Ack! My Eyes!

*First, let me make this clear: This blog entry is not intended for those who wear leggings responsibly. The comments in this blog are directed, instead, toward a select group of legging wearers who insist on wearing leggings several sizes too small, and who also choose not to wear longer tops with the leggings.

I know I'm starting a firestorm here, and easily offended fashionistas will rant they can wear whatever they want, and that no one has to look at them if others don't like their clothing choices, but, dang it! Sometimes it's extremely difficult not to notice certain sights.

With that being said, do you really think you look good wearing leggings that wrap around and mold each individual butt cheek like Saran wrap? Do you have a need to wear leggings so tight that the seam amazingly disappears up into the unknown darkness of your butt crack, where no sunlight shines?  Those leggings are too small.

What stops you from wearing the tunics, adorable little dresses, or longer tops and sweaters that were designed to go with the leggings? (You do realize these are not pants, Gals; they're leggings. There's a difference.) 

Do you not realize leg, tummy, and butt fat jiggles when you wear skin-tight leggings, drawing everyone's eyes to the shaking motion?  Do you not know the bold, highly unusual, and extremely colorful and bright designs printed on some of these leggings will draw anyone's eyes ... even in dim lighting? 

Not every fashion trend is right for every person, just like not everyone looks good in the same colors. Some people really should not wear leggings, just like some people do not look good in turtle necks or look their best in midi-length skirts. Individualize. When your leggings look like you're naked and you're only sporting tattoos, I can't help but notice. Recently, when an older woman seated next to me at work, whispered, "Look!  That girl has matching tattoos on her legs," I whispered back, "No, those are leggings."  Yeah, anybody with eyes will notice, and their eyes will burn like wildfires afterwards from the sight emblazoned in their memory.
  

Yes, I know people feel they can wear whatever they want, but that is only within reason.  You don't have the right to submit others to your boobs or butt or private parts unless you are at a naked beach or nudist camp.  When your rear seam disappears somewhere up inside your nether regions, however, it can't be comfortable to wear those too small leggings, and I have to wonder if you've looked in the mirror at your backside. It's not the best look.

Save the floozy, painted-on look for home or the bedroom. I don't want to see your camel toe.  Even pajama pants in public would be a better choice.

Please save my eyes, and the rest of the world's; dress appropriately in public. It's said that if you want to attract a man, it's what he can't see, and can only imagine, that drives him crazy.  Extremely tight leggings with short tops leave little to the imagination -- the leggings are just a different color than your skin ... most of the time.

To Facebook Noodleheads:

And, for Pete's Sake, stop telling me to copy and paste. If I want to copy and paste something, I will ... without you telling me to do so!!!

(You know you can just copy or re-type part of the post you like without telling everyone they need to copy and paste, right?!)

I beg you to please stop your annoying, juvenile, anal copy-and-paste behavior before I lose total control, show up wherever you are, and shake you until you come to your senses!!! I don't want to end up locked in the Crazy House. If you can't refrain, then please just delete me -- I can't take anymore.

The Case of the Mysterious Beeping

As most of you who know me realize, there's always some craziness in my life -- I like to think it's just because I am an exciting person :).

 For the last three months, however, my computer has been beeping at precisely 1:09 A.M. and 3:09 A.M. every night. It beeps 14 times each time and then stops. No one seems to know why these mysterious noises occur.  I have been having trouble with Time-Warner's e-mail, so I thought initially it was a problem on their end, but lately I'm afraid some hacker, or possibly an alien, has decided to use my computer for unexplained purposes.

The weirdest thing in this nightly beeping saga occurred, however, while I vacationed in Vermont at the beginning of September. Even when I turned my cell phone off  in the hotel room at night, unexplainable beeping occurred at 1:09 and 3:09 A.M. each night to wake my cranky sister and me up.  Was my cell phone talking to my computer back in Ohio?

Saturday, Matt, my son, finally came down from Columbus to see if I had lost my marbles, or I, indeed, heard beeping in the middle of the night.  He decided to sleep on the living room couch so he could be on the scene to check my computer in the middle of the night. He set his alarm so he could get up at 1 and 3 and be ready at the computer to find whatever was causing such chaos in my life.

I fell asleep in one of the recliners so I could help if needed.  When the computer began its usual beeping, I saw him looking at the monitor and clicking on a couple of things, before swinging around in the computer chair. He picked up an object off the table, tilted the object toward his ear, and asked, "What's this?"

Surprisingly, I could see in the dim light he held my blood sugar monitor which I keep beside the computer. It took a moment for my sleep-riddled brain to think.  It couldn't be the battery as the low battery light would display. There are alarms on a blood sugar meter? Who knew. Not me.
   

Matt sighed.  I sighed.  It all made sense.  My computer didn't beep; my blood sugar meter in the sack beside the computer did.  My phone didn't beep in the hotel room; it was the meter in my purse beside the phone.  Somehow I must have bumped the buttons on the meter in a certain sequence to set two different alarms on the meter?

Matt googled how to turn off the alarms so all the crazy, pre-dawn commotion would cease.  Back to sleep for both of us. Dreams of Donald's Donuts were in the air.  Case of the Mysterious Computer Beeping solved.

Mail, Mail, Who's Got Mail?

I don't get too excited about my mail, and I admit, some days I don't go out to the mailbox. It's not like people are sending me money in the mail or hot love letters; it's usually just bills and junk mail. Sometimes, the weather is really bad, the mail lady hasn't been there yet, I have a zillion things to do with bigger priorities, or I am in a hurry.

Evidently, according to my sister's and mother's reactions, the world may end if folks do not get their mail out of their mailbox each and every day without fail. They have both taken me to task and berated me about my lackadaisical approach toward daily mail retrieval. According to them, "bad things" could happen to those who do not check their mailbox daily.  Did you know mailbox doors can magically open and blow important mail all over the neighborhood, never to be found again?  Did you know a life-changing letter that needs immediate attention could be in a day's mail delivery?  Did you know rain can penetrate the cracks around the mailbox door and destroy mail with dampness?
  

I think there must be something wrong with me as I do not share their sentiments. As long as there's room for the mail lady to poke new bills in the box if I don't make it out there, it's okay. I haven't noticed any lightning bolts hitting the ground around me or the sky falling, so I'm not worried. If only I could train my cat to get my mail for me.

Lost (A Trip Inside Hollywood Casino)

Last week I drove to Hollywood Casino with friends (who shall remain nameless unless they divulge their identities!) for an afternoon of entertainment. While some friends headed to the steak and shrimp eatery, Friend A and I decided to hit up the legendary buffet.

I loaded some lovely pierogies, shrimp cocktail, and hand-carved ham on one plate, piled a second plate with salad, and headed for our table.  I couldn't see my friend. She's tall, but I didn't see her sitting at any of the tables; she must have still been at the buffet. I looked for our table. No luck.  I didn't remember exactly where it was. Therefore, I began wandering aimlessly, winding in and out among the tables with a plate in each hand. No friend appeared. No one yelled, "Hey, Sterling, over here."

People started giving me strange glances as I continued to walk around in a daze. Unsure of what to do, I rationalized I should look at people seated at the tables to see if anyone looked familiar. They all looked familiar (probably since I had been wandering for an extended period). My hands held two plates so fishing for my cell phone would be an adventure, and her hearing a phone ring in such a large, noisy place would probably not happen.

Finally, I saw a table with the receipt on it. The waitress still hadn't brought the drinks, but I knew when we arrived, the buffet was hopping. So I sat at the empty table and started to eat my salad. I noticed the corner of the receipt ended in .28 and I remembered fishing for 8 cents, but then I don't do numbers well. Maybe in the excitement of arriving at the casino and paying for lunch, I had forgotten the amount. Halfway through my salad, a nice-looking man appeared out of nowhere at my table.

"You're sitting at my table," he said with a smile. "But you're welcome to stay and eat with me."

Shocked, I started gathering up my napkin, plates, and silverware. "No, no. I'm lost. I'm sorry. I thought this was my table. I'm with a friend, but I'm lost," I babbled.

"Your friend is welcome to join us, too."

"No, no, but thank you," I smiled and hopped up out of the wrong seat to wander again with plates and now tableware in hand.

Still no friend. I didn't see her anywhere.  I didn't know what to do. I continued my aimless wandering. Eventually, I spied the hostess who had seated us and asked her for help. She plied me with questions in her broken English, finally comprehending my dilemma. "You have table or booth?"

"I don't know," I responded. "I'm lost."  I shook my head, trying to clear the confusion.  " I think it was a table. Back there.  I'm with a friend," I added again, "but I don't see her anywhere."

The hostess nodded, and then walked around for a moment, before beckoning me to follow her to the front section of the buffet seating. There was Friend A, sitting in a semi-circular booth with a tall back. She looked up at us in askance.

As I slid into my seat, I explained what had happened. She started laughing. She knew me well.  Finally between gales of laughter, she asked, "Was he good-looking?"

"Yes, and nice, too," I answered.

"That's a new way to pick up men," and she started laughing again.

Okay. I might be a little ditzy at times, but everything turned out well.  I had a short conversation with a pleasant man, the food was excellent, including the creme brulee for dessert, I enjoyed lunching with my friend, and I was "unlost, so I could head out and hopefully find my favorite big fish slot machine.  :)

Cicada Chronicles

June 5

Last week in the hospital parking lot, a cicada landed on one of the public safety officer's neck, and flew down inside his clothes. If that would have happened to me, everyone would have heard me screaming from the parking lot to the inside of the ER.

The last several days I've noticed numerous cicadas flying through the air as I've been driving into town. Hence, I decided to keep my car windows up and use the AC instead so the cicadas don't get me. I know if one would fly inside the car, not only would I be screaming, but I would probably wreck trying to get the car pulled over to get the cicada out.

This afternoon while headed into work, a cicada crashed into my car (with the windows rolled up, of course). He died, and I'm glad. That's one less cicada to fly inside someone's clothes.

(I sound mean and blood-thirsty, don't I?) Be gone, Cicadas!

*****

June 10

Cicada Update: Yes, two days ago another cicada hit my car and died. Today, as I was driving into work, it happened again.

This time after the demise of the third cicada, however, another one flew over the hood of my car in front of Timmy Horton's on Maple, and stared intently through the windshield at me.

As I approached the hospital turn lane, yet another cicada flew slowly over the hood, staring through the windshield glass, Before flying on, he snarled, "We know where you work."

I began to shake by the time I parked my car, so I hoofed it quickly toward the hospital. I could hear all the cicada cousins and relatives sounding warnings from the nearby trees.

I didn't even head to the main entrance where I normally go in. Instead, I sprinted into the first door I came upon to get inside to safety. I know the cicadas are lurking....just waiting for me....ack!

*****

June 11

Update to Cicada Update:

Two individuals came into the Front Desk today with cicadas clinging to the back of their necks/shoulders. One man walked back outside to free himself of his, but a lady picked up another man's cicada by the wings. The cicada emitted alien screams and screeches as she carried him out.

I stood, and backed up as far as I could. I did not know cicadas could scream. It was amazing, and freaky, at the same time.

My imagination kicked up a notch, and like a scene from a bad horror movie, I wondered if the cicadas were really after me, or worse -- were they trying to turn us all into alien cicada zombies with red eyes glowing?

*****

June 13

As I sat in the cafeteria to eat some supper Monday evening, I watched the baby ducks, almost grown now, in the courtyard. Without warning, a cicada swooped down into the grassy area, and immediately five of the ducklings who had been keeping cool in the shade of a nearby bush with the other babies and their mother, bolted in a mad rush after it. Duckling #1 reached the cicada first and gulped it speedily down before his siblings could even shake their tails. I laughed out loud.

*****
June 20


-- from The Zanesville Times Recorder
 One Transported after Rollover Crash

ZANESVILLE - One person was taken to Genesis Hospital with minor injuries after a vehicle struck a utility pole around 1:30 p.m. Monday and rolled down an embankment on Linden Avenue.
Ohio State Highway Patrol Trooper Rich Lanning said the driver blamed the crash on a cicada flying into his open window and hitting his face. The driver was pinned in his vehicle for about 10 minutes. One lane on Linden Avenue near Military Road was closed for about three hours to repair the utility pole.
The Falls Township Fire Department, patrol and Muskingum County Sheriff's Office responded to the scene.

-----------

 And you all thought I was cuckoo! I knew what would happen if I rolled down my windows! That poor man...and his vehicle.  Don't mess with cicadas!

*****

Cicada Finale -- late June

As the cicada commotion finally began to wane, I thought I had escaped the attacks and mass destruction of the evil invaders. I, therefore, decided to stop at Heavenly Ham on a Tuesday night to pick up some supper before heading to the weekly meeting of the Y-City Writers. I planned to eat in my vehicle with the windows up and the AC running while relaxing at Zane's Landing Park just to be safe since some of the cicadas were still around.

When I pulled into the Heavenly Ham parking lot, I noticed I was the only vehicle in the Heavenly Ham parking lot, which meant I could park right in front of the door for once. Hopping out of the car, I quickly entered the eatery, and bellied up to the counter. The pleasant young lady smiled.

"I'd like a box lunch, please."

At this juncture, I noticed out of the corner of my laser-repaired eyeball, a foreign, dark shape on the left shoulder of my shirt. Alarmed, I slowly turned to my right as not to disturb whatever was there. Merde! A cicada had landed next to my neck.

I did what anyone would do. I attempted to shake my shirt, but unlike other insects who would have flown off, the cicada refused to move a micro-millimeter. He simply stared at me without blinking his red eyes. I'm sure he was looking for my jugular vein. The young woman at the counter smiled again, and said, "Oh, I think cicadas are quite unusual. I find them interesting. Don't you?"

I slowly leaned over the counter, without moving my neck, and through clenched teeth, I responded, "Get if off. Get it off me now. Just get it off."

The young lass calmly walked around the counter and picked it up off my collar, before disposing of it outside. I'm sure she didn't smash its guts in like I would have. At least, this zombie cicada didn't scream in its alien voice, or I would have been a pile on the floor.

I thanked the young lady profusely. She saved my life.

Teenage Mutant Toads

A vicious intruder lurked outside my basement door in the garage as I opened it Saturday afternoon.  His beady eyes stared unflinchingly into mine as I yelped in surprise and jumped back. 

“Get out of the road, Toad!” I barked as I peeked around the corner of the basement door.  Jump, one of the three ugly, behemoth toads who has taken up residence in my garage this summer, didn’t move so much as a micromillimeter from the welcome mat on the garage floor. (He was not welcome.)  As adrenaline began pumping through my system, I glanced quickly around  to make sure Hop and Skip had not taken up attack positions nearby.  I did not see them, and Jump refused to budge.

I needed to get to my parked car, but there was little room to maneuver.  I could take only one step forward and then I might be able to squeeze by him on either side.  I tried to scare Jump by bravely taking a step closer before moving back again.  He didn’t even blink his warty eyes. I stomped my foot on the floor.  I had no idea which way he would hop so I kept my distance.  Again, there was no movement.  I stomped even harder.  He didn’t care.    It was an official stand-off.

I knew if he hopped on my foot, I would be Jump’s dinner.  Despite my involuntary screaming, if the toad moved, he would continue his assault, proceeding up my leg and torso, before plunging his toady teeth and flickering fang into my jugular vein, causing instantaneous death for me.

I contemplated heading out the front door to circle the house and open the garage door to access my car to avoid the confrontation, but I also knew Hop and Skip liked to chill in front of the garage doors while waiting for crickets to invade their lair.  I decided to sprint past Jump as one attacker would certainly be better than two.

I, therefore, bolted out the basement door into the garage, shouting, “Stay away!”  Jump never jumped.  He stayed his ground.  I zipped past him faster than a bee can sting, and raced to open the garage doors for my get-away.  I intended to get out of Dodge…I mean, the garage…as fast as I could.

Why Hop, Skip, and Jump live in my garage escapes me.  I would think they’d like the pond up over the hill much better.  Armed with a rake, I’ve bravely tried to rake the toads outside, but they just turn around the corner of the rake, and hop back inside the garage.  I admit I inadvertently backed over a fourth toad with the car earlier in the summer, so I would think they’d consider the garage dangerous. 

Why can’t Blackie, my Black Snake who also lives in the garage, eat them?  Blackie and I have a deal – I don’t see you, and you can eat all the field mice and icky things you want.  I would think, then, Blackie could eat the toads, too, but he hasn’t.  Are they too big for him to eat?  Are they poisonous?  Does Blackie like lean, mice meat better?  Or….*gulp*….is Blackie dead?  Did the giant toads kill him in a garage take-over?

Some folks may think I’m certifiably quackers, but let me say in my defense, most of us are afraid of something.  Fears are not always logical.  Some people are afraid of the dark, snakes, heights, clowns, or storms.  I’m afraid of things that hop, like grasshoppers, rabbits, raptors, and giant, ugly toads.  If they would hold still, I’d be fine, but that unpredictable hopping freaks me out, and I invariably scream.

Do toads croak when cold weather arrives?  If Hop, Skip, and Jump migrated south for the winter and never made it back to my southeastern Ohio garage, I’d be singing, “So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu,… to you, and you, and you…,” and that would leave me with just the car-eating groundhogs around here.  Go South, Toads!