The Midnight Diaries of Catty Wampus

It’s been too long since Uncle Eric dropped on by to spread some wisdom around. But I was thinking about something recently, something that has helped me through times of struggle and I thought it would be good to share. It’s three simple words to help you achieve your goals:

Are You Serious?

Imagine this scenario:

You decided to lose some weight. You’ve recognized that you eat more than you should, and you could cut back on a lot of junk food. Now, even if you stop bringing bags of Doritos and Chips Ahoy into your home, junk food is still likely to find its way around you. Someone at the office will bring in Snickers bars for everyone, or it will be dinner time and it’s so much easier to pop a couple of Hot Pockets in the microwave than to actually cook a meal.

This is the perfect opportunity for you to ask yourself “Are you serious?”

Which is to say “You said you were going to cut junk food out of your life. Are you serious about that decision or not?”

Now you’re faced with answering the question in one of two ways:

1) Yes, I am serious. I don’t want junk food.

or

2) No, I guess I’m not serious. Give me that Snickers bar.

Now, I know… this is basically guilting yourself into doing the right thing. But it works, and I promise it feels so good to realize you have the willpower to say “Yes, I am serious!”

This works with everything:

“Bedsheets are bedsheets,” I used to think. I’d just get to the department store, find whatever was on sale or cheap enough, and buy the right size for my bed. Bing, bang, boom, and I was out of the store.

But just recently, I received a one-day 25% OFF card from Macy’s, so I decided to treat myself and splurge for some fancier-looking sheets. I figured they’d feel just the same, but it would be nice to get a good color to match the rest of my room, instead of the beige I had been using for three years now.

I settled on a 400 thread-count, deep burgundy sheet set, along with pillowcases. They were a little more expensive than I was hoping to spend–but since it was only slightly out of my budget I figured it would be okay. “You’re worth it!” I told myself.

I got home and washed the sheets (cold wash, gentle dry) and made up my bed just before retiring for the evening.

Oh. My. Goodness.

Let. Me. Tell. You. !

I had never felt sheets this soft and luxurious! I could tell the moment that I slipped under the covers that I would have a wonderful night’s sleep, and I absolutely did. It was like being softly caressed all night long by light and airy fingers. I’m so not even kidding.

“Bedsheets are bedsheets,” I used to think. That was when I had my cream/beige 200 thread-count things of the past. Thread counts make the difference, and what a difference!

If you have a little cash burning a hole in your pocket, or you’re in the market for some new bedsheets, I would absolutely recommend getting the highest thread count you can afford. After all, you’ll be sleeping on them for years to come, and you owe it to yourself to get a good night’s sleep as often as you can.

(and if you’re curious, you can see the sheets that I bought here–the color they list is “Berry,” but I swear that it looks like burgundy to me)

I just wanted to report that I saw some awesome kids today. I love watching and talking to little kids.

I probably wouldn’t want kids of my very own right now–I just like them when they’re being cute, and actually having kids requires you to be around when they’re less than cute well.

Among the kids I saw today were:

* Two sisters, probalby both around 5 or 6 years old, who had been downtown with their parents and obviously stopped at a face-painter. One had blue balloons on her cheek, and the other had kitty cats. The kitty cat girl was also missing her top four front teeth, which made her all the cuter.

* A brother and sister at a house I stopped at to drop something off. The sister, naked as a jaybird, was probably 4 or 5 years old and announced to me “I’m Phoenix’s sister.” I didn’t really understand what she was saying because a) she spoke with the dulcetly slurring diction of a 5 year old, and b) I wasn’t really expecting such a complicated word like “Phoenix” from such a young child. But I recognized the word “sister,” so I asked her to repeat herself… She told me again that she was Phoenix’s sister, and her mother identified the young boy in the room (maybe 7 years old, wearing a hockey jersey and jeans) as Phoenix. They were both utterly fascinated that I had come to their house on a bicycle and was holding my bike helmet under my arm. They told me that they had bikes, too, and liked riding them around–Phoenix can even ride his without training wheels! He was very proud. I only stayed for 3 or 4 minutes, but by the end of my visit we were all fast friends. I left and received a hearty “Goodbye! It was nice to meet you!” from both of them. Adorable.

* On my way back on, riding the train, I saw a father and daugher (aged about 32 and 8, respectively) playing Hot Hands. They were having the time of their lives–I don’t remember the last time I saw two people laughing and having that much fun.

Side notes:

I remember having a conversation with someone once about whether or not Hot Hands was a universal sport. It seemed that maybe some places around this country don’t play the game at all–whether they call it Hot Hands or not. Or maybe it was just a difference in the name of the game. How many people reading this know what game I’m talking about?

Finally, thinking of Phoenix’s sister, from whom it was awesome to see so little shame or self-consciousness about her own nudity, her mother eventually told me the young girl’s name was Mya. But it makes me wonder about a person’s sense of individuality, or self, or something. She introduced herself (without me asking “Who are you,” keep in mind) as “Phoenix’s sister.” Nevermind that no one had told me who Phoenix was–perhaps she just assumes that anyone who comes into their house already knows who Phoenix is? I wonder if she just sees herself that way, or perhaps she hasn’t really claimed her own name yet, or anything along those lines. I once read a book that discussed childhood development, and there was a section that talked about an area of development all kids go through where they don’t really grasp the meaning of “me” and “you.” Think about it–if you try to explain to a child what “you” means, how do you do it so that it’s not confusing? If you point at them and say “you” they might think that “you” will always be themselves, even when they’re referring to themselves. Same problem with “me.” And the same problem if you try to explain it differently. I can’t remember how, when, or why kids eventually get the idea of who “you” are and who “me” is (is?) (am?), but we all get it eventually.

Anyway. I really dig hanging out with kids for short spans of time.

I’ve never had super bushy eyebrows. But I did have some stray hairs that seemed two or three times as long as the rest of my eyebrow hairs. They’d stick up, or hang down every now and then, and sometimes I’d think about just getting rid of them.

So I got out my electric clippers, intending to level all my eyebrow hairs to the same length.

But I wasn’t thinking very carefully about the depth setting on them. I also wasn’t entirely careful about being even and consistent.

I sure hope eyebrows grow back.

The lesson here is: You should really think about what you’re going to do to anything on your face before you decide to do something to anything on your face.

The difficult thing about buying vegetables fresh is that you only have a short window in which to cook with them.

I had some zucchini that after a few days had turned, literally, to mush. (they were in a plastic bag, so clean-up wasn’t too bad.

I also didn’t know that onions could continue growing long after they had been picked, bought, and brought home. But it’s true! Someone told me that they contain their own water and nutrients. So if you let them go too long, they’ll begin to sprout, at which point they’re not really edible anymore.

Many grocery stores sell tuna fish by placing the cans in a basket for you to dig your hands in and take it off the shelf.

They tend not to separate the “Tuna Fish in Water” from the “Tuna Fish in Oil.”

If you prefer water instead of oil, you might want to read the labels carefully before you carry home 8 cans of Tuna Fish in Oil that you didn’t really want to buy.