you today, something that you have been waiting to hear. Please do not break. Just 27 Words, "God our Father, walk through my house and take away all my worries and illnesses and please watch over and heal my family in Jesus name, Amen." This prayer is so powerful. Pass this to 12 people including me. A blessing is coming to you in the form of a new job (YES!), a house, health, marriage, or financially. Do not break or ask questions. This is a test. Does God come first in your life? If so, stop what you're doing and send it to 12 people now. Watch what He does.

All this in a 1 1/4 by 1" Samsung screen. From someone I don't know in Bloomfield, NJ (thank you Reverse Look-up).

So I thought about my day thus far, standing there amongst the Ragu and the Ronzoni, and realized that I had already been blessed.  I didn't have a single fight with Thing 2 as he got ready for school, I fit into a pair of pants that I had no business fitting into and I had had the time to watch a very entertaining episode of Millionnaire Matchmaker I had DVRed. 

And more blessings were yet to come!  I saved $33.06 on a $116.94 bill (nearly 30%).  I have dinner all planned for the next two nights (this is a bigger deal than you might think).  And this was even without forwarding on the prayer.

So, since I don't pray to Jesus and I'm not going to be using this prayer, I thought I would forward it on to those of you who can use it.  From text message to blog.  It's a techno-spiritual world out there.  Wishing you everything you wish for yourselves.

I'd Like to Thank the Academy...

...and Karla Telega, who blogs at Telega Tales and Tart Cookies.  She informed me today that I had won a contest she was sponsoring at her blog that I didn't even know that I had entered.  I won two dozen homemade cookies of my choice!  (For the record, I chose chocolate chip, because I've never met Karla- and I didn't know if she was up to making Pfeffernüsse - or if I could spell Pfeffernusse correctly).   

Karla is a very talented humor writer and writes one of the few blogs I read on a regular basis.  It is definitely worth a visit.

Thanks again, Karla Telega of Telega Tales and Tart Cookies!

Megamillions - Not

I've always been puzzled why the entire country goes into a frenzy when the Megamillions jackpot climbs up a high as it did last night - $380 million.

Is a prize of, oh, let's say, $125 million, not worthy of a drive to your local bodega or 7-11 for a chance to "be in it to win it?"

I never play the lottery.  On the rare occasions when I've let my mind wander to what I would do if I were to win a large jackpot, my hands get sweaty and I start to hyperventilate.  Because it's hard to imagine being any less productive than I am now, in my current state of Denial.  And I'd no longer have as an excuse for not buying my Things the stuff I don't want them to have, like diamond nose studs or miniature ponies, with my standard "we can't afford it."

The most excited I have ever been is the night that DH and I won a 50-50 raffle at a Hadassah event and came home with $80, a amount that effectively paid for the evening and the babysitter.  It doesn't take a lot to make me happy - not even a miniature pony.

I love technology

A few months ago, Chase was running a television commercial in which a young couple, still dressed in their wedding finery, bounced on their wedding bed while whispering to each other in come hither voices, "I've been waiting for this all day." 

What they had been waiting for, it turns out, was the chance to take photographs of the checks they had received on their big day, which, through the magic of technology, an app and an IPhone, would be instantaneously deposited to their Chase account.

No need to miss a minute of that Honeymooners marathon on tv by sprinting out to the bank.

I can understand their excitement (in a "been married 23 years, much older and fatter" kind of way).  My bank recently made it possible to deposit our checks at the ATM without so much as an envelope. I just slip the check(s) in a slot, the machine slurps them up and in a few seconds a scanned version appears on the screen, including the total deposited.  No more fumbling with an abacus or a slide ruler to figure out my deposit. 

I just love this technology.  I actually look forward to going to the bank.  I just wish I had more checks to deposit.  And I'm looking forward to the day when I figure out what an "app" is so I can do my banking directly from my bed.

A message from my sponsor - Kosher Advantage

I was approached by a company called Kosher Advantage that would like to offer a special deal to all readers of Body of Work - AND their friends!

Kosher Advantage is a program that promises to save you money if you spend at least $10 per week on kosher food at restaurants and butchers: up to 15% off at over 200 kosher markets, restaurants, and stores in the New York Metro area (and many other states and Canada - a list of participanting stores and restaurants is available at www.KosherAdvantage.com/participants). This includes fine establishments in Teaneck, Highland Park, Metuchen, Brooklyn, Elizabeth...and many more -- everywhere the kosher crowd likes to dine!


Membership costs just $3.99 per month and can be closed at any time. Upon joining Kosher Advantage, members will receive a membership card. They simply show the card, receive the discount, and then pay the balance of their bill.

But wait....there's more!

Readers of my blog will receive the first three months free when they join Kosher Advantage using promo code “joanbodyofwork.” You can also join by calling Kosher Advantage 646.479.7118.  (And yes, I DO get a kickback everytime someone joins....)

Here's a link to make it easy for you to explore the many advantages of Kosher Advantage:

Kosher Advantage

So essen, mein kinder, essen... you're looking a little skinny.  And don't forget to tell them that Joan from Body of Work sent you!

Who am I kidding?

There's no way I'm going to enter the Special K Challenge....

Beyond the Cashier

A few days before Christmas I went to hell Walmart to pick up a few essential items: cookies, tealights and toilet paper.  While I was there, I managed to fill up my cart with a ton of other items.  You know how it goes when you're prancing around the Devil's Playground with $5.28 burning a hole in your pocket.

Walmart is a stretch for a retail-challenged person like me on any day of the year, but a mere few days before Christmas, it's virtually big-box suicide.  Which is why I am finally getting the following puzzlement off my chest by sharing it with you.

What's with all that merchandise beyond the check-out aisles?

I'm talking about the shelves and shelves of merchandise piled high directly past the cashiers, items you don't see until after you've waited in line for half an hour, behind other "guests" who take their screaming quintuplets shopping, attempt to pay with five hundred dollar bills or Euros or pennies, or realize just as they reach the front of the line that they left their wallet behind.  In the bathroom.  In the back of the store.

Do the Walmart execs realistically believe that I'll grab an item at the front of the store, turn back and do it all again?

Fie on you, Walmart.  I'll just have to do without a Santa Claus Chia Pet for another year.