It's the simple things in life

I woke up this morning to a challenge. One of my Facebook Friends tagged me in one of those dessert recipe photos that have been flooding Facebook. The ones that are something like beautifully arranged cupcakes shaped like the Mona Lisa, and photographed with text reading “Easy Baking!” I usually look at those pictures and feel horribly inadequate.  I can bake chocolate chip cookies as well as the next person, but I’m sorry rainbow swirl cake that shoots out fireworks is not “Easy Baking”. Even though I fail as a female in the kitchen department I’m a sucker for posting endless drool worthy photos of food. While for me it was a wishlist of foods I hoped someone would make for me, the rest of Facebook began to see it as “I call your bluff now make it”.
            It started with a picture watermelon carving of a shark. I excitedly shared my picture of the watermelon shark with Facebook and within an hour my sister had commented; “Okay so that’s what you’re bringing to my party?” We joked around about it, and before I knew it I had accepted the challenge. It took me all morning before the party to come up with something. I slaved away with a big carving knife and covered myself in fruit juice. The end result looked like a mutated pac-man. Even though my watermelon was not a beautifully carved shark it was well received, and a standard was set.
            So when I looked at my phone this morning I saw the message, “Christina, here’s another for your goody list.” The accompanying picture was what my brother would call (in the voice of the actor in the diabetes ads). “baked diabeetus” There was a picture and a small description of Chocolate Chip Cookie Reese Cup Brownie Cupcake. The gauntlet had been thrown. I spent most of the day in the kitchen with my brother hovering, waiting to snatch up raw dough and brownie batter. When it came to putting the Reese Cups on both my brother and my father were hovering. I was nearing the end of the bag when I was assaulted by…
            “Are there going to be any left over?”
            “I want one!”
            “I was looking forward to stealing one.”
Needless to say I ran out of Reese Cups. I had to book it to the store and back before the dough, batter, and remaining Reese mysteriously disappeared. Sadly convenience stores don’t carry giant bags of Reese. An issue I personally think needs to be addressed. So I ended up substituting Oreos. I rushed home and began to put them in the dough and batter mix. Again the men appeared out of nowhere like the Trix Rabbit.
            “Oreos? I love Oreos”
            “Will there be any left-over?”
            “Do you still need these?”
            “Can I please have one? Just one?!”
            You noticed that when I was cutting up the watermelon and fruit I was left alone in the kitchen. Fruit and vegetables, men’s kryptonite. I managed to grab the package before it disappeared and shooed them away.  Wasn’t long before the finally creation was done. I pulled them out of the oven and nearly backed into my brother, who again popped out of thin air. I popped them all out of the tray and handed one to him. You’d think he had died and gone to heaven. He thumped his fist into his chest and said. “Right in the Diabeetus!”
            The dessert was declared a keeper by everyone. The smell of melty chocolate and peanut butter hung around the kitchen and I didn’t expect the actual food to last. Sure enough my brother was back in the kitchen and reaching for the… Oreos?
            “Oh good! There’s some left!”
            Seriously?  After working on this elaborate dessert it’s the Oreos that still win out in the end?  Why do we bother trying to make new creative recipes when people really only want the Reese Cups and Oreos? Ask any little kid and their favorite part of baking cookies is the cookie dough, not the actual cookie. Or those peanut butter cookies with the Hershey Kiss on top? How many people are eating that for the peanut butter cookie? I give up. You want a triple layer cookie sundae that smells like heaven? Make it yourself, I’ll be eating the Oreos.

Candy Crush Crack

Last night my Panda Jam app stopped working. This is a tragedy.  How am I supposed to save the panda cubs from the evil monkey and return them to their mother? I had three lives left! I could have SAVED THEM.
            For those of you healthy souls out there who don’t play Panda Jam, Candy Crush, Words with Friends, or I’maddictedVille all of these game apps work basically the same way. You download this app for free and play a good deal levels or lives for free. At this point, you’re hooked. You can’t stop playing these games. So what’s 99 cents in the long run? Nothing. So you buy the next set of levels and when those are done the next. Now if that wasn’t a rip off enough, most of these games have a limit on how many “lives” you have. Panda Jam for example has five. Every time you fail to save the panda cubs from the evil monkey you lose a life. Then when you lose all five lives you have to stop playing. Every half an hour the game refills one life. But you can’t wait a half an hour. You have to save the panda cubs! You have two options you can pay ten bucks for more lives or you can beg your Facebook friends to give you more lives. This is marketing genius. You pay up, or you help provide Panda Jam with more customers.
            There is one more way to avoid paying, or to hide from your Facebook friends that you have a gaming problem. You download more apps. For example my original addiction started with Words with Friends. The rationality behind it was, “I’m an English major, this game is good for my vocabulary”. That argument lost its validity when I started using words like “Hm”, “Qi”, and “Jo” to score points. How in God’s name is “Hm” a word?  As time went on I found that my real life friends no longer wanted to play with me because I would play two letter words and rack up 70 points. I decided it was time to move on. That’s when I met “Candy Crush”. Candy Crush is a hugely popular gaming app that I see all of my “Junior” Facebook Friends playing. I would even get requests from them to get lives. So I took up playing it. I still didn’t want anyone to know how low I have sunk to play these games. I still feel hugely embarrassed anytime people find out I use to be addicted to FarmVille. I was so hooked on to FarmVille that when I went away for a week I planted crops that took a week to grow and asked my friend to feed my “animals”.
            So I kept my addiction to Candy Crush private. I see people posting “I beat level 12 in Candy Crush” and I’m like… “I’m on level 147”. You’d think that is would stop me. It didn’t. I continued to play. Even when I ran out of lives I did not turn away. I simply would turn to other games and wait for the first life to refill itself. That’s when I met Panda Jam. I downloaded it while feeling abandoned by Candy Crush. It’s the most frustrating and annoying game on the planet. These panda cubs are trapped on the top of this multi-colored brick wall. You have to match three or more colors in order to break the wall and slowly move the panda cubs down. Once they reach the ground they run to momma and you beat the level. If it only were that simple. You also have to get enough points to make it to the next level. You may free Panda Cub in one move but you lose the level because you don’t have enough points. Then the evil monkey pops up and says in a very condescending way, “You must plan your every move.” Thank you evil monkey I will keep that in mind. In addition to gaining enough points to win a level you also have to win enough points to move on to the next set of levels. This means replaying several already won levels attempting to get to new levels.
            Now, if you’re a healthy employed person you’re probably thinking “You put way to much thought into this, get a life”. But people, I can only get a life if you accept my Panda Jam request on Facebook! Being unemployed I have made a schedule around these games. I wake up in the morning and play them until I lose all my lives. Then I job hunt all day… of course every half an hour I have to stop and save the panda cubs or beat the next level in Candy Crush. It’s a vicious cycle. Even if I do manage to get really involved in a respectable project my phone dings with reminders. “Your Shark is Hungry! Feed him!” or “Dman C. has sent you a drawing!” or “ALL YOUR PANDA LIVES HAVE BEEN RESTORED COME PLAY!” It doesn’t take long to abandon what you’re doing to make the notifications stop, then once you start, you can’t stop.
            It’s sad to think that we all have these powerful computers sitting in our pockets, capable of being a postal service, library, radio, phone, bank, endless information database, or even a way to find work. But most of us use it to look at cat pictures, snapchat, or play endless games of Candy Crush. My question is, if you’re all out there playing these games, why aren’t you giving me more lives?! The whole point of this post is my panda cubs need me! 

Follow the Red Brick Road

            When you’re unemployed you find that you really will do almost anything to get a job. Yesterday I had an interview in the city, an hour away by train. Of course I convinced myself that it didn’t matter. This was going to be great. I like going into the city, I could wear nice clothes and go sip a latte at Starbucks with the hipsters and the lawyers. I suppose going into the city makes me feel like an adult. So at 8 O’clock in the morning I clambered onto the train with the rest of the working world. I marched up the aisle all self-important with my pretty dress and fancy shoes and went to plop down in the nearest bench. Being the smooth business woman that I am I proceed to whack my head on the luggage rack directly above me. I held my head and looked around hoping that no one had seen. Sadly, right across the aisle way from me sat an old man. He was staring at me, his mouth hanging open. I could almost hear him begging to ask “Are you really that stupid?”
            Feeling rather deflated I sunk into the corner of the bench and played with my phone, sulking like a two year old.  Luckily the train ride being an hour gave me plenty of time to forget about it and I bounded off again pumped full of promise. I had made a plan the night before on my route, the train times, the bus I was meant to take, and how long the overall journey would be. Sadly, once getting off the train, I couldn’t find the bus. Ah well, I was undefeatable still. It’s a city, how hard could it be to walk there? I set my phone’s GPS with the job’s address and headed off into the general direction. Or was it? I have never been very good with maps and the only reason I don’t get lost while driving is because my GPS in the car, Germmie, talks to me, yells at me when I mess up, and recalculates. My smartphone is nowhere as smart as Germmie and I walked up and down three or four different streets until I figured out what direction the phone was attempting to get me to go in. I enjoyed the confused and annoyed looks of the city goers as they watched me spin around in circles, stop randomly to consult my phone, and then storm off in the opposite direction.
            Eventually I gave up trying to figure out my phone and made the executive decision to follow the red brick road laid out for tourists to follow. I realize how completely embarrassing that is, a native, using a tourist route to find their way around the city. I also realize how embarrassing it is to use the red brick road, and still get lost. In my defense the road just stopped and went in the opposite direction. So I stood at the corner confused, and slightly nervous. That’s when I saw the bus I was supposed to take pass me by. The city was mocking me. I stormed off angrily after the bus figuring well; at least I know it’s going in the direction I need to go. For the next hour I walked after it, occasionally catching glimpses of it. I did manage to find the right street after a while. By now it was 10 O’clock, I had an hour left before my interview. Prefect I’d walk down the street and find it. I turned the GPS back on and followed the little blue dot till it reached the address.
            That address turned out to be behind an eight foot fence with a security camera pointed directly at me. I could see the building. I could see the address on the building. I could also see that the only way to get to the building was to walk all the way down to the very end of the street and get past security and walk all the way back up the street. By the time I reached the building it was half past. I huffed my way up the stairs and darted into the bathroom before anyone could see me. I quickly prepped my hair, straightened out my dress, and checked for anything out of order before gracefully walking into the office.
            The first person I saw was another girl about my age filling out applications. She was dressed in yoga pants and a T-Shirt. I silently did a celebratory dance and waited my turn. The girl sauntered into the office and I could hear her and the interviewer talking. He did the typical run down and then asked if she had any questions.
            “Um, ya, can I like ask for a day off?” She said.
            “Well, it’s a bit early to be asking that, but as long as you don’t go crazy. Is there something you need to do?” He asked.
            “Yeeeeeaaaah, It’s my friend’s grad party on the 18^th and I’m going to that.”
            “Ok. Can you start Friday?”
            I sat there shocked as she walked out of the office schedule in hand, then I started feeling good. I mean if someone else could walk in wearing yoga pants and already asking for days off, then the job is in the bag. I patiently waited to be called in as he finished up some business. Finally he called me in and we both sat down for the interview.
            Before he could even open his mouth his phone went off. He was out of the chair in seconds answering it and having a conversation. After a while he returned to his seat and looked at my resume. He began to ask me a question when his co-worker walked in and asked him a question. The two proceeded to chat for a while before the attention was brought back to me. The entire interview went like that. Finally after 20 minutes the interviewer handed me a form to fill out and then said,
            “OK, um, I need you to go get a drug screening. This is the address of the clinic we use. It’s right next door. Once the test is processed we’ll meet up again. Oh, and there closed noon to one. Bad timing huh? Good luck.”
            And just like that I was sent on my merry way.
            I plugged the address into my phone only to realize the clinic that is “right next door” is actually another two miles away, outside of the city. I contemplated my options. I couldn’t exactly come back the next day, nor could I really give up an opportunity for employment. I ended up trudging to this clinic. Because normal people usually drive there my journey became interesting. I had find a way around a rotary and hike next to a dual carriage way. By the time I got to the clinic I was done. Sunburnt, blistered, and extremely hungry I stomped up the doors of the clinic and pulled at the handle. Locked.
            I stood there, my hand glued to the handle. I still had to wait for these people to come back from lunch. I took a deep breath and then exhaled. Fine, It’s Okay, I can find something to eat too. I walked out to the parking lot and scanned for a McDonald’s, they’re supposed to be available every ten feet. Nothing. Not even a convenience store. Where did the nurses go for an hour?  Home Depot? I circled the building and spotted it. In the distance was a beacon of hope and life. K-Mart. I only hoped it wasn’t a mirage. I limped my way across two parking lots and practically ran through the doors. I grabbed the first food and I could and then booked in back the clinic.
            By now the nurses had opened the clinic back up. I stepped into the AC, checked in, and plopped into the nearest seat. I sat slumped down and devoured my food box like a wildebeest. When the nurse came for me she found me sitting covered in crumbs with a whole gram-cracker shoved in my mouth.
            “Christina?”
            “Mmmfph?” I stared up at her, not really caring that I looked like a five year old.
            “We’re ready for you.”
            I spent a total of ten minutes in the clinic and now I had to make the long walk back to the center of the city.  Luckily for me, the bench I collapsed onto after the two mile walk back into the city itself turned out to be a bus stop. Not just any bus stop but my bus. After all this time I found the bus I was supposed to get onto hours ago. The bus driver took pity on me and helped me find my way back to the center of the city. I wish I could say my journey back was uneventful. It wasn’t. I spent most of the time waiting for the subway with a box cutter in my hand as a drug addict attempted to make conversation with me. By the time I got home it was past five in the evening. After all that all I could think to myself was. “The job…. It’s selling tickets to tourists.”
            The things we do for even the chance of getting any kind of job. 

No Brain Cells for Riggs

            I have had the pleasure of meeting and playing with all kinds of different dogs through work, friends, and family. For me though, the best kind of dog in the world is the Golden Retriever. My family has owned three of them and each one of them was beautiful, friendly, happy and dumber then animal should be. How these dogs survived and thrived is beyond me. So much for the survival of the fittest. My family and friends all have this joke about the intelligence of Goldens’ that the breed has one shared brain cell, that gets passed around from dog to dog. I’m beginning to doubt they even have that. Even if there was this alleged brain cell my dog Riggs is never allowed to have it.
            I may have mentioned this briefly before, Riggs, hides in the bathroom. Not just when there’s a thunderstorm, or when the nail gun is in use, or when you can hear the hunters shooting, or fireworks (when these things happen all Hell breaks loose). I mean he hides in there all day, every day, for no reason. He lives in the bathroom. After my Dad, Riggs’ version of God, leaves for work, the dog slinks into the bathroom and shuts himself in. Of course, being a Golden Retriever, Riggs is too stupid to figure out how to come out of the bathroom even if he wanted to. He doesn't even whine or scratch at the door. He just sits there waiting for someone to remember that he exists and come looking for him. One night when Dad came home from work we all got very busy prepping supper and settling in for the night we totally forgot about him. It wasn't until later that evening we realized Riggs hadn't come bounding in to great his wondrous God. Dad quickly opened the bathroom door and only then did the poor dog explode with excitement and gratitude.
            On a normal day though, once Riggs is freed from self-imprisonment he acts like one of those parasitic fish you see on TV that latch themselves onto a shark. He tries his very best to become one with the nearest human. You sit down on the couch with your book in hand, when suddenly you find an 80 lb Golden Retriever in your lap. Which would actually be fine if he then didn't proceed to roll around and trample all over you. So you stand up and try to shake him off. Then he tries to hug you. He stands on his hind legs and literally gives you a hug. Which again would be adorable if he only did it once, or even on cue. But he does it, and then refuses to get down or stop hugging you. When he’s in one of these moods you can’t even walk five steps without him latching on to you. Once you've made it clear you don’t want him all over you, he becomes visibly upset and starts circling around and leaping all over the furniture. Then if he’s really upset he starts grabbing things and carrying them around in his mouth; usually shoes, socks, dishtowels, and of course bras. Nothing is classier then greeting guests with your human’s bra.
            I think he does this because he can’t handle life. Life is just too stressful for Riggs. It’s a hard life living at a farm with lots of space to run, lots of food to eat, and having another dog friend. Especially when his God has to leave him for a whole 8 hours! Still, it’s stable. Riggs while he sulks all day in the bathroom is generally good. Until you change something on him. We've recently done some remodeling in the house, and that means lots of noise, new people, and new smells. It’s a lot for the brain cell to take in. One of the things to change was to us very minor. We had one of our hallways converted into a closet. We all didn’t think too much of it. But Riggs did. Riggs stood, his head nearly pressed against the back of the closet for a full 20 minutes. His little brain cell couldn’t take in the removal of the hallway and he was stuck. Perhaps if he just kept staring this new wall it would disappear. We had to physically pull him away before he realized he couldn’t walk through the closet.
            Riggs is always surprising us with new levels of stupidity; whether it’s barking at one of us because he didn’t realize we came home 20 minutes ago or knocking over lamps with his tail. Even while I write this I can hear my mom yelling at him to “Get down! What’s the matter with you!” Clearly Riggs is not allowed to have the brain cell. Ever. Still, he’s the best dog ever. We may not think that at 4 in the morning when suddenly he has to go out. But we do think he is when we walking through the door and he runs up and hugs you, so happy you’ve returned to him. I may want to strangle him every time he steals one of the my shoes and hides it. But whenever I’m feeling down he climbs up next to me on the couch a giant furry ball of love. Golden Retrievers don’t have a single brain cell between them, but they are all made of heart.