Well, I haven’t yet reached my goal of meeting and marrying Jason Statham. I know! You’d think by now I would’ve checked that off my list of things to accomplish by 2010. (Sheesh – good thing I didn’t prematurely divorce Current Husband Jace.)
But standing in for Jason Statham is my Bestie, Bruce. You see, Bruce and I have an agreement. It’s iron-clad, really. If I haven’t married His Royal Lovely-ness Jason, by the year…2012 (because the world ends then anyway), then Bruce and I will run off together. And since Bruce is still buds with his ex-wife Demi Moore, I’ll eventually get to meet His Royal Cuteness Ashton. It’s such a win-win, at least for ME.
So let’s say we follow-up, right here on this blog in 2012, to see if I’m Mrs. Statham or Mrs. Willis. The suspense is killing me!
My first job was beyond cool, freezing actually. I worked at a Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream store. Now understand, I’ve got the body temperature of a shivering, teeth-chattering, whimpering reptile. I surprisingly survived constant reaching over 31 tubs of ice cream flavors – with absolutely no defibrillation paddles nor shiny, emergency thermal blankets nearby.
Even if a first job pays only minimum wage, which in California is now $8/hr, the experience is priceless. Minimum wage in 1983 was $3.35. My friend worked at The Wherehouse (similar to Blockbusters), starting at an epic $5 an hour!!!
But I got to “interact” with customers and learn about the power of the ice cream. Just a few memorable moments from my ice cream-slinging days when I actually used to be shocked and awe’d:
There was an extra-large guy who came in once a week and asked for a “hand-packed” gallon of vanilla. It was sold by weight, so he’d keep saying “put more in there, put more in there,” until the ice cream would look up at me and say, “What do you think we are, sardines?” And each time, the Big Guy would say, “Leave off the lid and just give me a spoon.” (?!) And, as I watched him eat every last spoonful right there, that’s when I developed an involuntarily eyebrow lift like this –
Then there was the creep who begged my co-worker to please put a scoop of ice cream in his shoe. *more involuntary eyebrow-twitching*
Oh yeah, and the time that scary guy robbed me as I rang up his double scoop cone of chocolate chip. Yep, that’s it! Good times. *sigh*
And what was YOUR first job and how did it work out for you?
Has it already been a year since my last Memorial Day post? It seems like time evaporates instantly while we rush around our daily routines. And yet, for the families and friends who have lost a soldier, a marine, sailor, or airman, time isn’t something that means much anymore. Because the only kind of time that matters is the kind they’ll never have. Time with their loved one who gave the ultimate sacrifice.
There’s not much I take so seriously, except for this one day a year. While it hurts me every Sunday as I read the names and stories of those recently killed in the Afghanistan and Iraq wars, Memorial Day is the day I will allow myself to really take in the sadness and depth of loss for so many families. But to honor the troops with fervent pride all year long is, for me, a way to ease the pain I feel for those left behind and grieving.
I take pride every single day in my country’s freedom and in the men and women who preserve that freedom. My heart swells with tribute especially when I see an American flag – and I’m often reminded that our servicemembers are still out there fighting for what our flag stands for.
I asked my bestest New York friend Rich Arcari (ya like that, Rich?) to snap pictures of flags in my most favorite city. (I love that everywhere around this country, we get glimpses of the flag all the time.) This first one is from the front of his apartment and the other one is of the 92nd Street Y.
And if anyone else can send me photos of our flag flying in other cities and towns, leave me a comment, or upload it into the comments section. It would be fun to have a page on this blog displaying American flags from places near and far. That way, I’ll always have flags to look at, from all around the country, as a reminder of our freedom and tribute to our troops fighting and sacrificing for FREEDOM. God bless their families! My heartfelt gratitude goes to them also.
I love the English language. Actually, I like ALL words, foreign, alien, tongue-clicking – you name it. People have said that English is really hard to learn, mostly because of all the idioms we use constantly. And then there’s SLANG.
In court the other day, the Defendant, about 60 years-old and not a native English-speaker, was representing himself. He explained that he didn’t want an interpreter because he had been taking English classes. Instead, he asked the judge to please speak slowly so he can be sure to understand.
The judge confirmed, for the record, that the Defendant declined the assistance of an interpreter and asked him, “Is that correct?”
Mr. Fully Assimilated Defendant replied, “Right on!”
…Aaaand of course, once again my muffled giggling hurt my throat.
Slang fascinates me. And it bums me out that I’ve never been smooth when I use it. It always sounds so forced and rigid. Maybe because English is my second language or maybe…um, I’m just a dork.(So good thing I have that first excuse handy.)
It’s just fun to learn some slang that was common back in the day. For example:
In the 50′s, they said “Daddy-O” alot. Now it’s “Mac Daddy”.
In the 60′s, you earned “bread”. Now you might be low on “cheddar”.
In the 70′s, dancers on Soul Train had some “bad” moves. Now it’s “mad skillz”.
There’s a plethora of fun slang from the 80′s to especially now. (Why I gotta always use words like “plethora”? No wonder I can’t shake the nerd in me.)
So how about you throw in a few of your favorite slang words and phrases here, so I can be more proficient in usage. Thanks. I really dig you, man! (Please don’t send the Dork Police after me.)