PB&J - You had me at PB

I remember eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as a kid. Anyone who doesn't, missed out, and I'm sorry. I don't recall ever being tired of these simple lunches, and I'm sure my parents were grateful as we survived on a very limited budget.

Now that I'm an adult, this is how I'm spending my lunch break:

Yep, a PB&J sandwich (and Cheetos, of course). When I first moved out on my own, there was one day I packed a PB&J sandwich for lunch, and my mom (who is also my coworker) was so concerned for me. She knew finances were tight as I juggled my income for the first time, and she was worried that that's all I could afford to eat. I had to laugh because though money was tight, my reason was because I liked this kind of sandwich.

And today I'm, once again, thoroughly enjoying the ooey-gooey goodness. (Do I dare admit that I was actually craving this, and that's why I brought it for my lunch today?)

My taste buds and I have a really good relationship with the simple things, besides PB&J. Take mashed potatoes, for example. I like instant better than the real thing. When it comes to macaroni and cheese, I'd rather have the generic brand over Kraft. I love canned chicken. Pasta? Put a little butter and parsley on it, and I'm happy.

I don't need a speech about processed foods - I get it. But I have to admit that my taste buds often do go for the unexpected. (Oh yeah, green beans is another one - I prefer canned over fresh. Go figure.)

I try to eat fairly responsibly, whether talking in terms of quality or quantity, but that doesn't override the fact that sometimes I do crave (and prefer) the "simpler" things. Maybe I like PB&J sandwiches because they're stuffed full of carbs, I don't know, but I think that I just enjoy it because it's quick, easy, and I do like the taste. (And as a bonus, it is cheap.)

I won't eat PB&J every day for multiple reasons, but I do consider it a treat, not a "I have to because that's all that was in my refrigerator" thing. Tomorrow? Who knows? You might find me dipping canned chicken in some ranch dressing. Or eating a whole can of green beans.

If I can't find enjoyment in the little things, I'll be up the proverbial creek when it comes to the big things. And once I think about it...it really is all in perspective, whether we're talking food or circumstances. I can find enjoyment in anything I really want to because I'm the only one in charge of my own attitude.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment. Do you have any weird food quirks? 

An Hour Behind in the Name of Fun

This is the wall clock in my living room:

It's one of my favorites. Probably because it’s one of my own designs. But regardless, there’s something special about this clock – other than the fact that it doesn’t have numbers and I’m still able to read it (which, some days, is quite a feat).

The cool thing about this clock is that it doesn’t run on daylight savings time. Well, actually, it probably would, but I never set it ahead in the spring. So basically, yes, it remains an hour behind for a good portion of the year. You might think I did this for some complex experiment. But I gotta admit…it was just pure laziness. I’m short. So taking things off my wall and hanging them back up again doesn’t happen very often. Granted, I have a step stool, but that makes the whole process even more complicated. And I can do the math when I look at the clock. So…I left it. Besides, this time of year, the time is right!

Apart from laziness though…I have another confession. My mom sits in my apartment almost every weekday before work, since we carpool from my place. And she sees the clock. And she’s mentioned it multiple times – the fact that it isn’t set right during the summer. So, of course, I do the daughterly thing and…leave it as is. Just because. I’m not saying I enjoy annoying my mother. I just find a moderate amount of amusement in it.

I sort of do that with other things, too, though. Like the runner on the floor of my office at work. I know it moves with use and gets bunched up on the sides because it’s moved too close to the filing cabinet. But I just want to see how long it takes for my office buddy to move it because she can’t stand its crookedness any longer. Sometimes I rearrange something on a shelf just because I know someone else likes it another way and will continually move it back without knowing I’m the one that’s been moving it…on purpose. I guess I’m just ornery that way.

I’m not saying I’m a prankster. Oh, I enjoy an innocent prank now and then, but I usually stick to the more subtle methods of getting under someone’s skin. (Although I do keep a fake spider around for special occasions.) I need some kind of outlet for my creativity, right?

In the end, I only pick on people I like, though, so if I should ever purposely annoy you, just remember it’s a good thing. Besides, I think God gave us our senses of humor for a reason. If not used, it will surely go to waste...and humor is a terrible thing to waste.


Feel free to leave a comment! Have you ever done something like this?

The Scented Aisle

You know the scented aisle? The one with all the scented candles and wax aroma-filled cubes? Yeah, sometimes I venture down there. I just have to be prepared to not smell anything else for at least three hours afterward…since I have to smell each and every scent. Well…maybe not ALL of them, but pretty close.

Personally, I like the citrus scents, no matter the time of year. There’s just something about orange, lemon or lime that pleases my senses. Even now, I took a deep breath, just imagining my favorite fruity scent. Get past those and into grapefruit though, and I move on.

One thing that’s always perplexed me though, is when someone, somewhere, has the nerve to think they can capture the scent of some season or type of outdoor air, or even scenery. Like a beach. Beaches smell like sunburned sand and fish. And sunscreen. Maybe some seaweed. Not like a mix of exotic flowers, unidentifiable perfume and the cleaner you keep under the bathroom sink.

I mentioned a season. Let’s take autumn. Autumn Leaves. Autumn Air. Essence of Autumn. Do you know what autumn really smells like? Go outside and take a whiff. Damp earth (aka: wet dirt). Piles of leaves (aka: decomposing tree parts). Nature at its best (aka: almost-sun-dried earthworms, that emit a scent akin to dying fish). Throw in a little car exhaust and the neighbor’s last barbeque of the year, and there you have it. Autumn.

So where do all these warm spices come in? Oh, sure, you’ve got your Pumpkin Pie Surprise, your Grandma’s Apple Fritters, and Thanksgiving Delights. I understand the connection – some foods are generally made around falltime. So when someone smells them, they automatically think: fall. I get the marketing strategy here. And I don’t mind so much when they name it what it is. Pumpkin. Spice. Cinnamon. But Autumn? Maybe it ought to be Autumn Memories. Or Flavors of Autumn Foods. Or Foods Only Made at Thanksgiving by Great Grandma. That would be a winner, I’m sure.

Of course, I still have to smell them all, hoping that one of these days, I’ll sniff something that actually does smell like garden mulch with a hint of car exhaust. Not that I’d buy it. I can go outside and smell that. But at least they would have gotten it right.

Until then, though, I think I’ll stick with the no-nonsense scents. Like Lemon. Or Mixed Berries. (Did I mention all those linen scents never smell anything like my own fresh laundry?) But as I leave the scented aisle, I’m sure the one thing that will never change is the lavender and some foreign spice semi-permanently adhering to my nostril hairs.

If you’re in Walmart and you hear a sneeze…it’s probably me. But it’s not contagious. Unless you brave the scented aisle as well.

Caught Unawares

I didn’t want to die. I mean Heaven is a lovely thought - I just didn’t feel I really wanted to leave Earth at that particular moment…in that particular position. You know how sometimes it only takes a split second to envision what the future might look like? Yeah, that’s kind of how this was.

Storms were moving through the area – the kind that come bearing tornado watches, the threat of hail and ear-splitting thunder. Don’t get me wrong – I love thunderstorms. I’ve developed a keen appreciation for pouring rain and long rolls of thunder. This particular evening though, things were just a bit too eerie. The clouds looked downright evil, and my cell phone kept warning me of flash flooding. Thankfully, I was inside my apartment, dry and cozy as could be.

Until I needed to use the restroom.

I usually keep the window cracked open in my bathroom as a source of fresh air since my entire apartment gets stuffy. So as I sat and…pondered…many things, I enjoyed the sound of rain outside. Soon though, I realized the wind was starting to pick up. A lot. A whole lot. I could hear the trees crashing around outside, and I started to feel my apartment shake just a bit.

Where’s my cell phone? I need to check radar. Shoot, I must have left it in the living room. I don’t hear any tornado sirens, but that wind is starting to rumble something awful. Surely this is just some short-lived high wind – nothing to worry about…right?

And as my pulse quickened with just a tad bit of anxiousness (I’d hate to say “fear”), I realized the worst part of my situation. At this point, I really wasn’t even concerned that I didn’t have a basement to go to. I had a closet that also served as a miniature storm shelter, so there was no real problem there. What I realized was the state in which I…sat. And then I saw it. The future.

The vision which entered my mind was one of rubble. My apartment had been demolished by an EF-5 tornado. Debris was everywhere. My cats had been transported to OZ. And me…they found me buried under the rubble…on the commode.

Really now! Who would want to die like that?! I’m sure there have been similar instances throughout history of people being caught unprepared, but not me! I couldn’t die like that. Ninja’s died honorable deaths in grand battles, not deaths brought on while sitting on the potty!

I’m glad to say there was a happy ending. I managed to complete my…task…and exit the chamber of untimely death before anything too drastic happened. Of course, after any panic had subsided, so did the wind. It had knocked a few small branches off the tree outside, but that was about it. No demolished apartment. No rubble. And no headlines in the newspaper about how a poor girl had been caught unawares. (I’ll refrain from any puns at this point.)

The moral of the story?

Yeah, I’m not really sure there is one. Other than check the weather before you answer the call of nature. ‘Cause nature apparently has a sense of humor.



I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment!

Thursday Nonsense - The Dreaded Foot Covering

Socks and I have never gotten along. I remember, as a child, refusing to don my socks and shoes to go outdoors. I literally threw fits. I would sass my parents, sit and pout, cry and refuse to put on socks. I didn’t particularly like shoes either, but it really was the socks part that bothered me most. Any kind of socks. Thin ones, thick ones, short ones, long ones or fuzzy ones. It didn’t matter if they were dull white ones, or ones bright with color. I hated all of them. If I would have had my way, I would have spent my life barefoot. Of course, I couldn’t. It wasn’t realistic, and my parents kept working with me until I outgrew the temper tantrums. What I didn’t outgrow, however, was my abhorrence of socks.

I still detest them. I’ve just learned to adapt, and someone my age throwing a fit over something as silly as socks would be…well, awkward. I’ve also learned that sometimes it’s better to have warm toes, or toes that don’t rub raw inside my shoes. And I’ve also learned that the part of socks I hate most are the seams. (Apparently I’m just very sensitive to touch. I hate wearing elastic or scratchy clothing – always have. Loose clothes are the best, and stiff belts or tight shoes are the worst. Don’t ever put a piece of lint in my shoe – I’ll go nuts.)

I now actually wear my socks inside-out. Yep. At any given time, inside my shoes are feet covered in inside-out socks. It doesn’t matter what kind of socks they are. As long as I can have the seam not touching my skin, it’s better. Not great, but better. Now, all of my socks are thin. I can barely stand to have thick socks on, because the seams are thicker. And when I put my shoes on every morning, it sometimes takes several tries before my feet can stand the position of the sock’s seam around my toes.

While my quirk can be frustrating, at least it provides a bit of entertainment. Even I have to admit it’s rather amusing. Maybe one day I’ll be able to wear socks like they’re supposed to be worn. But until then, I’ll just add it to my collection of oddities.

Surely I’m not the only one with a weird clothing quirk.