As I have well documented in previous blog entries, I am a huge feline fan. Huge. I love cats for their independence, their attitudes, their cuddly factor, and the fact that they bathe themselves and can be taught in literally 5 seconds to pee and poop in the same 24"x18" container every time.

I like dogs, but I never really considered owning one myself because of the high maintenance. However, both Ken and I were smitten by a pair of small canines last weekend, and we can't seem to stop talking about them.

At a family gathering last Sunday at my cousin's house, we were immediately greeted with a lot of "Hey, who are you?" barking from the two resident dogs, Lilo and Kushi, a Papillon-Terrier and a Papillon-Chihuahua, respectively. We're basically talking small and smaller.




We arrived before everyone else, so we had some quality alone time with the dogs. After they warmed up to us, we realized that they had completely different personalities. Lilo was calm and mellow, almost like a cat. She came and parked herself on my lap when I sat on the couch. (Okay, even my cats don't do that, but I've heard some cats do.)

Then there was Kushi. He had so much energy. It truly amazed us. He insisted we keep throwing his little stuffed toy so he could retrieve it. Over. And. Over. When one person got tired out and said they were done, Kushi would take it over to someone else to play. Perhaps the funniest part, though, was his habit of bringing the retrieved item back to you only 90% of the way. He would repeatedly drop the toy just far enough from you that you couldn't easily reach it without getting up. We quickly learned the command to resolve this: "Kushi, cannot reach." Although the dog was already out in the field waiting for your next throw, he would then trot over, pick up the toy, and move it. Then it would be 92% of the way to you. It was absolutely hilarious. Sometimes he would only move it about 3 inches. Sometimes he would basically pick up the toy and drop it again in virtually the same place. Sometimes it would even end up a little further away!

Anyway, after so much fun with the dogs, the joke around here is that we're going to get a canine companion for our cat Cocoa. Our other cat, Ipo, absolutely despises her, so we had previously toyed with the idea of adopting another cat, but obviously, that's risky. Perhaps it's time to try a different species.

Wanted: clean canine
Must like fluffy reject cat
Lots of unused toys

This can be your home!
Just follow cats' directions
And try not to stink

I'd love to hear your haiku on the topic DOGS! I know there are a LOT of dog lovers out there, so I hope to see great participation this week! Please post to the Grumpy Girl Facebook page (where we vote) or Twitter @grumpy_girl with your entries (and I will repost to FB)!

Happy Haiku Furlough Friday!

A few weeks ago, I was on my normal daily schedule: work at the apartment in the morning, then head to "the factory" at the Kaimuki house in the afternoon for labor intensive work and some cat therapy.  It was the usual humdrum routine until I approached the 4-way stop a block from my house.

 

On the corner to my right were three little girls.  Two were sitting at a low card table holding an umbrella, and one was standing in front, holding a cardboard sign over her head that had "Fresh Lemonade" written on it with a black marker.

 

"Oh my goodness!" I thought to myself.  "So cute."

 

I could practically see the sweat beading up and dripping down the sign-holding girl's face, as it was so hot that day.  I hoped that she was wearing sunscreen.

 

I turned the corner, parked the car at my house, grabbed my wallet, and walked back down the block.  As I approached, I could see the sign girl still dutifully trying to get the attention of each car that drove through the stop.  As I got nearer, though, they saw me coming, and a look of hope and slight flustering ensued.

 

"Hi!" I greeted them.

 

They greeted me back.

 

I asked them how much it cost for their lemonade, and they explained that it was 50 cents for a small red cup and 75 cents for a large yellow cup.

 

I took 2 yellow cups.

 

The girl who was holding the sign seemed to be the shift supervisor of the group.  She explained that the purchase of a yellow cup also came with a free pack of Diamond Bakery soda crackers.  Of course the business person in me can't help but think at this point, "Okay, we've got expensive Solo plastic cups and free crackers..."  She then further explained that they were selling the lemonade to raise money to keep the community library open.  The girls were going to a craft class at the library later that afternoon, and they were going to take whatever money they raised from their day's endeavor.

 

I melted.  I was seriously so touched I almost wanted to cry.

As I thanked the girls and wished them luck, I walked back home and reminisced of a time 25 years earlier when two girls, one of whom was me, sat on the ground at a low card table with a pitcher full of lemonade and a stack of paper cups.  Our gimmick: a sticker on the bottom of your cup meant you got a free refill.  Oh, and my mom made andagi.  That was free with a purchase as well.

 

I don't think we made money, either.

 

It didn't really matter.

 
 

 

Girls on a mission

Upscale cups and free crackers

Save our library

 

Fresh squeezed lemonade

Sticker means a free refill

We've got andagi

I'd love to hear your haiku on the topic SMALL KID TIME!  Please post to the Grumpy Girl Facebook page (where we vote) or Twitter @grumpy_girl with your entries (and I will repost to FB)!

 

Happy Haiku Friday!

 

 

I have my share of sleep issues.  While I am not a dictionary-defined insomniac and don't have sleep apnea, I often have difficulty falling asleep, and I basically never feel refreshed and rested when I wake up in the morning.  Because of this, I was especially annoyed when I was starkly and rudely awoken by this.  In fact, it happened not once, but twice in the wee hours of the morning the other night.  This is when I am supposed to be trying to get that whopping  .9% of Stage 4 slow wave, restorative, deep sleep that I apparently get (as reported in my sleep study taken in 2000), which is reportedly very close to that of some drug free schizophrenics.

 

At any rate, Ken and I were both annoyed at the disturbance of our slumber.  Both times, we grumbled at each other, mumbling something to the effect of, "What the F" and tried to go back to sleep as the recording replayed over and over until building security went into their little side closet downstairs to shut it off, but not before leaving us with this parting recorded message.

 

Did we even feel the slightest bit of alarm when the warning blared through our apartment speakers?  Heck no.  Why?  Because the damn thing goes off falsely way too often.  It's ridiculous.  Talk about a classic case of cry wolf.  I would have to say that these days, I think the majority of residents in our building just ignore it.  If the recording persists for longer than a couple of minutes, sometimes I'll get up, go to the window, and stick my nose out to see if I smell smoke.

 

Since I work at home, I probably hear the false alarm more often that most, aside from the retirees in our building.  But really, some of those older folks have a step up on me, as it might not seem as alarmingly loud to them in their days of declining audio clarity.  Let me tell you, I've practically jumped out of my pajamas when that horn sound suddenly blasts right above my head when I'm in the kitchen getting my coffee.

 

After the initial near cardiac arrest moment, I then have to endure the dude's freakish, eerie voice .  I'm sure it's made to sound serious so it gets you concerned and moving, but for some reason, it just freaks me out.  The pitch of his voice and the slightly muffled quality of the recording much like that of those old reel films we used to watch in school somehow makes me feel as if, after a couple of repeats of the warning, I am suddenly going to be surprised with this:

And then some aliens come and take me away.

Tsunami horn blare

Rod Serling imitator

Frightening Thriller

Tripped alarm cries wolf

Slight concern if smoky smell

Fire or barbeque?

http://grumpydashgirl.livejournal.com/2007/06/12/

 
 

I'd love to hear your haiku on the topic EMERGENCIES!  Please post to the Grumpy Girl Facebook page (where we vote) or Twitter @grumpy_girl with your entries (and I will repost to FB)!

 

Happy Haiku Friday!

Let me exit with one last parting gift.  In case you need some inspiration for this week's topic:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ShshMwAhliE

It's back to school time!

 

I'm not going back to school, I don't have kids who are going back to school, but by the changes in traffic, the school-supply-heavy inventory at Wal-Mart, and the oddly empty shave ice store last week,  I am made aware that the Fall semester has started.

 

When I think of the first day of school, I have memories of the anticipation of reuniting with all of your friends;  the curiousness of who will be in each of your classes;  the nervousness over how personable, boring, or hard-ass your teachers would be;  and, last but not least, the excitement of wearing a new outfit that you so carefully picked out for your first day back in the trenches.

 

Should I wear the Guess jeans with the Code Bleu shirt?  The Esprit top with the Paris Blues pants?  The matching Bongo cardigan and skirt?  These were the kind of tough choices we had to face on not only that first day, but every day of school.  My friends still tease me occasionally about the calendar I kept in high school detailing the outfit I wore each school day.  Not OCD, I say.  Efficient.  I would often plan out the entire week's wardrobe in advance so I wouldn't waste precious morning time staring at my closet with droopy eyelids.  In addition, with the outfit calendar, I didn't have to wonder if I wore the same thing last week!  Seriously, it was probably one of the smartest things I ever did in high school.

 

As a teenager, dressing yourself for school had both its positives and negatives.  On the one hand, as alluded to above, it took time.  If you're not a morning person and didn't have the outfit calendar in place, it could make you late for class.  (Heck, I can't count the number of times I had to haul ass down from parking my car at the track to 7:30am Calculus, even with my snazzy wardrobe-planning method.)  Furthermore, if you didn't have the budget to buy all the latest trends in fashion, it was kind of a bummer.  On the other hand, you could wear whatever your heart desired, provided it complied with the dress code.

 

Several years ago, Punahou announced that it would be implementing uniforms due to reckless violations of the dress code.  Apparently (and believably) it was more of an issue with the girls than the boys.  When I heard of this news, I was rather indignant.  I couldn't believe that some stupid kids could spoil it for everyone.  (Note:  I tried my best to find out exactly what the status of the uniform thing is now, but nobody was talking. )

 

I've heard the arguments in favor of uniforms, and I do see most of the logic behind them.  However, I think the most compelling argument in favor of uniforms is probably the cost.  By wearing the same thing (or variants thereof) everyday, it probably costs considerably less than trying to keep a working wardrobe of the latest fashion trends.  While I understand the argument that uniforms create a level of equality, i.e., that the have-nots do not feel pressured to compete with the haves, I have a response for that: Hey, that's life.  There are always going to be people who have more than you.  When you go into the working world, you more likely than not won't be wearing a uniform unless you work at McDonald's or cheer for the NFL.  No one is going to feel sorry for you that your business suit came from Forever 21 when your coworkers are donning Armani.

 

I believe it's important that students are allowed to express their individuality, but I also believe in adhering to set rules.  I just don't understand why it was so hard for these kids to abide by the rules to keep their dress code privileges.  Back in the day (when I walked 10 miles to school in the snow), the dress code was no bare midriffs, no tank tops for guys, no shorts except Fridays, and shorts or skirts had to be the magical "fingertip length."  If you had ape-hangers, well, you were out of luck.  Sure, there was the occasional infraction which was solved by either a warning or a demerit, but really, it was not a big deal.  There was no crack being shown.  There was no cheek leak.  I don't remember seeing any excessive cleavage or belly buttons, either.  Hey, nevermind that the fashion at the time was oversized shirts and waistlines right below your ribs.

 

No uniforms, please

Kids, just be responsible

That too much too ask?

 

No excuse for crack

No need get ultra low rise

Try wearing a belt

 
Please share your haiku on the topic SCHOOL UNIFORMS.  Please post to the Grumpy Girl Facebook page (where we vote) or Twitter @grumpy_girl with your entries (and I will repost to FB)!

 

Happy Haiku Friday!

This is the kind of photo that makes non-feline-lovers scrunch their noses and be turned off to the wonderful animal called the cat.

 

And who would blame them?  It's not particularly the most flattering picture.

 

The above cat was just one of the over 100 cats (in addition to the over 100 dogs and 200 birds) that were rescued last month from a Waianae property.   The Oahu SPCA and other animal activist groups swiftly removed these animals from their harmful situation and nursed as many back to health as possible.  In barely a week after their rescue, the Oahu SPCA site already had pictures of many of the cats waiting to be adopted.
 

When I saw this, I honestly couldn't help but laugh.  These poor cats looked so sad!  Almost all of them either looked pissed off or half sleeping.  Granted, many of these cats were pretty bus' up because they just came from very poor living conditions, but if you take a look at the Hawaiian Humane Society's website, (where most of the cats usually look pretty clean and healthy), it's not much better!  Despite lacking the battle scars of their less fortunate peers shown above, they still look somewhat less than personable.

 

Now add these kinds of sales pictures to the following facts, and you've got too many people who just won't give cats a chance:

 

1)  Dogs frequently look like they're smiling.  Cats never look like they're smiling.

 

2)  Meet almost any dog for the first time, and it will immediately come up to you and play with you.  Meet any cat for the first time, and, if you're lucky, you'll catch a glimpse of the last 3 inches of its tail.

 

3)  In need of some pet snuggly time?  Call a dog, and it will dutifully run up to you in a snap.  Call a cat, and it won't even turn its head.  Sometimes it will even walk in precisely the opposite direction.

 

Thankfully, cat lovers can see beyond these pictures and behaviors and know that there is more than meets the eye.  Just like humans, they all have different personalities.  Some even exhibit behaviors more typical of dogs.  For example, when I pull up the driveway and get out of my car, if Ipo is outside (but behind the infamous cat fence), more often than not, she'll come trotting up to the fence to greet me.   Cocoa likes to dig in the dirt.  Cocoa is also capable of responding to the commands "shake hands," "shake left," "stand up," "open the container" (puts paw on food container), and "open the door" (fiddles with door handle - this was self-taught, btw).

 

I could go on and on about what I think is so great about cats, but there's no need.  In a nutshell, what I love about them is that they are independent and can take care of and entertain themselves, they know how to use a litter box, they're soft and cuddly, and they are just hilarious.

 

But a lot of people just don't realize how funny cats are.  It's made me realize over the past several months that, with all that's stacked up against them, cats seriously need better PR.

 

One animal shelter in Loudon County, VA, has taken note of this.  They have begun taking short videos of each cat available for adoption and posting it to their website.  (Actually, their photos are not too shabby, either.) 

 

 

Unfortunately, it takes scarce time and resources to implement even these short videos, so perhaps we could start with some more appealing photos.  These are the types of photos that I think would help "sell" the cats available for adoption...
 

Now don't these pictures make you slightly more excited about adopting a cat than, say, this?

 

All kidding aside, much mahalo to the Oahu SPCA for leading the rescue of all these animals.  I know I really should volunteer to help with the cat PR, but I somehow always seem to be busy catering to every whim of our own two orphans Ipo and Cocoa.  Maybe I can recruit them to help me.  They can teach the adoptables not to look directly at the flash.

They can bathe themselves!

Poop in same place every time!

Undermarketed

 

Miss independent

Cute, cuddly, but elusive

Needs better PR

Please share your haiku on the topic CATS.  Love 'em or not so much love 'em, we'd like to hear your feline related poetry.  If it's mean, just don't expect to win.  Ha!  >:D

Please post to the Grumpy Girl Facebook page (where we vote) or Twitter @grumpy_girl with your entries (and I will repost to FB)!

 

Happy Haiku Friday!

The other week, I blogged about a mistake that had me less than thrilled.  This week, I'd like to turn it around and talk about a kind of mistake that, more often than not, elicits at least a smirk, if not an audible chuckle from me.

 

Yes, my friends, I am talking about the typo.

 

To be sure, there are times when the typo is less than humorous to me, but this is usually only when it is contained in a piece of work that has no excuse for the errors.  Then it just becomes lazy and unprofessional.  (I've managed to comment on this more than once.)  However, when a pristine piece of prose is not required, the typo can often inject some much needed humor into a monotonous day.

 

My latest favorite is one I recently spotted on a shopping site.  Whenever premium denim is on sale, it's like a car crash to me, as I find it hard not to look.  This time, what I saw surprised me.

When I first saw this, I cracked up because it reminded me of the Pidgin word "boro" or "boro-boros," which, because it's really a Japanese borrowed word, sounds more like "boto" (and that's how I spell it in my mind when I say it, actually).  Local Hawaii people often use this term to mean worn out, old rag clothes.  (Ex: "When I went to the market, I saw that super cute guy, and I was totally in my boros!  How embarrassing!")  I then found that apparently, boto can also refer to the groin area.  Either way, the new Hudson botocut flap pocket jean sounds like an interesting new style to me.

 

I actually even find myself laughing at my own typos.  When I'm on Skype, in particular, I tend to type and press "Enter" very quickly, so a lot of mistakes get through.  Ken and I get a kick out of these typos.  One of our most common mistakes is "yeha" instead of "yeah."  Although I do make a ton of mistakes while typing, in most other situations, I usually catch them right away and correct them before anyone else sees them.  Thankfully that's the case, as in the past I've caught myself typing the word "busty" when I really mean to type "busy."  Yeha.  Not sure what that's all about.

 

Sorry I've been lame

Just been so busty lately

Whoops, yeah, in my dreams

 

Guess which jeans I bought?

They say it's all the rage now

"Boot cut?" "No, Boto."

 

I'd love to hear your haiku on the topic TYPOS!  Please post to the Grumpy Girl Facebook page (where we vote) or Twitter @grumpy_girl with your entries (and I will repost to FB)!

 

Happy Haiku Friday!

 

 

When I am going to drop my grandma off, I am driving in the direction of the orange cars.  There is almost never any room to pull over right in front of the hairdresser, so my realistic first choice spot is in front of a small driveway between the building housing the hairdresser and a church.  There is always a car parked in that little driveway, but it seems to be there all day, so temporarily blocking it is not a problem.  Furthermore, because this is a driveway, the risk of me scraping my rims while trying to negotiate a skillful pull-over in a tight space is virtually eliminated.  (I will not get into this now, lest I accidentally rekindle some domestics.)

 

With the bumper to bumper parked cars in this area, though, the 1st choice space is sometimes just too tight for even this self-proclaimed skillful driver to maneuver into in one clean swipe.  This is when I have to go to my next best alternative, which is usually in front of the church driveway.  With all the shave-ice-seeking cars and people crammed up in that area, though, I sometimes opt to completely turn into the church parking lot to get out of the way.  This is what I did yesterday.

 

As I turned into the church parking lot, I was slightly startled by a group of several kids sitting on a low concrete wall parallel to the driveway and eating their shave ice.  I didn't see them at first because of all the bushes and cars just prior to the driveway.  I guess it kind of scared me because kids often like to dart around without looking, and God forbid I hit a child in a church parking lot.

 

I stopped just past them to let my grandma disembark, and then I proceeded to turn around in the lot so I could get the hell out of there.  As I approached the exit, I noticed that the kids, who looked to be about 7 to 10 years old, were sitting very nicely on the wall laughing, talking, and enjoying their cups of icy heaven.

 

I thought to myself, "That's really nice."  I started getting nostalgic about the good old days when we were kids.  Back in the Paleozoic Era (as one of my friends hilariously calls it), we used to be able to walk around our neighborhood at a very young age without a leash.  We would walk to our friends' houses and stroll down to the store several blocks away without our parents freaking out about us getting kidnapped or being hit by a car.  We learned responsibility, respect, and independence at the same age we were learning how to write sentences.

 

When I stopped at the end of the driveway and was waiting for a break in traffic, I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye.  I turned my head and saw that one of the kids sitting on the wall, a little boy, was smiling and waving at me.  As sad as it is, these days, the first thought that often comes to my mind in these kinds of situations is, "What a wiseass."  I've come across so many disrespectful kids that my expectations in that arena don't run high.

 

I looked at this kid for a couple of seconds, and noticed that while he was waving with a big motion, his smile looked genuinely like he was having fun.  The other kids were also smiling just as widely along with him.  I thought, "What the heck.  I'll humor them and wave back."  Of course, this probably surprised them, and they reacted with even bigger smiles and laughter.

 

I then rolled down my window.

 

I asked them, "So, how's your shave ice?"

 

At this point, I was probably starting to really throw them off, as they kind of settled down a bit, looked at me with their best behavior faces, and replied politely with a simple, "Good!"

 

After being so stressed out just a minute before, these kids made me smile.  For a split second, as I digested the rare beauty of this moment, I thought about busting out my camera to record this memory, but I quickly realized that that would have really creeped them out.

 

I'm pretty sure that a year from now, they won't remember this brief interaction they had with a stranger.  I, on the other hand, will probably remember it for years to come.

 

I had that smile on my face the whole way home.

Scoping out a spot

Forward maneuvers only

Rear view mirror angst

 

Midday heat parches

Neighborhood flocks to haven

Call it icy heaven


Okay, I know like 90% of this entry was more related to the stress part, but I am going to ask that you share your haiku on the topic of CHILDHOOD or - what the heck - SHAVE ICE today.  Nostalgia is more appealing.  I don't need any more stress, really.  :)

Please post to the Grumpy Girl Facebook page (where we vote) or Twitter @grumpy_girl with your entries (and I will repost to FB)!

Happy Haiku Friday!
 

There is no doubt about it: we all make mistakes. 

 

There are mistakes like typos.  There are mistakes like accidentally giving someone the wrong change.  And then there are mistakes like the one an account representative from The Wedding Ring Shop made yesterday.

 

Sometime in the mid-afternoon, I had logged onto Skype, and Ken and I had the following chat session:

ken says: did you go to WRS?

allison says: okay, i give up

ken says: oh. wedding ring shop

allison says: sheez, this is not fricken twitter, dude

ken says: whoa, whoa

allison says: i mean, it's not like we were just talking about that?!

allison says: how am i supposed to know what that is

ken says: huh?

ken says: i dunno

ken says: did you go?

ken says: to get your ring cleaned?

allison says: no

allison says: i'm trying to get our wedding location!!!

ken says: ...wedding RING shop

ken says: not wedding cafe

allison says: i KNOW

ken says: oh

allison says: i'm saying that's not a priority right now

ken says: oh

allison says: the wedding LOCATION is

ken says: i'm not saying to go...

ken says: some lady called me up and said you was there...

ken says: and I was, like, :O

allison says: that must be your other fiance

allison says: sheit

ken says: k

ken says: said you were looking at solitaire earrings :O

allison says: what?!!

ken says: (cash)

ken says: :D

allison says: wtf was that all about?

ken says: i was like, oh. the rock not good enough

allison says: oh c'mon, you had to know that was a mistake

ken says: 6 months and it's already old news?

ken says: :D

allison says: that is totally something i would never do

ken says: i know

ken says: that's why i asked

allison says: so didn't you ask

allison says: and

ken says: didn't sound like you

allison says: so why did they call you

ken says: oh. lady said she was taking over my "account"

allison says: and

allison says: i still don't understand 1) how they would know it was me (which it wasn't) and 2) why they would call YOU if I were looking

allison says: sheez

allison says: i should complain to them

allison says: that's wrong!

ken says: ha!

allison says: no, seriously

allison says: that's totally unprofessional

allison says: what if i caused me to get all freakin' jealous and accuse you of an affair and call it off

allison says: that would be their fault

ken says: yup

 

Apparently, the account rep called Ken to let him know that I had been in The Wedding Ring Shop yesterday to get my ring cleaned.  I had apparently also been gazing at some diamond solitaire earrings in the hopes that someone might buy them for me.

 

I was absolutely dumbfounded by this obvious mistake.  My first question was, "How in the world would they have thought that was me?"  I had certainly never met this woman before.  There was no beaming mug shot of me (just after receiving the ring, of course) in the account file.  The only remaining possibility was that they must have asked for the girl's name because her name is supposed to be in the account file as well.

 

Now at this point, I'm going to assume that 1) the girl had a very soft voice or a strong accent, 2) the sales rep wasn't wearing her hearing aid, 3) the sales rep did not bother to make sure she got the first AND last name of the girl correct, or 4) some combination of all of the above.  I am rather inclined to assume laziness and #3 as the primary culprit because it's not like I have a particularly common name.  Yes, the name Allison may be pretty common, but as far as I know, there is no other Allison Takeshita this side of the universe.  I've done the Google vanity search.  None.  Just me.  I even ran it through Intelius, and apparently their database concurs that in the U.S., I'm flying solo.  Intelius suggested possible variations on the name, so I tried those as well.  None.  The closest I found was an Alice Lynn Takeshita, but she lives in California and is 63 years old.


 

This made me wonder, then, how the heck did this happen?!  What was this chick's name?  How close was it to my name?

 

The most irritating part is that I'll probably never know because the sales rep thought it was me.  Duh!  (Sorry, I couldn't resist throwing that in there.)

 

I asked Ken if the rep even mentioned my name in the conversation, like, "Hi Ken, your fiance Allison was just here..." and he said no.  Now that, to me, is just negligent.  At the very least, you could make sure that you got the first name right.

 

This whole incident really pissed me off because I thought it was extremely careless and unprofessional.  Just imagine if I was some completely insecure, crazy woman and Ken was some womanizing jerk with a less than stellar romantic past.  This could have totally caused a big blowup of an argument fueled by mistrust and jealousy.  In a worst case scenario, it could have even caused me to say, "So you got some kind of side salad, huh?  It's OVER!"  (And then I storm away with my ring.)

 

 

A careless phone call

Mistaken identity

Unprofessional

 

Mystery shopper

My moniker, only one

That's what Google says

 

 

Please share your haiku on the topic of MISTAKES via Twitter @grumpy_girl or on our Grumpy Girl Clothing Facebook Page for a chance to win a prize!

 

For the last week or so, I've been rather preoccupied with trying to do some semblance of a pull-up, an exercise which I absolutely loathe and have never been able to do.  Why I would subject myself to such unhappiness can be summarized in one acronymic-wannabe word: P90X.

 

If you haven't seen the infomercial for this workout DVD, kudos to you, as it probably means you have a life (or, at the very least , don't have insomnia).  P90X is a 90-day program that promises (as they all do) to get you in kick-ass shape based on the concept of muscle confusion.  Just when your muscles start to get used to the exercises, the program changes it up to challenge them in new ways, thus preventing the dreaded workout plateau.

 

But back to the pull-ups.  P90X involves lots of them.

 

Now, I have to tell you that over the years I've seen my fair share of programs like The Firm, 6 Minute Abs, Turbo Jam, Rockin' Body, and the like, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit to considering ordering some of them.  However, there were two things about P90X that particularly caught my attention and piqued my interest.  First, they never showed anyone going from morbidly obese to a six-pack.  This is a common tactic employed by most videos.  While they try to put on the guise of honesty with their disclaimer "Results not typical," they're really pulling a fast one on you in omitting the latter half of the statement which likely reads, "even if you consume 500 calories and do the workout 5 times daily."  The P90X infomercial, on the other hand, highlights people who used to be athletic or in pretty good shape but have simply succumbed to a more sedentary working lifestyle combined with an aging, slower metabolism.  I could relate to that.

 

Second, the workout actually looks HARD - like I-was-probably-making-contorted-faces-while-watching-the-infomercial HARD.  In fact, the program makes it a point to warn you of this.  In contrast to most workout videos that keep telling you, "It's so easy!  Anyone can do it!" there is a preliminary DVD that you are emphatically instructed to watch prior to attempting the workout to make sure you are not instant emergency room bait.

 

So again, back to the pull-ups.  I cannot do them.  I cannot even do one.  Not even half.  I hang there, make a barely audible grunting noise (no really, it's very feminine), and more or less watch my armpits move from my ears to my chin.  (My shoulder sockets are pretty flexible. )  There is no elbow movement.  Well, maybe they go from being slightly hyperextended at the elbow to straight.

 

Amidst all the frustration, I finally gave myself a break and thought, "Perhaps it's my flexible joints making it harder!  It's harder for me to get moving because, in my natural hang, they look like they're practically popping out of their sockets.  Yeah!"  After all, since it's often the first part of the movement that requires the most work, I then tried starting with my arms at a right angle to see if I could pull myself up from there.

 

A right angle it stayed.  Not the joints.

 

P90X, you're gonna have to wait.

Dislocated hang

Right angle, inertia still

Questionable task

 

Strongman move: pull-up

A mission: impossible

Hands hurt just hanging

Join me for Haiku Friday by posting your entries on our Facebook page!

Footnote: I'm wondering if maybe I should just stick to something like this:
 

 

 

Dear Journal,

In light of all the celebrities passing away within the last couple of weeks, I have decided to take a more serious tone for today's entry. This is an entry that I had actually intended to write over a year ago but kept putting it off because I didn't feel I could do it justice. Now I feel the need to write it, despite imperfections, and regardless of any lack of eloquence or compelling nature.

On April 29, 2008, I lost a friend. Her name was Lynn, and she was only 35. We attended SCU together. While she ended up coming back to Hawaii after our freshman year, we kept in touch over the years. Although I didn't see or talk to her on a regular basis, we enjoyed each other's company when we did speak or get together. Last year, after speaking with Lynn on the phone for an especially long time and telling her that I was getting ready to go on my first trip to Okinawa and Japan, I received this email from her:



When I came back from my trip, I was exhausted and had a lot to catch up on. I didn't end up calling Lynn right away to arrange our date to meet. Then I got a call from a mutual friend. He informed me that Lynn had passed away. I can barely describe how I felt at that moment and the during the minutes and even hours that followed. I honestly could not wrap my brain around what I had just heard. I was in absolute disbelief.

I would have to admit that I have a fear of death. While I wouldn't call it a debilitating fear by any means, I do find myself thinking about how I am going to deal with the eventual loss of those who go before me. There are times when I am preoccupied with this to the extent that I am reminded of the young poet in Freud's "On Transience" who was unable to enjoy the beauty that surrounded him because he could only think of its transience and eventual and inevitable demise. I sometimes feel that I experience this anticipatory mourning and, in doing so, miss out on the enjoyment of the time that I do have with my loved ones.

I have come to the realization that I can never prepare myself for the loss of a loved one. It is with that realization that I try to remind myself to enjoy their company to the fullest extent while I can.

While my thoughts as described above are usually in reference to my elder family members, it is an event like Lynn's death that really slaps you upside the head. It makes you realize just how fragile life is. Any one of us could go at any moment.

Since Lynn's passing, I have tried to make an effort to keep in better touch with the friends with whom I am not in regular contact. There are so many people whom I think about but hardly ever see or talk to anymore because of both our schedules. However, I have all but renounced the word "busy" as an excuse for not keeping in touch. If it is a priority, there is always time, even if it's just a quick call, an occasional forwarded email, or a short text message. I just want my friends to know that I do think about them (probably more often than they realize).

I am so thankful that, although I was unable to see and hug Lynn one last time, our last conversation was a good one. I only wish she could have been around to see Ken and I finally get married, as she would always jokingly remind me to invite her to our wedding every time I spoke with her. I know she will be there in spirit.

Of course, today is Haiku Friday, so here it goes:

And to you, my friend
I give my trust and respect
Lifelong bond to share

See the beauty now
Wasted thoughts on transience
Live with no regrets

I would like to share two songs that will always remind me of my friend. I miss you, Lynn. I'll see you later... </div>

I still haven't seen the Sex and the City movie, but one of my friends had alerted me to this clip because of its relevance. Ken and I started dating on Christmas Eve 1998, and on December 24, 2008, we finally got engaged. For those of us who know us, it was never really a question of whether we would get married or not; it was more a question of when. Once we passed the first year honeymoon phase and got through the second and third getting-to-really-know -you-and-seeing-if-I-can-deal-with-it years, we basically felt and acted like a married couple. However, neither of us was in a huge rush to tie the knot. We went through a period of a few years when everyone else we knew on the planet decided to get married and, quite frankly, we were both kind of sick of the whole wedding thing. The thought of planning my own wedding at that time just kind of made me gag.

After that, my motto became, "I don't really feel like I need to get married until I'm ready to have kids." Fair enough, right? Well, then all of my friends started having their first, second, and even third kids, and it started scaring me. As cute as all the kids were, I was slightly mortified by all the crying, diaper changing, sleeplessness, and pure mayhem that was immediately infused into my friends' new lives of parenthood. I've always known that I've wanted kids, but I just wasn't so sure that I was ready to basically give up my life as I knew it. I hadn't done everything I wanted to do as an individual without kids yet.

Well, within the last year or so, my eggs have been starting to ask when they were eligible for Social Security.

Ken and I both took notice of this and decided that, ready or not, we'd better get a move on.

So here we are, 6 months after getting engaged, and we have yet to set a date.

My friends have always teased me that I would need at least 2 years to plan my wedding, that I would absolutely have to hire a wedding coordinator to do the whole thing for me, or that my wedding would be a budget-buster. They knew that I'm a perfectionist who would want to make sure that everything was just right.

And they knew that the wedding planning would stress me out of my mind and drive me nuts.

It had actually been relatively painless up until this point. With a Spring 2010 wedding in mind, I felt like I had enough time. I started reading a few wedding mags, browsed through theknot.com, bookmarked ideas I liked, and looked for wedding locations. Ken and I were both against a traditional hotel wedding, so we decided on searching for a private estate to hold both the ceremony and the reception.

A couple of months ago, I thought I had finally found THE perfect location, but when it turned out that the fee would be almost that of a foreclosed home in Vegas (okay, so maybe that's not saying much), my dreams were shattered, and all I felt was this.  Sure, we could still rent the place if our guests didn't mind a potluck.

After some moments of despair, moping, and spending way too much time talking to the cats, I've tried to pick myself up from that blow, and I'll be looking at another potential private estate today. I'm crossing my fingers that I am just going to fall in love with this place so we can finally get this shindig underway. If that doesn't happen, you can be sure that more of my latent OCD behaviors will start appearing. Unfortunately, I don't think one of them is cleaning.

It's Haiku Friday! I'm going to keep it simple today with my haiku. I can't be stressing about writing works of art. I have a wedding to plan, dammit.

Stress, expensive stress
Stress and more expensive stress
Hello, OCD

Perfect dress exists
Only perfect if it fits
Hi, P90X


Please share your haiku on the topic WEDDINGS! Remember, in order to be eligible to win a prize, please post on our Facebook page or send a tweet my way! I will repost Twitter entries on the Facebook page.

I can't stand it any longer.  Someone needs to settle this issue and put it out in the public realm for all to clearly see NOW.

 

Yesterday, I tweeted my irritation that this NY Times article, then titled "In Hawaii, Korea Strike Looms as New Threat," used the word "Hawaiian" when referring to Hawaii residents.

 

Today, as if mocking my dissatisfaction, I found that the title of the article was changed:

I am sick of hearing people, particularly journalists, refer to all Hawaii residents as "Hawaiians."  Before I elaborate on my beef with this, let me just say that I understand that basically all dictionaries out there will, in fact, define the term as such.  Here are a few examples.

 

It is clear to me, though, that someone from Hawaii (not a "Hawaiian") did not write these entries.  I've made some notes in red to show how a Hawaii resident might edit the entries to show much more emphasis on the native and indigenous reference.  In Hawaii, it is well known that the term "Hawaiians" is specifically reserved for those of Hawaiian ancestry, whether they live in Hawaii or not.  It is a matter of respect for a people whose culture and blood has been drastically diluted over the years.

If I went to live in Germany, would that make me German?  I think it would be pretty hard to convince someone that with my dark hair, almond-shaped eyes, and yellow undertone that I was anything but a German resident or, perhaps if I'd decided to stay, a German citizen.  But German?  No.
 

I can imagine a popular argument that if one who lives in California is a Californian, one who lives in Oregon is an Oregonian, then why isn't one who lives in Hawaii a Hawaiian?  The simple answer to that is because there is actually an indigenous people of Hawaii, and they are called Hawaiians.

 

As a Hawaii resident of non-Hawaiian ancestry, this is what I think when I read Mr. Archibold's article: 

 

"Antimissile interceptors are in place, the Defense Department said, and Hawaiians watched the other day as a giant, towering radar commonly known as the golf ball set out to sea from the base where it is normally moored."

 

Only Hawaiians watched?  Were the Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Filipino, Vietnamese, Portuguese, Caucasian and other Hawaii residents not watching?  Must've been a pretty small group watching.

 

"But among Hawaiians, skepticism is mixed with annoyance and even anger that their state, hypothetically at least, could be a testing ground."

 

Well, it's good to know that it's only the Hawaiians who are annoyed.  If all the other Hawaii residents felt the same way, that could be a serious issue.

 

"Mele Connor, 55, a lifelong Hawaiian shopping with visitors from the mainland at a clothing store in Waikiki, laughed off the threat."

 

Isn't the term "lifelong Hawaiian" kind of redundant?  If you're of Hawaiian ancestry, aren't you going to be that way for your entire life?  Mele, are you really Hawaiian, or do you just happen to have a Hawaiian name?  My guess is that you're part Hawaiian, but if you're not, don't worry: I know you didn't tell Mr. Archibold that you were a "lifelong Hawaiian."

 

As Hawaii has been increasingly put in the spotlight in recent years due in large part to the rise of prominent public figures with Hawaii roots (not the least of whom is some guy named Obama), I have been disturbed by the misuse of the term "Hawaiians."  I honestly cannot recall EVER reading in the local newspapers an article to which a local journalist makes this mistake.  My question is, why is it taking so long for other journalists (and even better, the public at large) to be educated on this distinction?

 

Is it because we have simply been patient, thinking that eventually, this misuse would be corrected?  Did we assume that somehow someone would get the word out to the rest of the world through the magical mass communication grapevine powered by the internet?  Well, that's how I looked at it up until this point.  I'm not a journalist, nor do I play one on tv.  I'm not in an influential position by any means to get this thing straightened out.  I have my own work to do, and I really don't have time to be writing about this at all.  I'm sure a number of other Hawaii residents feel the same way.

 

Mr. Archibold, I'm not going to blame you for your gaffe.  You are not the first, nor will you be the last person to make this mistake.  I am, however, politely asking that you heed my advice of discontinuing your current usage of the word "Hawaiian" and encouraging other journalists to do the same.  It's time to spread the word.

 

I am a Japanese-Korean American who lives in Hawaii.  I am a Hawaii resident.  I am not, have never been, and never will be Hawaiian.

 

Perhaps I can make a plea to the President to help get this in order.  I'm sure he knows he's never been Hawaiian, either.

 

 

Earlier this week, Ken and I went to the Ala Wai Golf Course driving range to whack a few balls.  This was the first time I had swung a club in eons; I honestly couldn't even remember the last time I had been to the driving range.  I initially thought maybe 3 years, but Ken insisted that it was more like 5.  In any case, it was long enough for both my golf glove to deteriorate and for me to know better than to bring only a few clubs (P, 9 and 7 irons, and 5 wood) with me.  Just to make things clear, I am not and never have been an LPGA contender.  I think I can count the number of times I've played an entire course on one hand.

 

It always amazes me how people can even hit golf balls consistently.  From the time you address the ball to the time the club makes contact with it, there are like a gazillion ways you can move your body - even just the tiniest bit - so that your ball doesn't go the way you want it, or for many novices, simply doesn't go anywhere at all.

 

Anyway, considering how long it had been since I'd picked up a club, I actually wasn't as bad as either Ken or I were expecting.

 

I did, however, require quite a bit of mental imagery and concentration, which was suddenly disrupted when our range neighbor finished his bucket of balls and a quartet of teenage neophytes replaced him.  From the moment they arrived with the one 5 wood they all shared and their 2 inch rubber tee, the talking, talking louder, and talking even louder was nonstop.  As soon as one would finish a sentence, another would pick up where he left off.

 

Naturally, I was dying to say something or at least give them my very unattractive irritated face to see if they caught the hint.  I thought to myself, "Have you never watched golf on tv?  Have you never noticed that they are always communicating in little over a whisper?  Well, there's a reason for that, you tools."

 

Once when I was just getting ready to hit a ball, one of them suddenly exclaimed, "Strike two!" as one of their fraternity brothers whiffed at his ball.  I almost lost it.

 

I have nothing against having a little fun.  I have nothing against going to the driving range when you suck a** (obviously, as I was there).  What I do have a problem with is rudeness, especially when you suck a**.  I mean, have a little respect for the real golfers and the other people who suck who aren't being rude.  Some might argue that these kids just didn't know any better because they are new to the game.  My response: that's no excuse.  It doesn't take a genius to quickly observe that nobody around you is making nearly as much noise as you are.  If you're a novice, you should be particularly attuned to trying to observe the etiquette.

 

Then it came to my attention that maybe they just didn't care.

 

 

It's Haiku Friday, folks!  I'm still working on changing up the format of this thing to be more participant-friendly, but for now, we're still accepting entries on our Facebook page.  If you still want to get your haiku on but don't care about prizes, feel free to post here or tweet it to me.

 

As always, I'll start!  Today's topic is GOLF - just in time for the U.S. Open!  Thankfully, Bethpage dried out enough after the rain delay.  Talk about row, row, row your boat yesterday.

 

Oh, little white ball

Elusive while sitting still

Taunts me every swing

 

And my slightly less poetic one:

 

Incessant talking

I'm trying to concentrate

Please shut the f*** up

 

Okay, now have a great weekend!  I'll be looking for your haiku!

I've been feeling a little guilty lately for having all but completely abandoned my sad little excuse of a blog.  This is not to say that I am at all surprised that this happened after scarcely a year or so.  My expectations were rather low for someone who has always taken forever (and ever and ever) to write anything.  I was never one of those people who could just plop their asses down at a computer and have their fingers start flying at warp speed with an effusion of eloquence.

 

It was partly for this reason that I decided to blog in the first place.  I figured that the more I wrote, the easier and more enjoyable it would get.  Furthermore, as a self-employed individual, while I've developed a pretty respectable amount of discipline, I've found that sometimes the absence of more external pressures (e.g., a mean boss, competitive co-workers, etc.) I wanted to challenge myself to do something and stick to it for the mere reason that I was telling myself to do it.  Finally, as I mentioned in my very first blog entry, I wanted to blog to keep a log of memories for personal purposes.  It's one thing to throw together a scrapbook and look at pictures of major life events and such, but it's another thing to document sometimes random thoughts of the moment.  I want to be able to tell my yet unborn children one day, "Look at what mommy was thinking when she was just 36 a spring chicken!"

 

And so it is with that recap that I will once again give it a go.  Round 2 - bring it on!  (DING!)

 

I'm gonna bring it back with the return of Haiku Friday, which was sorely missed by at least 2 people!  Woot!

 

Today's topic is social media.  Yes, social media, the two words - often succeeded by the word "marketing" - I have been hearing incessantly everywhere I eat, sleep, and breathe.  Apparently, according to the experts, this is how I am going to take Grumpy Girl to the next level and become a multi-millionaire!  Well, okay then!

 

I've been on Facebook since late 2007 with a personal account, and it's been the greatest way to catch up with old friends and even meet some new ones.  But apparently, since I also own a business, this is not enough!  No, no!  I must be using it to promote my business!  And I must not forget Twitter - OMG, Twitter!  I totally have to tweet, and then get other people to tweet about Grumpy Girl, and then become so hugely popular that Oprah can't ignore me!  Yes!

 

Ugh.

 

This all sounded to me like a lot of work for someone who could barely find time to blog once a week or effectively manage an email campaign.  I mean, I've been reading about harnessing the power of social media for quite some time now, but I still haven't seen the light in terms of a specific plan of implementation that would be more likely to deliver results than waste time.

 

Thanks in part to the recession (read: more time on my hands), I've finally decided to dip my toe in the magic elixir water.  I've set up a Grumpy Girl Clothing Facebook page.  Relatively harmless.  It would be nicer with some fans, but hey, one step at a time.  Now here comes the worst part: I've joined the masses of Twitter.  Mind you, this was only after being cajoled into it almost in a manner of having to tap-out UFC-style.  Up until this point, I've been avoiding Twitter like the swine flu (trying to keep it current here), refusing to even so much as visit the site.

 

Anyway, I'm still trying to figure it all out in a way that makes sense to me.   I can see where Twitter can serve different purposes for different people, but right now, it's serving me oatmeal.

 

So...Haiku Friday is back with a bang!  Not only am I going to haiku and invite you to do the same, we are going to add some friendly competition and prizes to the mix because soliciting free haiku from you is so 2008!

 

Here is the kicker: the Haiku Friday competition will be held on none other than our Grumpy Girl Facebook page!  Ha!  So strategic am I.  Yes, this means that if you want to participate (as I know thousands upon thousands of you do), you have to first become a GG Facebook fan.

 

So come with me now (waving my Bejeweled Blitz carpal tunnel arm in a beckoning motion) to Facebook and submit your haiku on the topic of social media!  Please make sure to read the note titled, "Haiku Friday Contest Rules."

 

Twitter neophyte

Filtering out the mundane

"Long line at Starbucks"

 

It's all about me

Capturing your attention

"I ate fish for lunch"

 

A quick tweet or two

A comment on Facebook now

Sh**, it's 5:00

*** If you really don't want to become a Facebook fan for a chance to win stuff (hey, maybe you don't like our stuff) but just want to haiku for the hell of it, by all means, feel free to do so for the sheer love and admiration of the 5 people reading this.  Yeah!  :cheerleader kick: ***

 

What an overpopulated, stinkin' mess.



Can someone please tell me why I keep hearing our governor and mayor lament about the fact that tourism is down and that we need to do something to encourage more people to come over here and fight for their square foot of standing space?

Now before anyone puts on their combative face, let me first acknowledge that I understand that tourism is Hawaii's bread and butter and that tourists bring a lot to our state.  I have nothing against tourists as individual people.  It's their vacation, and I hope they have a most enjoyable time just as much as I would like to have a good time wherever I go for vacation.  However, given that Hawaii just seems to be getting more and more congested, instead of trying to entice more people to squeeze in, shouldn't we see this as a most opportune time to seriously start investing in other sectors that can help grow and DIVERSIFY our economy?  I keep hearing local politicians talk about it from time to time, but is anything really being done about it?  I have to wonder.

The survival of any organism, business, community, or society depends on its ability to adapt to changes.  It is time for Hawaii to evolve into a more well-rounded economy that isn't so dependent upon the influx of transients in our state.  I think this will also enhance the experience of the tourists who do make it over here.  Sometimes I have to wonder how much fun they are having when I see them stuck in all this traffic.  I know I don't particularly like wasting my vacation time looking at people's rear bumpers.

I'm lucky that I don't have to deal with the traffic that so many others experience here, as it would drive me nuts.  I'd be even more of a wreck than I am now.  Sometimes I can barely handle the 15 minutes of average total driving time I spend on the road each day.  (You can thank me later for freeing up the roads...if you can catch of glimpse of me, that is, since I'm on and off the asphalt in a flash.)

Okay, this is getting out of hand.  My blog silence had to be broken today.  I was reading the news on The Honolulu Advertiser website, and it was just riddled with errors.  Doesn't anyone proofread anymore?  And why did this editor just underline 'Doesn't' like it's not spelled correctly?  Maybe that's the problem!!!  Geez!  (That's underlined, too.  :D)

First, I saw this:



Alright, well, I thought that was kind of funny.  But then I saw this:



Two headline typos in one morning?  That's pretty bad.  Surely that must be it.

If only that were true...



Here are the headlines shown all together on the home page:


Once again, I am not insinuating that mistakes should never be made or that I never make such careless errors.  We are all human.  However, some standard has to be maintained, particularly when you are in the business of publishing.  They got 3 words misspelled out of 110.  Would they think that hey, that's over 97%, so that's like an A?  I don't care that this is a website and not a traditional printed document.  I don't care that these Breaking News updates are written on the fly so they can be posted in a most timely manner.  They should still be proofread, and they shouldn't have these kinds of completely avoidable, careless errors.  Who is writing these things?  Even if it is the interns, they should know how to proofread.  Furthermore, wouldn't they have a supervisor to review them before posting?  Why is this damn editor underlining all my contractions??!!!

Although I've had many things I've wanted to blog about over the last several months, I've been lazy. In lieu of snarky prose I will opt to post a couple of cat videos.
The Boxing Cat


This one, though, is definitely one of my favorites:
Treadmill Kittens

As I mentioned in the last post, The Honolulu Advertiser's Breaking News/Updates section can sometimes be unintentionally entertaining.

Here is today's case in point:

I visit the Honolulu Advertiser website a couple of times each day to see what's going on outside of my bubble. I always start by skimming through the Breaking News/Updates headings to see if there is anything of interest or worth reading. Occasionally, I'll come across a heading typo that will make me chuckle, but today I had to laugh because when I happened to check the site just now, the first item in the section was this:

Last night I wore something to bed that, ever since acquiring it during my blog hiatus, Ken has wanted me to wear to bed every night.

I have to admit that it's not the most comfortable thing in the world, but I wear it all the time to make him happy.

This is not the first nightguard I've owned. No, in fact, it is more like my 4th or 5th. Yeah, I can't even keep track. For those of you who might be unfamiliar with the concept of the nightguard, it is basically an expensive piece of plastic made for people who grind their teeth.

That's right - I'm a bruxer, and a serious one at that.

I don't know exactly when I became aware of my bruxism, but I think it was sometime in intermediate school. If I recall correctly, that would be right about the time when learning really stopped being all fun and games, and schoolwork piled on enough to prompt me to sometimes study until 2am.

I have no idea if my teeth grinding has increased in severity over the years. Despite tight jaws and headaches, I avoided wearing a nightguard until I was in college and those who were unlucky enough to sleep next to me (relax, there were only 2) alerted me to the fact that my grinding was rather loud. It was so loud, in fact, that it sometimes woke them up. Still, I just couldn't get myself to wear that uncomfortable appliance that made me feel like a drooling football player every night.

Ken put a stop to my nightguard avoidance techniques rather quickly when he first discovered my hidden talent. Because he's a rather light sleeper, my grinding was constantly waking him up. As he describes it, "It's a sound you can't even make consciously." Well, that was enough to get me a little alarmed, so I heeded his pleas and started wearing my nightguard regularly. (It makes the grinding less loud.) And if I accidentally forgot, I'd wake up in the middle of the night with his hand grasping my jaw and his voice megaphoning in my ear, "NIGHTGUARD."

There are many undesirable side-effects of bruxism. One of them is worn-down and damaged teeth. My molars have no such things as 'fissures.' They are just smooth, concave bowls. I'm quite certain that I've worn off most of the enamel on the surfaces of my teeth, which has caused me to get crapload of cavities and all kinds of serious dental work, the bills for which could have easily bought me a new car with a/c. And I'm not talking about a Kia, either.

All this dental work, in turn, changes the shape of my bite impression, and every time my impression changes, I need a new nightguard. In other words, I need to spend another $400 on a piece of plastic. Lovely.