Circle Rice

Have you ever heard of “Debbie Downer” a character from Saturday Night Live? Well, I can think of someone even more annoying than that.

It’s Tina Topper, the girl who can always “one up” your story.

Oh, come on, you know her. She waits with baited breath as you finish your story so that she can top it with something more interesting.

“So how was your weekend, Tina?” I ask.

“Fine, how was yours?”

“Well, it was fine until yesterday. I was robbed in a grocery store and held at gun point until I handed over my wedding rings.” I pause to breathe and finish my story, but before my lips can form the next word, I’m quickly cut off…

“Oh, that sucks. Well, you know what happened to ME once?! I was shot in the head with a sawed off 12 gauge single pump shot gun! It was horrible! I was in the emergency room for about 6 hours!”

One other evening out with the girls, Tina walks up in the middle of a conversation. One of them was explaining how she had to put her dog to sleep two nights earlier.

“He ate a Tempur-Pedic foam pillow. It was horrible. He had complications due to the blockage in his intestines, so we had no other choice but to put him to sleep.” She explained as the tears started to fill her eyes.

Tina butts in before we can respond with our condolences. “Well, you know what happened to my dog? I rescued him from the shelter when he was 2 years old. When I got him home, he barfed up a tape worm the length of my living room when we stretched it out. The vet didn’t believe me, so we had to take it in to them to prove it. Yes. That was something! Don’t even get me started on the infection in his left testicle!”

Perhaps my examples are slightly exaggerated, but I do have a Tina Topper in my life. Do you?

I’ve been thinking for a while now about changing my blogs location and going anonymous since I’ve already offended a couple people during my short time in the blogosphere.

Benefits:

1. I could pretend and make everyone believe my life is extremely exciting.
2. I could talk in-depth about old boyfriends, getting huge laughs and not embarrass my husband or my Facebook friends (I already have material for this in a secret file on my computer).
3. I could talk about my job (not that I have ANY complaints, I’m just sayin).
4. I could use cuss words as much as I want.
5. I would have an endless gold mine of material from my family alone.

I could go on and on with the plethora of benefits of anonymous blogging, but there is  a down side.

1. I would lose my current audience which consists of my mom and husband.
2. I would not have the credibility of being a REAL person.
3. I would probably end up getting sued or something by letting my mouth run rampant.

I guess it’s best to stay plain old me for now.

It all started when my sister Shelly*was telling me about when she stayed at my other sister Valerie’s* house for the night. She was visiting from out of town and was given a set of clean towels to use. When she went to use the washcloth, she said it was smelly.

Shelly was kidding her about it (we like to do that to each other) and Valerie was pretty embarrassed. You know how it is, your kids wad up their wet washcloths and throw them in the corner of the bathroom instead of hanging them to dry (heck, I do that) and then they mildew.

It takes me back to when I was a child and my mother used to wash our faces after we ate with the sponge at the kitchen stink. I clearly remember the mildew smell as it brushed across my mouth and nose.

The kitchen sink is listed as the biggest breeding ground for germs, even above bathrooms. This may give an explanation as to why I rarely have illnesses due to viral or bacterial causes. I was inoculated on a daily basis with the germs of the kitchen sink.

This inspired me to gather all my clean washcloths out of the linen closet and start sniffing them. 50% of them smelled stinky to me. I was disgusted. Who had been exposed to this calamity? My head spins as I remember people who have stayed at my house. My step-mom and dad? My in-laws?  Oh dear God!

So the washcloths have been gathered and thrown away. I will buy new white ones that I can bleach for company. No one’s getting another stinky washcloth at this house!

*Please note, some names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Okay, I will make a small post tonight since I need something to relax me besides the horrible glass of Chianti I poured a second ago. Blech.

I’ve had several people ask me why the blog is named Circle Rice with a picture of tater tots.  Here goes the exciting story:

Tony will make a huge breakfast every so often with L’s help. They always have steamed white rice mixed with scrambled eggs and, of course, bacon.  I don’t understand the white rice in the morning tradition. Perhaps it’s some sort of Asian food law I don’t know about. Anway, one day, Tony made tater tots instead of white rice. L looked down and said, “Oh! Is this circle rice?” To this day, this is what we call tater tots.

Why did I name the blog that? I have no friggin idea.

Good night.

I will be taking a brief hiatus from this blog to go make some money. Unfortunately,my new writing career is not very lucrative. Details, details. Time to go count some pills!

Don’t forget about me…more to come.

I was thinking while I was running on the treadmill this morning about religion. I don’t know why I’m bringing it up. It’s not like I think about it all the time, usually only when someone points it out to me, like a non-Jewish person at work saying “Happy Rosh Hashanah, Amy!” I usually just stare at them blankly like, “Huh?” This is because I have no idea what they are talking about.

(I just had to Google “Rosh Hashanah”, by the way)

My husband and I are polar opposites. One of the biggest things is that I’m Jewish and he is Catholic. He goes to church every Sunday, religiously (No pun intended). When we drive by his church, my daughter will yell out “Look! It’s Daddy’s church!” When we drive by the gym, she yells out, “Look! It’s Mommy’s gym church!” (I attend service more than once a week though)

I went to Sunday school at the synagogue until I was old enough to say I didn’t want to go anymore. The only fond memory I have is always getting grape juice and Challah bread as a snack. I do not go to synagogue now, because I don’t practice Judaism. I am what most would consider an Agnostic. Please don’t try to convert me, if you don’t like it, move on to the next blog. I do have to honestly say though that I am very proud of my Jewish heritage. I rather enjoy being a minority now that I’m an adult.  But that is a another very serious topic, and I’m not feeling very serious today.

Which leads to the very important (rhetorical) question: How we should raise our daughter?

Let me give you some background. My parents divorced when I was about 5 years old. Both of them are Jewish, yet I grew up with Christmas trees (sometimes referred to as Hanukah bushes) and stockings filled with presents. My mother never did get the idea of Santa right, as she would fill our stockings and place our presents out under the tree more than a week before actual Christmas day. We also lived in a townhouse with no fireplace. If I remember correctly (and I may be making this up), we were told Santa would climb in the basement window to get into the house. This kind of creeped me out.

My mom used to make us fried matzo (a type of Jewish kosher bread) on the weekends. For those of you who don’t know what fried matzo is, it is kind of like scrambled eggs with mushy crackers. I know it sounds gross, but it is wonderful. Mom used to chop up fried ham into it making it doubly delicious! As you probably already know, Jewish laws say you cannot eat pork. (Shell fish is also a restriction which includes crab, my other favorite food….oy vey”)*

I’ve always loved bacon. I thought I loved it more than anyone until I met my husband. Apparently he has passed this on to our daughter as well. The two of them can go through an entire package of bacon in one sitting. I usually just go without since I’m pretty much disgusted after watching the two of them tear into it like wolves on a sickly caribou. Plus, if I do have more than one piece, my daughter will quickly inform me that I am eating too much. To further drive the point home, L had a kindergarten assignment the other day on the 5 senses. It was a “Guess Where I Am” exercise. Her secret place was The Cracker Barrel. She had to list one word for all 5 senses to describe where she was.

Here is how it looked when she finished:

• What do you hear? bakon
• What do you smell? bakin
• What do you feel? bakon
• What do you taste? bakin
• What do you see? Bakin

But I digress.

Tony comes from a VERY religious family. They have NEVER missed a holy day of obligation from what he tells me. Some might wonder if it bothers me that Tony believes differently from me, and I would say NOT AT ALL. His religion makes him the person he is, and I happen to be in love with that person. I wouldn’t change a thing.

I’ve tried to get Tony to take L to church with him. Not because I’m so enthused about her becoming Catholic, but because I was thinking I could get a Sunday morning to myself. Then, he switched and started going to 5’o’clock mass on Saturdays which really threw a wrench into that idea.

I guess time will tell how we will deal with this sensitive subject. I seem to have grown up okay being the way I am (some of you may disagree). Tony seems to have grown up okay the way he is. I think what we CAN do is expose her to both religions and make sure no matter what she believes, she understands that we all need to be moral, caring, loving, and open minded individuals and that our differences are what makes each one of so special.

*I am no expert on Jewish food laws (obviously) so if something is not correct, please forgive me.