The food saver is a winner!

New Food Saver by webg33k

One of my favorite places on the planet is the county fair. It has the whole package; fried food, animals, rides and carnies. One part of the fair that can't be skipped are the warehouses full of arts and crafts, chiropractors ready to give you an adjustment the famous "As Seen on TV" items for sale. I think of this place as a safe haven from the heat of the summer. What I do not think of this place is a place to go shopping. In fact, talking to any of the sales people in there terrifies me a bit. I have gotten good at avoiding an unwanted conversation.

1. DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT.
2. When they ask you if you would like to "Try this fabulous new (fill in the blank) pretend you don't hear them.
3. Eat a funnel cake. The thing is covered in powdered sugar and there is no way they are going to want your sticky hands anywhere near their product.

So, I would like to say I have never been duped by any infomercial item but that would be a lie. Although I did not buy it at the fair, my mom and sister and I went in on a Food Saver for my Dad. My father is IMPOSSIBLE to buy for mainly because he wants nothing for his birthday and when you ask him what he wants he says sternly, "I don't want anything for my birthday. And I am serious. Dead serious."

You see how helpful he is. We have to go practical when it comes to Dad's gifts. Since he is known for his smoked salmon and it stores best in a vacuumed sealed bag, this was the perfect option. He loves it and uses it all the time. To this day he will still say "That as a really good gift."

Woot!

My handy dad.

Handiness does runs in my family. Both my Grandfathers are quite the craftsmen. My dad is very handy and even my mom for that that matter. But it seems the handy gene stopped with me.



The best examples I can use are my "school project" examples. The two that quickly come to mind are the replica of the Mission in the 4th grade and the rubber band powered car in 7th. The instrcutions for both projects was to "build" something. Well, they might as well have been in French once building was involved. My father, however? He was like a kid in a candy store. He was so excited about building the Mission (Mission Soledad, to be exact) that we failed to read the size limitations. The Mission was supposed to be no bigger than 12 inches by 12 inches. Mine had to be carried by several people and was large enough for several cats to sleep comfortably. He even helped me to stucco the outside walls of the church to make it really look like adobe. There was also talk of hooking up lights to make it "really cool" but I think the idea was squashed considering the fact that I am pretty sure the monks didn't have access to Chirstmas lights.



In 7th grade we had to make a car that was powered by rubber bands or string or angels or something. It had to be able to get up a ramp. The competition part of it was that there would be 2 cars coming up either side of the ramp (making a peak in the middle) and whose ever car could push the other back down their side would win and move on to the next round and so on. One car would remain in the end and be named champion.



My father had to win.



There were very specific items you could and could not use. My dad's idea was to build a car shaped like a right tri-angle, the angled side facing forward. As the car would move forward a huge, heavy dowel would roll down the front of the car and out ahead of it, crushing anything in it's path. He was convinced we were a sure win. The night before the competion, he drew flames and wrote "No Fear" all over the car. Although slightly embarrassed, I thought he just might be right. In order to set up the car, there was twisting and winding of string and rubber bands involved. This had to be "DONE IN A VERY SPECIFIC WAY OR THE CAR WOULD NOT WORK. HEATHER!!!!"



Well, guess what?? I didn't wind it right. And I am pretty sure we were out in the first round. And my mom caught it all on video. To this day my father still talks about that car and how, "if only I had....."



And despite everything I just told you my father swears that all he did was help me and by no means did he make either of those thing "for me." But to that I say, "Ok Dad. Whatever helps you sleep at night."



Thank God he is a handyman.

Well, you are not my mom's butt.

I was three years old and it was the first time I actually remember the feeling of embarrassment. My mom had dragged me out on a shopping trip for something lame like, well, anything that was not toys for me. While my mom was looking at some items against the wall of the store, I was doing what every child does in a boring women's clothing store; hiding inside of the free standing racks of clothes. On the floor under one of the racks I found something really cool. (Ok, it was like a button or something). And I had to go over to my mom and show her my treasure.



I ran up to my mom, whose back was to me, and she was slightly bent over to look at something on one of the lower racks. I was so enthralled by the item in my hand I was not looking at my mom when I started to smack her butt and say, "Mom, Mom, Mom, look what I found! Mom! Mom! Mom!" It was after about the 5th or 6th "Mom" and about the 100th spank on the rear that I heard my ACTUAL Mom say from the other side of the store, "Um, Heather?"



Horror came over me as I looked up at the face of a woman who was not my mom, and then at the hand of mine that had been smacking her ass.

My advice: Be careful on the highways.

Modarres Highway / Tehran by Hamed Saber (Hamed Saber)

My late Great-Grandmother was full of great one liners. Some of these included:



"That girl was thinner than a bar of soap with a weeks worth of wash on it!"



OR



"That child was slower than molasses in winter!"



Besides these, she was known making some inappropriate comments that only a 95 year old women can get away with saying. One, for example, was the time she unknowing thought that "lesbians" were "Lebanese people." Awesome.



She also gave me some of the best advice. Every time she would write me a letter or talk to me on the phone she would say, "Be careful on the highways." What better advice is that? And what better place to be extra careful? Since she lived in West Virginia, it was her way of making sure we were mindful drivers. Well, mindful drivers that hopefully will not be influenced by those crazy San Francisco "Lebanese."

My fear of Santa Claus

Let me paint you a little picture:



It is Christmas Eve and it is time for bed. You need to make sure you get in bed early and fall asleep in plenty of time so Santa doesn't skip over your house. Why, who is this "Santa" person you speak of, Mother? Well, he is a giant, overweight man, dressed in all red velour that is going to come down your chimney into tonight while you are sleeping and leave you gifts under your Christmas Tree.



So, basically what you are telling, Mom, is that this "Santa" character will be breaking and entering into my house and you, dad and the rest of the world apparently, are ok with all of this??



Christmas Eve nights were always pretty restless ones for me as a child. I remember very clearly, the Eve where the unthinkable happened. I woke up and had to go to the bathroom. Here is the bargaining that went on in my head:



1. Fall back asleep and hold it until morning. (Unlikely to happen, the more you think about not peeing, the more you actually have to pee.)

2. Call for mom and dad. (But then Santa might hear me!)

3. Pee the bed. (Looking like my best choice at this point.)



Well, I didn't pee the bed. I risked it all and fearfully walking back and forth from the bathroom to my room, convinced I was going to come face to face with Kris Kringle himself.



Don't get me wrong, I was always excited in the morning. The gifts were always worth the night of sheer terror. Still, I would have preferred if the story went something like this:



"...and all year long, Santa Claus makes toys with the elves in his workshop in the North Pole until finally on Christmas Eve, he has his elves arrange that all the gifts for the good little boys and girls of the world be delivered via FedEx and dropped of on your doorstep in a completely non-scary and non threatening way."



That is my kind of Christmas miracle.

America needs Jessie Spano

Jessie Spano
She's a hard worker, smart as a whip and will do what she needs to do to get the job done. Just make sure you keep the caffeine pills away from her.

Ina Garten
Someone needs to keep the President and all his peeps full and happy with dishes like her famous beef bourguignon, pumpkin mousse and antipasto platers.

John Stewart
Because I think he is the only one that really gets what is going on.

Larger Than Life

P1010035 by Cyron

The gift came from my Mom's second cousin, making him my third cousin? Or my second cousin, once removed? You see how this is already bizarre that we were getting a gift from this person at all.



Now, I should preface by saying that I was very young when I got this gift, probably 7 or 8. So, my memory of how large it was may be slightly skewed. I remember the box being the size of a refrigerator and inside was a giant stuffed koala bear that was at least 5 feet tall. If my memory hasn't failed me, I think my distant cousin entered a contest where he had to guess how many jelly beans were in a jar and he guessed correctly. The Grand Prize? This strange eye-sore of a toy whom we named "Rudy"



My sister and I were stoked. My parents were less than thrilled. At the time we were living with my Grandparents so we had very limited living space. My sister and I shared a room and there was no way this giant bear was fitting in our tiny room. The only place we had room for it in fact was in the back bonus room of my Grandparents house that my family used as a living room.



Rudy sat there, watching TV with us for quite a long time. I am sure it drove my mother crazy, being the decorator that she is, that this disgusting koala was messing up the feel of the room. She finally convinced my sister and I to donate Rudy to a better home. In this case "donate" may have been code for "dumpster."

If I were a superhero, I would certainly wear tights

As a super hero, of course I would wear tights. But only when appropriate of course. I mean, never with a flip-flop or an open toed sandal. And this is why I would be Heather "The Croc Killer." My basic duties would be to rid the world of all offensive shoe choices, mainly Crocs. The worst of all the shoes, in my opinion. I mean, they have holes in them and are made of foam for God's sake!!! I would, for the most part, be a helpful superhero. For minor shoe offenses my friends and foes would get a second chance to maybe replace the worn out loafer with a sassy wedge or pointy-toed kitten heal. They would be given the option to simply remove their socks if they insisted on wearing their Tevas. And of course, octogenarians would be given a free pass if wearing navy or beige Sas brand shoes. However, there would be no exceptions for Croc-wearers. Anyone found breaking this fashion rule who is not and never has been Mario Batali: instant obliteration.

Better than a pony.

(This is a post from my wonderful husband's company that just launched last thursday. I realize that the title I gave it makes it seem a little random but I wanted to try posting it to my blog from plinky.com. The question was "What wild animal would you like to have as a pet." Leave it to me to think of something random.)

Just to preface, these are not my "My Little Ponies." Mine prefer not to have their picture taken.

Tea Party! by Mary Bliss (dreamcicle19772006 (Checking Periodcally))

When I was a kid, my sister, cousins and I would play "invisible animals" (I have no idea why I am admitting this openly by the way). We had every animal in the book and they would help us with a variety of things such as saving the world and general crime fighting. My favorite of those animals was a unicorn I called Orange Twilight.



I realize a unicorn is not a "real" animal. But think about all the amazing abilities you would acquire by having a unicorn in your life? Not only do you have the free mode of transportation you have free access to magic as well! Not to mention Twilight's skills in fighting crime.

Conversations with Jessie

Jessie: Oh God. Man peeing. There's a man peeing.
Heather: Oh God, where? Where?
Jessie: Over by the tree. By the tree!
Heather: OH GOD!
Jessie: I can see his weener! I can see his weener!

Question: Why did I ask, "where?" Why?

Merry Shelloween?

The 4th annual Shelloween has come and gone. If I do say so myself, it was the best one yet, and here is why:

10. All three Shellen bros were in attendance (with their respective wives) for the first time ever!
9. Joel and Annie wearing costumes that were made for infants.
8. A Stormtrooper in a Burger King mask.
7. The Michael Bolton version of "Jingle Bell Rock."
6. Best robot costume EVER!
5. Three sexy flappers.
4. "Mary-Kate Olsen" drinking a beer from her "Venti" Starbucks cup.
3. The Spanish version of Jingle Bell Rock (Navidad, Navidad, Navidad Rock)
2. Red, green and white candy corn. (You could paint that crap with gold and it would still be disgusting.)
1. The look on everyone's faces when they were greeted at the door with a plate of Christmas cookies and a house all decked out for the holidays.

Merry Christmas, everyone!!

Ask and ye shall receive....

The name of this blog is "Are you there God? It's me, Heather." Just a silly play on the Judy Blume book? Perhaps. But sometimes there are important questions in life that need answers. So my beautiful babies, I have found a place where the questions go directly to the source. I, for one, can sleep a whole lot easier knowing that my prayers have been answered.

I'll try not to beg.

Recently I've been thinking about the conversations I will have with my children someday that are synonymous to the ones our parents had with us. I'm talking about the "walked to school barefoot, uphill, both ways" and "it was just a mere 5 cents to go to the picture show" kind of stories.

My stories will probably be something like "I remember the day when you could actually go and watch the plane take off. AND you didn't even need to take off all of your clothes before going through security!" I also think about the things that my kids will ask me that will go something like this, "Wait, when you were a kid people couldn't...?" I remember when I came to the realization that, wait, within my parents lifetime, interracial marriage was illegal.

Isn't that a beautiful thing? The fact that it was ever illegal seeming unthinkable to a child? A child who never knew interracial marriage was anything but perfectly normal?

Let me have that same conversation with my kids someday. If you live in California, please vote No on 8.

Wii would like to play.

I consider myself to be a fairly easy-going wife. My husband is in a rock band and I knew what I was getting into when I married him. The guitars. The amps. The pedals. The literally hundreds of CDs and all the other various noise-making thingies. I have never told him he couldn't purchase another piece of musical equipment. I consider it an expense and I am okay with that.

So then he tells me he wants to drop several hundred dollars on a Wii?? No way, I said. There are so many other things that he could buy with that money that goes to the band; a video game system is a waste. Hence began my plan to buy him the Christmas gift of the century.

It still took some convincing for sure. I never grew up with video games. My mother did not allow them in the house, not so much because of my sister and me but because I think she was afraid she would never see my father again. But more than that, I DIDN'T CARE. Video games were fun at other people's houses but I had way better things to do with my time like My Little Ponies, playing house and terrorizing my sister. In fact, I was never a big fan of arcades or cartoons even. Grant thinks I am abnormal and I say, excuse me if I preferred things that were REAL and you could actually TOUCH!

Also, I had no idea what getting a Wii around Christmas entailed. When I finally decided to get one, I walked into the game shop around the corner and said, "I'll take one Wii console, please!" The guy at the counter looked at me as though I had just asked him to ovulate and said, "Yeah, we don't have any of those but here's my card, call every day at noon when we get our shipments in. If we still have one when you call we'll hold it, but only for 15 minutes and then you are at the mercy of the crowds."

Okay? There was a lot more to this than I thought. I also tried Craigslist but this is what the posts would say:

"Wii console and games available. Bring no one and cash only to the location that will be delivered to you via carrier pigeon. You will meet a man wearing gray chinos and a "Members Only" jacket. He will be standing in front of the Chipotle. Upon arriving, he will take to you a secret elevator which you will ride to the center of the earth. There you will find a unicorn. DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH THE UNICORN. It is only after the unicorn has left that you will receive you Wii console. Two nunchucks included."

Riiiiight. I am not about to get all "ninja style" up in here. I just want a freaking Wii. Long story short, I got one. It was an awesome Christmas. And guess what else? I LOVE IT!!! And I am now making up for all the years without one. Although, it has created one slight issue in the Shellen house: competition. At least I think this is an issue but Grant doesn't care. Why should he care? He beats me all the time! The reason, I think, is two-fold:

1. He plays more than I do.
2. He is a boy and was born with the "very-good-at-video-games" gene. It is the gene that is right next to the "inability-to-hear-your-wife-when-there-is-a-guitar-in-your-hand" gene and the "awesome-at-sound-effects" gene that girls simply were not born with.

The ONLY thing I can beat Grant at on the Wii is the boxing game in Wii Sports. I pulverize him every time. And his response to my consistent winning? "Okay, there is something wrong with my controller because I am doing EXACTLY what you are doing and my guy is NOT punching." Sure babe, that is the reason I am kicking your ass, not because I have mad skills.

Recently we acquired the coveted Wii Fit. It is intended to be an exercise program that comes with what looks like a small step aerobics step – a Wiimote for your feet, if you will. It has a variety of games that are aerobic, strength training, balance exercises and yoga. And you can play any of these games in the privacy of your own home after completing a simple "Body Test." Sure, not scary right? Well...

First, you enter your height, year of your birth and approximate weight of your clothes, a couple of randomly selected balance exercises are presented. After completing those, the Wii evaluates your posture and sense of balance and tells you what it thinks. Do you know what it asked me? "Heather, do you often find yourself tripping when you walk?" Nice.

Then, just like in every woman's worst nightmare, it calculates your BMI and your weight. But it doesn't just pop up on the screen with its answer. Nooooooo! In a cute little voice, it announces to the room that "You're overweight!" As if that were not punishment enough, your Mii character then GETS FATTER!!! After your Mii looks at the newly formed love handles, it then tells you your "Wii Fit age." Mine? 10 years older than my real age. "Wow Heather, your body is a lot weaker than it should be!" It was about this time that Grant had to ask me politely not to throw the new toy at the television.

And just like when we first acquired our Wii, Grant is killing at all the games and the body fit tests. You know what? So what if your weight is "normal" and and people like you are "less likely to develop heart conditions." And so what if your Wii Fit age is six years younger than your actual age? I brought this Wii into this world and so help me God, I can take it out of it.

Seriously cannot stop hitting repeat

This is currently my favorite song. I should also mention that I am, like, two degrees of separation away from being Jason Mraz's BFF as he knows my friend Joel by name. Well, at least he did six years ago when we saw him at the Fillmore. By name I tell you. If I had just a few more seconds with the guy I'm convinced that he would have been coming to Christmas dinner that year. But I digress.

Below is an excellent rendition of the song "I'm Yours." I can't decide what my favorite part of the video is. It is either the fact that there is a garden gnome sitting on a stool next to Toca or how ridiculously sexy is it that Jason sings only out of the right side of his mouth.

The video is a bit long so you might not be able to hang through the breakdown at the end. But seriously, did you already forget what I said? RIDICULOUSLY SEXY!

Conversations With Jessie

Jessie: So I know I am really not up to date on all of this stuff but PowerPoint is so cool!
Heather: Sure.
Jessie: I mean I know there is probably something out there that is way better considering most people were doing PowerPoint presentations my freshman year of High School, but I am seriously amazed.
Heather: Well, I am glad you have a new hobby.
Jessie: And then I used a scanner for the first time! Oh my God that thing is so cool. I mean it is like you put the picture there and it just...comes up on the screen.
Heather: That is kinda the idea.
Jessie: And you can change the fonts too!
Heather: Riiiight.
Jessie: Yeah, I am a little behind the times.

Conversations with Jessie

Jessie: What are you doing?
Heather: Staring at the fridge trying to figure out what to make for dinner.
Jessie: What do you have?
Heather: Some chicken tenders. Any ideas?
Jessie: Um...Oh! You should make that thing you made the one time with the chicken. I have no idea what it was but it was really good!
Heather: Yeah, thanks, I'll try that.

The new theme song for my life.

I am so inviting the girl on the right to my next birthday party.



For more hilarious singing, I recommend you check out the Bulgarian version of "William Hung" and first watch this and then this.

You know it is time to stop drinking when...

...you go to order your fourth drink of the night and you ask the bartender for an "Absolut Mandarin and Vodka."

Yes, can I have a little vodka with my vodka.

Conversations with Jessie

Voicemail message:

Um hey, it's me. I think I need to go to counseling or something because I can't seem to stop myself from lying to strangers. I don't know what my problem is, I guess I panic or something. I don't know, call me back.

Heather: Hey. I got your message. What are you talking about?
Jessie: I can't not lie to strangers.
Heather: Like that time you told the Mormon missionaries that came to the door you were not interested because we were moving to Montana?
Jessie: Yeah. And the time that that guy asked me about my "fighting Irish" temporary tattoo and I said it was because Dad went to Notre Dame.
Heather: So, what did you do this time?
Jessie: I was at Starbucks this morning and I was wearing running pants and running shoes and the barista asked me, 'Going for a run?' And I said 'Yeah.' Then he asked me how much I run and I said, 'I like to do about 2 miles a day. I am trying to work my way up.'
Heather: Jessie! You know all you have to say is, "No actually, I don't run. Thank you for my latte."
Jessie: I know.
Heather: Where do you get this from. It's not like Mom and Dad lie!
Jessie: I think I panic. Or maybe it is thrilling for me to see how far I can take the story....I have issues.