Blonde Moment...Senior Moment. What’s the Difference?

So what is the difference between a blonde moment and a senior moment? It sounds like the beginning of a joke - right? But, really. What IS the difference?

I find it hard to tell.

The other day, for example, I had one or the other of the two. I’m just not sure which.

I went to Marc’s to buy some important stuff. Like contact solution. And toilet paper. And yams.

I needed a bag of ice, too, but I decided against purchasing it as I had several additional stops to make and given that the outside temperature reached 65 degrees Fahrenheit, I didn’t want to pay $1.29 for a big bag of lukewarm water.

None of the items in my cart required refrigeration, which turned out to be a good thing. Because as I was standing in the checkout line, I opened my purse to pull out my trusty Visa card only to discover I’d left my wallet at home.

Egad! How could I have done such a thing? I chided myself and mentally slapped my forehead.

I thought well, this sure is a blonde moment, Jane Marie!

When I talk to myself, I call myself “Jane Marie.” And, strangely enough, I hear my mother’s voice in my head as I’m saying it.

But then, my very next thought was, Oh no! What if I’ve moved beyond the blonde moment and it’s now a senior moment?

Sheesh.

Like it really matters. Either way it was a boneheaded move on my part.

Fortunately, I was still third in line and I hadn’t yet placed all nineteen items on the conveyor belt, so I didn’t have to sheepishly load all nineteen items back in my cart and slink away toward the door.

Instead, I headed toward the Customer Service desk and asked them to hold my cart while I went home and fetched my wallet. Which they did, although the manager told me later that while she was assisting other customers, her overzealous assistant tried to wheel the cart away to put the items back on the shelf. Perhaps they were running low on yams or something, I don’t know.

Anyway, that was my first face palm and eye roll of the day.

The second one occurred while I was visiting my mother.  

When my dad was alive, he bought my mom’s wine in the handy-dandy gallon jug size and then transferred the vat of wine into smaller, more easily handle-able bottles.

As you can surmise, my mother is not now, nor has she ever been much of a wine connoisseur. Her only two stipulations are that the wine has to be sweet and the glass has to be full.

She has only a small fridge in her room, so a normal size bottle won’t fit. So I’ve been using a funnel and filling empty water bottles from the gallon jug.

This alone is fairly entertaining to watch as I attempt to heft the heavy glass jug and aim for the small spout without spilling wine all over me, the sink, the floor and the dog.

But I had successfully filled several water bottles with wine and marked them “MOM’S WINE!” in Sharpie lest some helpful aide at the memory care unit try to give mom some hydration and instead render her loopy.

So I arrived at my mom’s room and filled her fridge with her latest wine stash and ask her if she’d like a glass. I don’t know why I ask because Mom never says no. I guess it’s just polite to ask.

Anyway, I pull one of the bottles out of the fridge and carry it over to the table beside her chair along with her acrylic wine glass.

Hey, I figure if she’s okay drinking wine that comes in a gallon jug, she isn’t going to be any too fussy about what she drinks the wine from. Besides, plastic is way safer than glass in a 93-year-old’s hands.

So I filled her glass and handed it to her and then filled my 30 ounce Yeti tumbler with my bottle of water. I added my Arbonne pomegranate energy Fizz stick in the glass and stirred. 

All the while I'm chattering on about my day to keep mom entertained and calm so she doesn't dwell on her condition.

But then I took a drink.

It was at that moment, I realized my second blonde/senior moment of the day.  Because when I looked at mom’s glass, the liquid in it was clear.

And I was drinking pomegranate-flavored White Zinfandel.

Ugh. You should know that pomegranate and white zin is NOT a good combination.

But what was so funny to me is that I looked at mom after she had taken a drink out of her glass – and the look on her face was the exact same squinchy look as on mine. 

(If you don't know what a squinchy face is, read here.)

But anyway, Mom is NOT a big fan of plain ol’ H2O. Yet I didn’t think plain water warranted the same look of disgust that pomegranate flavored White Zin did.

But we had a good laugh for a minute while I cleaned up my goof. Mom had her wine and I had my fizzy flavored water sans wine. And life was good again.

But knowing the difference between a blonde and a senior moment still has me befuddled.

Maybe they’re the same thing and it doesn’t matter. Either way they both deserve an eye roll and a face palm.

Kale Salad = The Jane’s Domain Squinchy Face

I’m working from home today, so I decided to eat a salad for lunch. Since the Salad Fairy is off on Mondays, it was up to me to prepare my greens.

Oh, who am I kidding? The Salad Fairy is a myth. There is no Salad Fairy, I’m afraid. Around here, I’m the only one who wields the salad spinner and chops the lettuce.

Anyway, I wasn’t in the mood to either wield or chop, so I went with Plan B, which was the already prepared Salad Kit in A Bag.

Only problem was, this particular kit (from Costco, by the way), is a kale salad.

Blechh.

I’m sorry – I know kale is supposed to be good for me, but whenever I eat it, I feel like I’m munching on the dead grass outside in our yard. Except I’m guessing that the dead grass outside in our yard is a little more tender has a touch more flavor.

Ordinarily I love salads. I cut up lots of veggies and use dark, leafy greens. My salads are pretty tasty -– just ask Vince. And they are legendary – just ask me!

But, noooo. I had to go with Plan B.

Now Costco ingeniously provides some sort of poppyseed dressing to go with the kale salad because they know that otherwise, ain’t nobody nowhere buying that bag o’ cud. Problem is, it’s a big bag of salad and there are only two packets of dressing. By the time you’ve thrown a couple handfuls of kale in a bowl and topped it with (okay, drenched it in) dressing, you’re out of dressing.

And today, I sent Vince to work with a bowl of cud, er, kale plus the other packet of poppyseed dressing to “enjoy” for lunch. 

So my dressing choices were either (a) a light balsamic vinaigrette or (b) a delicious Hartville Kitchen Sweet and Sour dressing with about a bajillion calories per teaspoon. 

And, yes, while the balsamic would have been a better choice as far as fat and calories go, I knew that the little bit of flavor it would provide would not be enough to mask the taste of the kale.

So here, too, I went with Plan B. (If you have not tried Hartville Kitchen Sweet and Sour dressing, you should. It’s decadent, albeit hard to find as it’s made near my hometown of Alliance - in a tiny town called Hartville. Hence the name on the jar.)

Usually I try to be judicious when using this Hartville dressing as it’s thick and pretty flavorful, so you don’t need much. But remember, we’re talkin’ kale here. So I did the drenching thing.

But it didn’t help!

Once I started eating the salad, I wondered where all the dressing went. Kale apparently has magical absorption properties as the salad was still dry and bitter.

Weird.

So after about an hour of eating – and making my squinchy face (which is now leaving permanent lines so I should stop making it), I finally admitted defeat and I put down my fork.

As you can see from the photo here, I didn’t make much headway.

Fortunately, kale salad is also very filling and I’m no longer hungry enough to seek out something tastier. This is a good thing.

Because I think there is a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints in the pantry.

I better not investigate.

And tomorrow? Well, if I have a hankering for a salad, I’m going to have to wield and chop. Either that or hire a Salad Fairy. 

(Oh, and PS, you should totally click on the Squinchy Face" link above - it was a blog I wrote in 2011. It was funny. Guess I was funnier in 2011.)

The Squinchy Face

Before leaving for work this morning I cleaned kitty litter for the five millionth time. Which is sort of amazing since we’ve only had these kittens for 48 days (and 10 hours and 34 minutes). Those little buggers use the litter box a LOT.

Nevertheless, it occurred to me that there are a great many chores I do at home that cannot be completed without squinching up my face in a grimace that could easily frighten small children or timid adults.

As if making that face will help the chore become more palatable.

Still, time after time I find myself making that face. Sometimes I even catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror after I have scrubbed the toilet or pulled long strands of my own hair out of the hair catcher in the tub drain and I have to laugh. Remember when your mom told you your face would freeze that way? I’m thinkin’ that maybe mom was right.

Perhaps I’m a little squeamish about things. Yeah, okay, so there is no “perhaps” about it. I AM squeamish about things. Most things.

Like squishing a bug. If ever I am home alone and am forced to handle a bug all by myself, I will pull a wad of paper towels off the roll big enough to squash an armadillo without feeling the thing underneath the paper. Because if I can even remotely feel the bug squish, I screech and jump away as if the now-dead bug has somehow developed magical powers and can fling its gory bug guts at me.

Then I do a full-body shudder and flap my hands around for a minute and make that really bad face. And then, glutton for punishment sort of person that I am, I walk back to the wad of paper towels and scoop the whole mess up and run to the big garbage can in the garage to throw it away. And then I slam the garbage lid down for extra emphasis: Take THAT, you nasty ol’ bug!

Don’t tell Vince, but I think that’s the primary reason I married him. I was tired of squishing bugs on my own. No, I kid. I really married Vince because he’s good at opening jars and is also willing to check the fluid levels in my car.

No, really. I’m just being silly. I married for love – and only love. Besides, I long ago figured out how to open jars, which is basically by never purchasing anything in jars that has to be opened.

Anyway, I’ve decided that it’s a good thing I have a normal job in a normal office where the only reason I have to make a grimacing squinchy face is when the UPS guy takes a potty break and doesn’t use courtesy spray afterwards. Mostly I stay in my office when the UPS guy is around, but sometimes I forget and walk by the bathroom and then not only make the squinchy face, but sometimes am forced to hold my nose while inadvertent tears stream down my face.

Hey, what can I tell you? It’s bad.

Can you imagine if I had one of those weird jobs where I had to be a sniffer tester? Like at a factory that manufactures men's deodorant, for example? No, I don’t think I could handle that job. They’d have to pay me big bucks – and we’re talking well beyond minimum wage for that sort of job!

I’d take a whiff and then I’d do a full body shudder, flap my hands around and grab a wad of paper towels and jam it up in the guy’s armpit. And then I’d quit.

So, no, it’s a good thing I’m not a sniffer tester.

Nor do I think I could be a taste tester. I used to work at a company that manufactures nutritional-type products, and I once volunteered to be a taste tester. For baby formula. Let’s just say that I could not be objective. Yuck. Frankly, I don’t remember being a baby and drinking out of a bottle, but I’m guessing that I probably made that squinchy face back then, too.

Maybe I should practice making a serene face so that the squinchy face lines, which are already threatening to become permanent, do not have a chance to set any further. I have a whole list of chores I could perform to test myself. Like cleaning the vent at the bottom of the fridge that collects all sorts of nasty furry-type debris. Or scrubbing the grout in the bathtub. Or even cleaning kitty litter for the five million and first time.

But I simply can’t make any promises when it comes to the UPS guy. Some things are just squinchy-face-worthy. And, believe me, that’d be one of ‘em.