Things That Go Bump in the Night

Halloween is almost here.  Pumpkins are being carved, little ghouls and goblins are picking out the very best costumes to wear, parents are fretting about the ridiculous amounts of candy their kids are about to ingest, and TV stations everywhere are playing marathons of scary movies and shows.

I love scary movies.  Not slasher, blood and guts movies, but the ones with a kernel of truth – or at least with a possibility of being true.  And I am completely addicted to those ghost hunting TV shows.  I can watch the episodes over and over again without ever getting bored.  But after I’m done watching a particularly scary ghost story or psychological thriller and it’s time to go to bed?….. yeah, I usually end up sleeping with a nightlight.  Ok, ok, not a nightlight: straight-up lamp… or the ceiling light.

In honor of the approaching festival of fear I’ve been thinking back to the times when I have been irrationally scared.  Pretty much every instance started with a horror movie.  I think we’ve all been this kind of scared at some point in our lives, but generally people don’t want to talk about it.  I’m going to break the ice.  Here’s the lowdown:

The Porcelain Dolls

Sometime when I was about 10 years old I got the idea that it would be cool to collect porcelain dolls.  At some point, I think it was when I got the third doll, it came to my attention that there was a whole movie (Chucky) about a doll who was possessed and evil and killed people.  I was convinced that my porcelain dolls must be possessed too.  I suddenly hated having them in my room, tried not to look at them, ran past them when going in and out of my room (they were on a stand right by my bedroom door), and had nightmares about them at least once a week.  The horrible part was I was afraid that if I took them out of my room, threw them away or smashed their porcelain faces their spirits would come and seek revenge on me.  They’d sat silently not bothering me for a long time.  I didn’t want to piss them off.  The worst part was my family knew I was collecting them, so I kept getting more!  One by one, my evil family of glass-eyed, rosy cheeked, fear-inducing collectables grew.  There was nothing I could do to stop it.

Pet Semetary

I saw this movie when I was about 12.  I was going through a Stephen King phase.  Everything about the movie completely terrified me.  But there was one particular scene that really scared the hell out of me: a ghost who had been in a horrific accident and had his face ripped off.  That guy really freaked me out.  One day in the shower I was thinking about that movie and it dawned on me: I could open my shower curtain and that scary guy could be right there staring at me!!  I spent the better part of two years peeking out, terrified, every time I turned off the hot water.

Paranormal Activity

This story is much more recent.  Just last year I made a date with a friend from work to go see Paranormal Activity.  At this point in my life I was watching Ghost Hunters, Paranormal State, and any TV show about a “real” haunting I could find.  I was watching them religiously.  So I was certain that a fake movie of the same genre could not possibly get me.  (I wore a hooded sweatshirt to the theatre just in case I needed to cover my ears, face and the back of my neck anyway.)  So I watched the movie, got just a little bit creeped out, and left the theater really proud of myself for not being scared to death.  Fast-forward 15 minutes to when I had to get out of my car and go into my apartment.  My apartment was on the very end of my building.  I had to walk by a mini-forest to get to my door.  There was a big park behind the building.  My neighbors were gone a lot.  There was no way to be certain that anyone would hear me if I screamed.  I dashed to my front door and got ready for bed.  And then I realized it: there was an entrance to the attic in the closet of my spare bedroom.  If you’ve seen the movie you know exactly what I was talking about.  That meant that at any time it was possible for a three-toed devil creature to crawl out of the attic, into my apartment and absolutely terrorize me.  And furthermore, I lived alone.  I could die at the hands of the creepy three-toed creature (or anything else that goes bump in the night) and it could be days before anyone found me.  My poor dog would be mourning my death alone, eating everything in the kitchen before he considered the possibility of nibbling on my toes a little bit, before I would be noticed as missing.  But certainly no one had died in this fairly new apartment.  No one whose spirit would have been caught here forever, doomed to haunt the unlucky inhabitant of #1826… right?  After a long, mostly sleepless night (lights on, TV blaring the Disney Channel – WHAT??  I needed something happy-go-lucky), I left my apartment for work, bleary-eyed from exhaustion, and what did I see?  Fire trucks and ambulances at the next building, rolling out someone covered in a sheet.  Bad sign.  I vowed never to watch another scary movie.  And to move out as soon as my lease was up.

So tomorrow I am planning to go see Paranormal Activity 2.  This time I have a roommate and not 1, but 2 dogs, so surely I won’t be so scared, right?  And maybe I’ll tune in for a marathon of any scary show I can find.  I just hope that I’ll make it to Monday and no ghouls or goblins will torture me between now and then.  We’ll see…

10 Things I’ve Learned from My Dogs

I adore my dogs.  We teach each other, learn from each other, coexist, and love each other.  I’ve had dogs since I was a little girl, and my experience is that dogs teach us really important lessons in life.  Here are some of the most important ones I’ve learned:

 10. A face never lies.  (You may just need to learn how to read it better)

9. Those around you are influenced by your behavior

8. A good haircut can go a long way

7. Yelling is largely ineffective.  Strong body language and the mindset of a leader are much more effective

6. Love sees no color, gender, race, religion, disability.  Love is love.

5. Abusive relationships have lasting consequences

4. It’s never too late, too early, too soon, too often, too anything for a kiss.  Or a lot of them.  Or even just a snuggle.

3. Food is awesome

2. Exercising is SUPER EXCITING!!!  (I haven’t learned this yet.  My dogs are still trying to convince me)

1. Food is awesome

What do you think?  Have you learned from your dog(s)?  Have you not?  Love dogs?  Hate dogs?  I’d love to hear it.

Crouching Tiger Swimming Buffalo

I’ll keep this one short and sweet.  I woke up this morning to a news report that some couple had found a buffalo swimming in their backyard pool.  Yes, you read that right.  Buffalo. Swimming pool.  Since I was really only half-awake I wasn’t certain whether or not I had heard the story correctly, so I Googled it.  Sure enough, it’s true.  Here’s photographic evidence.

This led me to wonder what other unwelcome guests folks have found in their backyards.  I’m sure there are some hilarious and horrific stories.

So readers, what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever found in your backyard 

 

Choice, Joyce, Schmoyce

Have you ever watched the show Undercover Boss?  I try to tune in on Sunday nights to watch – it’s usually pretty entertaining.  The show is in its second season now and the basic premise is this: a CEO or other top executive of a large company goes incognito to work in front line positions in their organization.  They realize that the workers are actual humans who are struggling along, making low wages, and trying to support their families.  After working in disguise, side-by-side with these people for a week, the exec summons the workers to the corporate office, discloses his (yes I said HIS: there’s only been one female exec so far and I’m impatiently waiting for more) true identity, and gives the workers a gift of some sort.  When the show is over the audience is left feeling hopeful: the faceless CEOs of the world are getting a glimpse of what real life is like, and they’re making positive, employee-centric changes in their companies as a result of their experiences.

I awoke this morning to a dreary, rainy Saturday.  It was a perfect morning to stay in bed and catch up on shows I’d missed over the past couple of weeks.  First in the line-up: Undercover Boss.  I was ready to have my corporate America soul fed.

Upon pressing “Play” I was introduced to Mr. Joyce, the out-of-shape, painfully pock-faced CEO of Choice Hotels.  In an attempt to humanize this gentleman, we heard stories about how his mother was a great caregiver within the neighborhood, looking out for underprivileged young mothers who had been turned out of their own families.

Mr. Joyce shaved his mustache, dyed his hair, and hit the road in a vehicle MUCH below his personal standards to charade as an underling.  First up: a position as a maintenance worker in the world’s largest EconoLodge, trained by a gentleman named Ricardo.  Ricardo has been working two full-time jobs, seven days a week for 6 years in order to put his child through medical school.  Over the course of his week Mr. Joyce is also paired with Christina, a housekeeping manager who aspires to be a GM in order to provide a better living for her family; John, a director of sales who is told “no” a hundred times for every “yes” he gets; and Brandalyn, a front desk clerk who had her first child at 16 and was promptly kicked out of her house.  Brandalyn struggled through life, occasionally sleeping in her car with her young son, and eventually landed the position of overnight front desk clerk.  After his tour with Brandalyn, Mr. Joyce tearfully tells the camera that his mother would have taken Brandalyn in, and that he hopes his mother is proud of him for giving employees like her a chance.

The week of make-believe is over, and Mr. Joyce summons the employees to his office.  After revealing his true identity (“Do you know who I am?  I’m Steve Joyce, president and CEO of Choice Hotels” EGO BOOST), he begins the obligatory giving of gifts.  To John, $5,000 for a new business suit, and a guaranteed position in Choice’s global sales force (Steve, we can call him Steve, says this means “big pay”).  For Christina, Choice is putting her through GM training (“serious change in your income”) and gets a week of paid vacation and an all-expenses-paid Disney Vacation for her and her family.  Brandalyn (who is “really an inspiration”) is told that Mr. Joyce will ask “the folks that work directly with [her] hotel” to help her get to that next spot that she wants PLUS she and her family will receive a trip to San Antonio to “kind of thank [her]”.  Last but not least, Ricardo is given a golf cart so he can be more productive, and a scholarship for his son’s medical school.

WHAT??!!  I’m sorry, but did I just hear that the men are getting $5,000 for a suit, a med school scholarship, and a guaranteed position in a “big pay” job, while the women get training (which the company already provides at no cost, mind you) and a vacation?  And the woman who really pulled at Mr. Joyce’s heartstrings gets a FABULOUS trip to San Antonio.  SAN ANTONIO???  The armpit of the Southern Plains?  ExCUSE me?

Now, I’m not saying that these workers should have necessarily been given anything.  They have jobs in a bad economy and they’re managing to make ends meet.  Here’s my beef: shouldn’t the women have been given equal rewards as the men?  Last I checked a year at a top-notch graduate school can run up to $40,000.  And a $5,000 suit plus “big pay” must equal a similar sum.  Free training and a vacation?  A vacation to SAN ANTONIO?  Really?….  And if the men were somehow more deserving of the large prizes, couldn’t Undercover Boss have shown that?  No, we’re not all going to mindlessly tune out and go for the warm, happy finale.

The show ended and I knew I was supposed to feel warm, fuzzy, and full of hope for my future in corporate America.  How did I feel?  PISSED OFF.  Clearly the glass ceiling is still firmly in place, and inevitably I’ll be hitting it in my future.  I mean, women are obviously less valuable than men in the workplace, and if you need a reminder just ask Mr. Joyce.

Squash

My mother once told me that I don’t have the “Domestic Spirit”.  I remember initially feeling slightly offended that she would say such a thing, but upon closer self-examination I decided that she was mostly correct.  I’m messy, disorganized, and the thought of attending a PTA meeting is as boring to me as the color beige.  I’m terrible at decorating and I have no idea how to create a “homey” atmosphere.  Laundry is my nemesis.  Go ahead – judge me.  But hey, at least I’m honest.

However, when Mom diagnosed me as Domestically Challenged, she failed to consider one key fact:  I love food.  At first my food obsession mainly revolved around restaurants.  I love to try new places, indulge in decadent meals, critique the wait staff, analyze the presentation of the food and just generally be a food snob.  Recently, much to my mother’s surprise (I’m pretty sure she thought aliens were interfering with our cell phone signals when I told her), I’ve been really into cooking.  Food and Wine and Cooking Light arrive in my mailbox instead of Vogue and W Magazine, my DVR has been infiltrated by shows hosted by my favorite celebrity chefs (I can’t believe I have “favorite celebrity chefs”), and I’ve been visiting the grocery store at least 3 times a week for the freshest ingredients.  Did I mention that in my early twenties I once went 3 months without setting foot in a grocery store?

In recent months many tasty dishes have taken shape in my kitchen. The perfect pico de gallo and scrumptious shallot and mushroom sauce have really bolstered my culinary confidence.  My knife skills have improved dramatically and I now know how to deglaze a pan.  So when October came around and I was searching for new and challenging recipes I decided I’d try something seasonally appropriate yet foreign to me.  Squash (cue the scary horror movie music).

My memories of squash are not particularly positive.  I recall lumpy piles of orange mush staring at me from the plate.  I remember the weird texture and strange nutty flavor, neither of which I particularly enjoyed.  However, a recent vegetarian cooking class (yes, this carnivore just said vegetarian cooking class) convinced me that butternut squash soup isn’t half bad.  In fact it’s pretty darn good.  Before that class I didn’t even know there were different varieties of squash.  I was intrigued.  So I started keeping my eyes open for squash as I perused the produce section of my local market.

Finally last Sunday afternoon I spotted it: three varieties of squash.  According to the stickers on these weird looking gourds they were butternut squash, spaghetti squash and acorn squash.  I recalled having run across recipes for all three, so I selected one of each and put them in my basket.

The spaghetti squash went off without a hitch (sorry food bloggers out there, you’re wrong: the taste and texture are nothing like real spaghetti) and the acorn squash recipes looked boring, so I decided to go for it and try the butternut squash soup recipe from class.

With great anticipation for the deliciousness in my near future I chopped onions, minced garlic and sautéed it all with sprigs of rosemary (according to the cooking instructor that was the ingredient which would make the soup “sing”).  The aroma that filled the kitchen was divine.  I clumsily peeled and cubed the butternut squash, tossed it in the pan and added the vegetable broth.  30 minutes later it was time to make magic.  I added the cream and, convinced that I was really becoming a kitchen goddess, pulled out my brand new immersion blender.

Now let me pause for a moment to discuss this whole immersion blender thing.  I hadn’t heard of such a thing until several weeks ago, so I’m not sure how many people use one or know what it is.  Basically, this is an electric kitchen tool that looks like – ok, I’m not sure I can bring myself to say what non-kitchen appliance it reminds me of.  Let me try again: It’s a long, slim kitchen appliance with little blender blades on the end, so you can stick it in your soup or your protein shake or any other liquid that needs mixing and it’ll blend it into a nice smooth substance.

I put the immersion blender into my pot of soup and turned it on.  With a whir and a splash orange, squashy droplets were flung out of the pot and adhered to the stove top, the counters, my pizza stone (it was just an innocent bystander!), and into my eyes.  I wiped the goop off my face with my free hand.  We certainly didn’t see this kind of soup tidal wave in cooking class.  Clearly I must have been doing something wrong so I tried a different angle.  This time the blender sort of suctioned itself to the bottom of the pot and made a high-pitched noise.

After much splashing, wrestling with the blender and a couple of four-letter words, my soup was finally ready to enjoy.  It didn’t quite look the way I remembered it from class, but looks don’t matter, right?  The taste is what counts.  I was so excited to try my first bite of that rich, silky deliciousness.  I ladled the soup into a dish and dramatically moved the spoon to my mouth, slow-motion style, taking in the savory aroma.  This was going to be amazing!  Reality check: as soon as the soup hit my tongue I knew something was wrong.  It was like I had a mouthful of runny kindergarten paste.  Sick!  This wasn’t anything like the soup our instructor had made in class.  I tried to salvage it.  After adding salt for flavor, blending in some leftover spaghetti squash to improve the texture, trying some thickener and nearly gagging after each taste I finally gave up and transferred the so-called “soup” into a Tupperware container for permanent storage in the fridge.  There was no way in hell I was ever going to eat it, but I have food guilt and feel compelled to save ALL leftovers.  The “soup” would probably sit there in its Tupperware grave until it grew fuzz (and possibly legs).

After all that drama I’m sorry to say that I still have an acorn squash on my kitchen counter looking at me with sad eyes, wanting so badly to be cooked.  It’s sitting next to a package of hazelnuts which it’s supposed to be combined with for “Acorn Squash with Brown Butter and Hazelnuts”, a recipe from my favorite food blog (thank you Siriously Delicious).   However, I’ve got to be honest with you: that day may never come.  I’m holding a grudge against squash of all varieties.

I tried to like you, squash.  I tried to change my ways and create new happy memories with you and all you could do was splash your nasty self in my face and everywhere in my kitchen.  What kind of a dumb name is “squash” anyway?  I guess Mom was right: maybe this domestic stuff just isn’t for me.  Whatever, I’m going to go order a pizza.

Get Motivated? My out-of-body experience at a business seminar

I love a good pep talk.  A great inspirational speech from someone I admire can really revitalize me and increase my personal and professional productivity.  So naturally when the Get Motivated! Business Seminar came to an arena near me I was all about it.  Bring on the lectures!  Teach me to be more effective!  Help me be a better leader!  I’ll even get up at 5:30 am to ensure I make it there on time (that’s very early for me).

 I entered the arena full of anticipation and excitement for the learning which was about to commence.  I had the $20 workbook I had purchased at a table by the concession stands, my favorite pens, an extra notebook in case I needed more space to write, and my iPad (in case all the writing tired me and I needed  to type my copious notes instead).  I was ready.  I was a sponge waiting to soak up wisdom from the leaders and motivators who were about to present prolific speeches.

The lights dimmed and our first speaker took the stage:  Steve Forbes, editor-in-chief of Forbes magazine.  “Alright!” I thought.  “We’ve got someone wildly successful who will give us a step-by-step guide to achieving our own personal success!”  I sat poised with pen in hand, workbook in lap, ready to write down each and every step to glorious success.  Imagine my disappointment when Mr. Forbes launched into a speech full of right-winged rhetoric on taxes, healthcare and other hot-button issues.  At the culmination of his speech I looked, surprised, at the completely blank workbook page in front of me.  “Nothing?  I found nothing in his talk worth writing down?”  Surely I was in a funk.  Perhaps it was too early and I was grumpy.  Maybe I had briefly fallen asleep and missed the part where he gave us helpful hints or maybe a tip or trick to achieving success (it was still before 9 am after all).  I resolved to be a better listener for the next presenter.

Next up: Laura Bush.  I’m not a fan of any of the Bushes, but what had Laura ever done to me?  Nothing.  I was certain she would have something motivating to say.  Twenty or so minutes later I had listened to an update about each member of the Bush family, an attempt to improve the image of her husband (nice try, Mrs. Bush), and some story about W throwing out the first pitch at a Yankees game.  And then it was over.  “What??” I said to myself.  “Where was the inspirational part?  Where was the call to action?”  I referred to my notes.  There was one sentence, a quotation about which I planned to write later: “Sometimes you have to work hard just to recognize yourself”.  Well, yea Mrs. Bush.  I’m having a hard time recognizing the me who’s sitting here right now listening to this crap.

At this point I had to have a real heart-to-heart with myself.  I was here to learn, grow and be motivated.  Not to be a cynical naysayer.  But man, it was getting to be hard work upholding that positive attitude.  I was able to pull it together and get some good points from Colin Powell’s talk.  I even had an action item to do a thorough self-assessment of myself as a leader: he had brought up some really good points.  Things were looking up!

Next speaker: Bob Kittell.  I didn’t know who he was, but I was ready for what he had to say.  He started the presentation with a great call to action and some motivational words, and as he was wrapping up what I considered to be the best presentation of the day so far he hit us in the face with it: he was selling us his seminars!! Sure enough, I did a quick look-back on what this man had said in the last 30 minutes and it could have been straight out of a sales text book.  My cynical self engulfed me and any hope I had for being motivated was gone.

After lunch we heard from Dr. Robert Schueller (his church was bankrupt), Zig Zigler (he was suffering from short-term memory loss so most of the presentation was video clips of his inspirational speeches from 20 years ago), and some ridiculous man named James Smith who appeared to be drunk and seemed to think he was God.  He managed to offend me on every level. I grabbed by purse and started to walk out in protest, but upon looking at the enthralled sheep sitting to my right and my left, and seeing the elderly individuals who I would have to climb over to get out, I changed my mind.  I waited until this guy was done selling us on a real estate investment seminar and followed the hypnotized attendees who were now dashing up the stairs to grab a clipboard and pay their last $50 for admission to a seminar which would ultimately not benefit them (I mean, you have to have money to make money, right?).  I followed them up the stairs and I proceeded to walk out.

I sat in the car on the way home reflecting on what I had learned that day.  I had learned how to give a damn good sales presentation. I had learned that I wasn’t the only one out there who felt lost from time to time and needed inspiration.  I realized that maybe my cynical view-point was right after all: If you want to be more effective go to work and do better! If you want to be a better leader observe the greats and replicate their behavior. If you want to learn READ.  More often than not, a glitzy, cheesy seminar will not give you what you need.  And the final lesson: if you love a good pep-talk, for God’s sake go to someone who has given you a good one before.

Oh and P.S. I was also really glad the ticket was free.

Hello Blogosphere

Hello and welcome to my little blog.  As the name of this blog suggests, I am, in fact, a Yankee living in Dallas, TX.

Somwhere along the way I seemed to forget how much I enjoy writing.  This is my attempt to get back into it.

I can’t guarantee that there will be a common theme through my posts.  I can’t guarantee that any of my posts will be amazing or Earth-shattering.  But stick with me and I can guarantee that you’ll hear my honest point of view on the everyday and the extraordinary. 

Please visit regularly and comment often.  I promise I’ll write back!

Enjoy.

Stevie