My three nephews received a Bat Cave for Christmas and numerous other Bat accessories. Mason, who just turned 3, immersed himself in dynamic duo adventures and was particularly fond of the Bat Copter. Soon after Christmas Mason began to tell me “Want the yellow Batman.” I would politely respond that he was referring to Robin, Batman’s lesser partner. He remained adamant that he wanted the yellow batman, and would move on to the next family member with the same statement. This went on through New Years, and I remained gentle yet firm in my responses, even handing him Robin on occasion. Nothing changed his mind or his tenacity.

I was visiting in the new year when my sister-in-law heard Mason and I going through the usual Bat conversation. She interrupted and told me that there was indeed a yellow Batman. “What…” I responded confusedly, suspecting that she was simply padding Mason’s self-esteem. She left the room and quickly returned with a yellow Batman. Unknown to me, the boys had accumulated no less than three Batman’s with all their gifts, two of which wore the traditional costume, and one who wore yellow (not all yellow, but enough to qualify). I apologized to Mason and had certainly underestimated his perception.

I just have to say, that one of my favorite places is the cheese section of Whole Foods (or any specialty market really). I should know by now that every time I head to the counter to pick up a little wedge and some bread to accompany my dinner that I will inevitably be detoured for at least 15 minutes as I browse the selection, examining the many varieties and origins. And of course I cannot part with just one. So I add one or two new explorations to an old favorite. I rarely leave without a wedge of Brillat or Camembert (Nancy’s, I prefer Tom’s but they no longer carry that one). I usually pick up a hard cheese like Gruyere to balance it out. And anything with truffles, I can’t pass up. Thus tonight’s new selection Truffle Tremor. It’s goat cheese infused with black truffles. Can you imagine a better union? Now I recently tried the Brillat with truffles, but the richness of both seemed a bit too heavy. The tangy flavor of the goat cheese completely compliments the truffles. So yummy!

Now that I have pulled myself (and checkbook) away from the cheese counter, I am faced with a whole new challenge - choosing something for dinner. Oh did I not mention that I started at the cheeses? This is where I really run into problems. I mean it’s like they have everything and nothing at the same time. It’s impossible but absolutely true. I wander around the prepared food section at least three times looking for the perfect combination of items. I usually end up with some random selections that totally do not go together. Like tonight for example, I couldn’t decide what I wanted from the case and of course was not ready when he asked me so I ummed and uhhhhed a few times and finally decided on some roasted winter vegetables with sage and spaghetti squash with hazelnuts - and of course the cheese.

Good! Dinner? done. Grab a french baguette on the way out and ohhhhhh the dessert section. Right. Gets me every time. I try not to do desserts during the week but since it’s December and I had five cookies for lunch - yes that’s right, just like last year - I figure what the hell. So now I begin to inspect each prepackaged dessert - almond crumb cake, tiramisu cake, chocolate explosion, egg nog cheese cake (oh that one’s good), pecan pie, and the list goes on, all in single servings. But as usual I end up at the case of mini delights! What could be better than choosing three or four little temptations so you don’t have to decide on just one? I’m not good at choosing just one thing. I never want to pick the wrong one and then be disappointed. One mini key lime tart, pecan tart, two eclairs (for the husband), a cookie cream sandwich, and a fruit tart. Sadly there were no mini pumpkin pies or cannoli, but I guess I got enough for us to fight over.

So 45 minutes and a small fortune later I finally make it back to my car with the perfect dinner to accompany the perfect night of prime time TV. You know it’s Tuesday!

Every year I venture out, in search of the ideal gift and return home with more items for myself than my recipients. I am admittedly a shopaholic. And although I have been doing so well the last few months, the receipt of an unexpected bonus sent me over the edge, apparently a result of pent up frustration from lack of purchasing.

So last week I found myself at one of my favorite bargain stores. And actually I was stopping in to look for dresses, which are a steal at this store, but you have to check back often. As I’m sure my fellow shoppers out there are aware, bargain stores are hit or miss so if you have no patience you should avoid these retail establishments.

I have a methodical routine for this type of store. With my mini-cart, I walk through the new arrivals section in the front to see if anything catches my eye, slowly making as I my way to the dresses. This is where I spend the majority of my time before heading to the dressing room. I skip the numerous racks of tops, pants, skirts, jackets, etc. as these provide little reward in return for the hours spent digging through them. Once out of the dressing room, I browse the bags for designer bargains, and maybe a quick walk through the home section before heading out. It’s quite efficient actually and it keeps me from getting overwhelmed.

This particular day proved to be extremely productive, not to mention eventful. After browsing the racks of dresses and filling my cart, I made a beeline for the dressing room and happily emerged with six successes. I proceeded to the bags where I expected to find little as I had been in the store several times recently with no luck in purses. So you can imagine my surprise when I immediately found two Michael Kors bags in the first row! Adrenaline took over and I became completely focused on my search, grabbing each new bag and flinging it into my cart.

My concentration was suddenly broken by a fellow shopper asking if the bag she was trying on was too big. ‘No it’s so cute…is that BCBG?’ And an instant shopping bond was born. We spent the next 30 minutes zeroing in on high-end bags and trying to select our favorites as not to break the bank, which contrary to popular belief is possible even at discount stores. Thank goodness my newly acquired shopping buddy knocked some sense into me and talked me down from six bags to two. Her wise proclamation are a shoppers words to live by: Only get the ones that you will die without. So that’s what I did, escaping with a final total somewhere around $500, thankful that I put back 4 of the 6 bags. Merry Christmas to me!

When I was is college, one of my three part-time jobs included working at a daycare. One that was haunted I might add, but I’ll save that for my dark and creepy blog, which will be launched as soon as Leonard caves. I lived in the apartment above said daycare and, therefore, inherited the duty of opening up at 6 am (which, if you remember, is insanely early at the age of 20) and cooking breakfast for the early kids.

Now I shouldn’t have to explain that the purpose of providing breakfast between 6 am and 7 am is to provide sustenance for the children of parents with early work times to whom it might be more challenging to get the kids up and fed by 5 am. The intent of this free of charge courtesy was understood by the majority of our parents without explanation.

And then there was Joey. Or maybe I should say, Joey’s dad. Every morning around quarter of seven, just before the breakfast clean up, Joey and his dad would arrive. He would mosey in, unpack Joey’s things and greet us as we got the 2-year-old seated, bibbed, and ready for his breakfast. Understanding that he clearly brought his child in not because he didn’t have time to fix him breakfast but more to capitalize on the free fixings, we weren’t so bothered until Joey’s father began grab a serving for himself.

Joey was a bit of a cryer when his dad dropped him off, so he had begun to hang around for a while each morning. We offered our psychological advise–typically the longer you hang around and prolong the goodbye, the more difficult it is for the child to recover. Now for the most part, kids who fuss when their parent walks away have already forgotten and begun to play with their friends by the time mom or dad reaches the car. But Joey’s dad was certain that his presence was beneficial to his son’s mental state. So he stayed… and ate.

Squatting on the miniature chair, leaning over the little u-shaped craft table, Joey’s dad shoveled in whatever was available–pancakes, sausage, eggs, bacon–you name it. And just to clarify, we never offered him a plate but one day he asked and, completely caught off guard by the odd request, I said yes. I guess I assumed it was a one time thing, but the next day he did the same thing.

After several weeks of pilfering food from the mouths of toddlers, we finally found the nerve to address the situation. We explained the reason for offering early breakfast and reminded him that this was something provided by the catholic church with which the daycare was affiliated and that it was really meant for those who needed it. This did not sit well with Joey’s dad, and we saw less and less of both of them until finally Joey stopped showing up.

Several months later, my phone rang and on the other end, my friend (who also worked at the day care) rushed me to turn on the TV. Upon flipping to the instructed, I saw Jenny Jones. And in one of her chairs on stage was none other than Joey’s dad. Jenny’s topic that day? Male eating disorders. Turns out Joey’s dad had bulimia. Unbelievable, but explains a whole lot…

So I’m kind of addicted to school. I mean every time I finish, a few years later I seem to feel a need to go back. Well I guess this is only really the second time, so we’ll see what happens 6 years from now. One thing I like about higher education is that you are no longer treated like a kid. From the moment I interviewed with the department chair for a spot in my Master’s program, I noticed the difference. It’s no longer teacher/student, you listen/I talk, follow my strict rules or else. Now I am responsible for making sure I attend class, that I know the material, and that I am prepared for exams. It’s a great relief and also a great responsibility, but that’s what being a grown up is about right?

Well let me tell you what ruins this whole liberating experience – the annoying student. Yes, you know who I’m talking about. There’s one in every class. This person may take on different traits depending on the situation or the level of education, but the bottom line is they simply cannot just come to class and act normal.

In my class, this student takes on the role of someone who apparently cannot concentrate without absolute silence. I find this fascinating given that in the real world, one must learn to be productive in various situations. I mean if you can’t function outside your own custom made environment, how will you ever survive, let alone be successful.

So this person, from day one, has had a huge issue with my small group of colleagues. It began with one of my biggest pet peeves – the shhhhhh. Oh I cannot stand that! I just think it’s one of the rudest, most anger-provoking gestures. Agh! I’m getting mad just thinking about it. So anyway, the shushing turned into comments about how whispering distracts him from being able to pay attention.

I think it’s important to interject here with some geographical information. I sit at one corner of the room while he sits in the other. Meaning that it seems almost impossible to be able to hear soft speaking from that distance. I would say that he has super-hearing but if that were true wouldn’t the amplified voice of the professor standing directly in front of him drown out the rest?

Several events have occurred, outbursts gradually increasing in hostility and “tattling” to the professor after class. I have to ask, are we in Grad School or Grade School? Well last week, the sh*&t hit the fan. He lost it completely. At the end of a class filled with purposeful silence on our part in an attempt to subdue the beast, a muffled conversation broke out within our group. Suddenly, he began shouting, “I can’t pay attention with the constant noise from back there! This happens every class and I’m tired of nothing being done about it!” To our laughter, he mumbled to shut up.

Our sympathies go out to our professor, who is caught in the middle of this one-sided drama. We are going to try to make it through the end of the semester without inciting another incident. We have come to the conclusion that we remind him either of the kids he hated in high school or the ones he wanted to be. I can only hope that I don’t have to endure another class with this annoyance. Wish me luck…

I always hear stories about kids walking in their sleep. I guess it happens sometimes with adults but it’s much more rare. I wonder why that is. Maybe it’s because the mind of a child is so much more active. After all, children can absorb an incredible amount of information and retain it. I once read that a child of five can learn up to seven languages simultaneously without slowing their pace of learning. As adults, our knowledge acquisition becomes a strenuous activity, full of rigorous studying and memory techniques. I know I wish I had stuck with the violin and speaking French when I was younger because now it seems impossible to learn something new.

So I was a sleepwalker, and talker, as a kid. I used to completely freak my mom out. I’ve never actually seen someone sleepwalk, but I imagine that it must be kinda scary. Especially after being subjected to the hollywood depictions of zombies and creepy evil kids. My mom said I used to sit up and just stare at her or come out of my room and start flipping the lights on and off. Weird.

Once my cousin walked out of his house and down the street while he was sleeping! I think the oddest thing is those people who sleep-eat. Could you imagine? Like all of a sudden you are gaining all this weight and you can’t figure out why, while all the time you are making giant dagwoods and slamming coke in your sleep! We just remodeled our kitchen and my new fridge has an alarm that you can turn on. I think I will do that just in case.

Blingo names a winner close to home.

You never really believe it until it happens to you! My Mom won a Blingo prize on Saturday. She won an Amazon gift certificate. I have to admit that it’s not my favorite search engine and because I doubted that I would win I haven’t been using it. But now I think I will set it back to my search field default. Remember, if you tell someone about Blingo and they sign up and win, YOU win the same prize! I’m sold! Click the Blingo button on our site to sign up. You could be next…

Only a few days until Halloween, so I have one more horrifying story to close out the month. A comment on the Phantom Skimmer from my friend Ernie inspired me to share this disturbing story from our college days.

We grew up and attended college in the Midwest and due to the many rivers that run through the cities, heavy rains and high waters would sometimes drive sewer rats to the surface to instill a little fright in the local neighborhoods. The evening news would run stories about encounters such as a man being chased around his yard while trying to take out the trash. If you’ve never seen a sewer rat, these are no pet-type mice; these rats can be the size of a large cat. It’s pretty freakish.

In college I shared the ground floor of an old Victorian manor with two of my friends. The upstairs unit housed four guys we went to school with, so it was a party house to boot. It was probably built in the early 1900s and I loved it but the house came with the typical problems like old bathrooms and creaky floors, oh and it had a coffin closet! But that’s another story.

Anyway, upon my return from a weekend trip I was immediately informed that there had been an incident at the house. My roommates proceeded to tell me an unbelievable story that I was incredible thankful I missed. You know the one about the baby alligator in the sewer? That might not be an urban legend. I have changed names for identity protection…

Apparently, Sarah went to use the bathroom on evening and when she lifted up the toilet cover, a rat jumped out of the toilet! She screamed and ran into the hall and found Krista coming to see what was going on. They grabbed a broom and peaked into the bathroom but the door had been left open and the rat was no longer in there. They began to tip toe from room to room and found it in Krista’s bedroom. Sarah picked up a blanket and threw it on the rat so now it was trapped! What I’m about to tell you may be disturbing, so if you have a weak stomach, you may want to stop reading this now. Okay, I warned you… At a loss for what to do next (and you know that when stuff like this happens you are not thinking clearly) Krista picked up one of those cinder blocks (you know the kind used in the 80’s to make shelves and stuff) and threw it on the rat. The rest you can figure out.

Forever traumatized just by hearing the story, I hesitate for a moment every time I have to lift the lid of the toilet. And forget going to the bathroom in the dark! Ernie and I remember the tale clearly to this day even though it was 10 years ago. The strangest thing is that Krista claims she doesn’t remember it. We have decided that she has traumatic stress syndrome and has blocked the memory. After all, she was the one who committed murder…

Remember all those horribly embarrassing things that happened to you as a kid? The big ones most vivid in my memory are the kid leaning over to pick up a pencil and flipping their whole desk over. And I don’t know what desks look like now, but when I was in elementary school, they were big and clunky, with the chair attached to the desk and the top that lifted up to store all your books and belongings. So when those puppies fell it shook the room. Or how about having your skirt stuck up in your tights and walking around while everyone snickered instead of telling you?

And then there’s the really bad stuff, like spewing milk out of your nose because someone made you laugh at lunch, or throwing up on the floor in class, or choking on part of your sandwich while your friends laugh because they think you are joking. Yep, all good fun. And we don’t necessarily escape these moments as adults, but I think now we are better at laughing at ourselves or throwing out sarcasm to deflect the onlookers. I feel bad even revealing this story to you as I was only a spectator but I can’t think of anything that has recently happened to me, so hopefully it’s all in good fun since no names are mentioned…

There is a quiet woman who frequents our lunch area around 1 pm each day. Some of the employees from our building next door prefer to take breaks in our office due to its colorful decor, high ceilings, and skylights. A pleasant escape from the caves of cubicle mazes that make up most offices. I see her almost every day. She seems to forgo the lunch rush for a solitary moment out of the day when she can read and eat her meal in peace.

One day it was particularly busy in the kitchen. Because of the open architecture of our building, the kitchen and lunch tables are plotted in the middle of a main walkway and are completely open to the surrounding cubicles and offices. So when someone is having a celebration everyone in the office can hear and it also tends to draw colleagues together for water cooler talk. We greet each other and chit chat as coffee cups are filled, popcorn popped, and dishes rinsed.

Already the stage was set for someone to have a moment. Of course embarrassing things never happen when no one is around. Suddenly the woman began choking, which quickly changed to hacking. Everyone was silent and some were beginning to approach, others asked if she was okay, while most were frozen in shock. She rose from the table, took three steps over to the garbage can, and to our horror, vomited into the trash.

Fear became disgust, and disgust dissolved quickly into sympathy. Almost immediately I was thankful that it had not been me and I silently checked myself for sources of possible embarrassment. I retreated to the safety of my cubicle where no harm can come to me, and I didn’t eat for the rest of the day.

If you ever watch movies like Heathers or Brick, you are familiar with the art of creating an original language out of plain old English. Mix a few words around, substitute a noun for a verb here and there, and presto, hip new dialect.

I’ve noticed that this phenomenon is not limited to the brilliant (or not so brilliant) minds of script writers. Just listen and you will probably find morphed language all around you. Industries and groups of all kinds seem to create words to describe things that apparently lack proper representation. And the office is no different. More intriguing even, is that the cubicle environment specifically, appears to have developed a style of communication all its own.

Cubunga aside, we have started using made-up words regularly in my office. We refer to our cubicles as cubies. People can often be heard yelling, ‘hey can you come over to my cubie for a minute?’ A recent addition by yours truly is the term resty. It’s a more discreet word for rest room, ‘let me call you back; I need to go to the resty’. We tend to refer to management as the parent of the person with whom we are speaking. Kind of like you do with your dog or kid when they have been naughty, ‘look what your dog did!’ So we say, ‘your mom was over here trying to see if I was doing any work’ or ‘your dad is making us go to that meeting’

We are in the process of developing a cubedia to document the growth of our new language. It reminds me of this episode of The Twilight Zone. Not the old ones, which were the best, but the ones they tried to remake in the eighties. There was one about this man who woke up one day and people were using the wrong words for things. Like they called chairs dinosaurs for example. And everyone could understand each other but he was like ‘what the heck is going on?’ So by the end of the episode, the language everyone was speaking, although still using English words, had become unrecognizable to him (and the viewer). The closing scene shows him sitting on the side of his daughter’s bed as she reads him a story in the new language… It was so sad now that I think about it.