The Junk Drawer

As many of you know, I’ve been trying to lose weight for months and months. Strike that. I’ve been thinking about losing weight for months and months.

The problem is I have very little will power and therefore, the scale laughs at me each and every morning. Oh, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, we’re not going to do this again, are we?

Tomorrow might be different, because today I had a guardian angel keeping me from eating all afternoon and he didn’t even know it. I estimate he saved me about 1,000 needless calories.

Part of my job as a computing consultant is to install and update software on a PC that gets mirrored to 36 other computers in one of our labs in the building. The gentleman who saved me today asked me to install some software for him, which I did last week. Before I sent it out to all the other PCs, I needed him to come to my office and thoroughly test it.

He arrived at 2:00 and tested for three straight hours. In an office the size of a walk-in closet.

How did that help me? His presence just a few short feet away kept me from diving into the following things, which I was too self-conscious to eat in front of him:

One Peanut Butter Balance Bar: 200 calories

One snack bag of White Cheddar Cheez-its: About 250 calories

Ten Caramel Hershey Kisses: 230 calories

Half a dozen Goetze’s Caramel Cremes: 260 calories

My office is more a candy store than a place to conduct business. There is a candy dish that sits at the front desk next to a trim and fit woman who makes sure it is always full. God bless her. She allows herself one Hershey’s Kiss per day, if she’s been careful with her eating the rest of the day. I’d kill for her discipline.

The bowl is very small, however, so rather than emptying it out in one visit, I go straight to the source and take directly from the drawer where the big bags of it live. It’s the other junk drawer in my life. I do replenish what I take, but I don’t know why I bother putting new bags in there, because I’ll be taking it right out an hour later.

Somebody please help me! Would anyone consider being my food guardian angel? You’ll never see a better deal in your life because I’d pay you to do absolutely nothing.

You’d come to my office, pull up a chair and sit and stare at me so I don’t eat. I would occasionally talk to you, but we don’t have to speak if you don’t want. You can bring reading material if you like, or I’ll give you a laptop and you can watch a movie or surf the web. Popcorn and candy obviously prohibited.

It’s either this, or the junk drawer has to go. Do any of you have struggles with an abundance of goodies in your office? Have you ever suggested a moratorium on junk food and been successful?

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So my sister Ann got this insane idea that we should try out to be contestants on The Amazing Race, a reality show that pits teams of two against each other in a race around the world. Prize if you win? One million smackaroos.

Teams compete by performing weird and difficult tasks while making their way to pit stops along the worldwide route. Contestants have to fly, drive or take a train or bus on their own throughout the race. If you’re the last team to arrive at a pit stop, you get the ax.

You must be able to manage your time, follow clue directions, do crazy physical and mental stunts, and find places you’ve never been before.

We can do none of these things.

And that’s our “hook” for getting picked at an open audition being held this weekend in Lancaster, Pa. Our shtick will be “We suck! We’ll be eliminated at the first pit stop, but our pathetic attempt to get there will entertain your viewers. You want us. You need us!”

As proof of our horrendous planning and traveling skills, Ann and I spent a good amount of time trying to decide if we should drive two hours to the audition the night before and stay at a hotel, or just leave really early Saturday morning and pray we get a good spot in line.

Keep in mind, teams on the show are given what seems like nine seconds to make their travel plans. Our planning took us four days and we changed our minds three times during the process. Hotel the night before, drive that morning, hotel the night before, drive that morning.

Do you think it has anything to do with our travel preferences?

1. I wanted in-room Internet access so I could keep up with email and my blog.

2. She wanted an onsite restaurant so we could be sure to get food in the morning. A continental breakfast won’t cut it.

3. I didn’t want to drag all my toiletries with me overnight. Instead I just wanted to shower up Saturday morning, hop in the car and go.

4. She is not a morning person. She’d prefer beaming herself to the destination.

5. I have a hard time falling asleep in strange places.

6. She didn’t want to get lost getting from the hotel to the audition location.

For the uninitiated, these are basically the opposite of all the requirements for the race. Oh, and did I mention we’re both directionally-challenged? Even with her GPS, we’re not sure we’ll get there. We know we wouldn’t stand a chance actually running the race. Getting to the audition will be challenging enough.

I’ll be blogging about our mini-adventure upon our return. That is, unless they pick us for the race and tell me I’m forbidden to write about it.

You never know. If you’ve been to The Junk Drawer before, you know crazier things have happened to me.

It could happen. Right? Right?

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The daughter of one of my husband’s cousins is getting married in July. Her bridal shower is next weekend and I got my hands on her registry code for Bed, Bath & Beyond. An online review of the couple’s selections reveals two things:

1. The couple will never have occasion to use half the stuff they requested.

2. People who’ve already fulfilled the purchase of some items are stupid, insane or both.

Why? Because these are the things they bought the happy couple:

	B. Smith 3-Tier Swivel Buffet Server My prediction: Relegated first to closet, then to basement, then to yard sale. Suitable alternative: None. This item is ridiculous.
	Oxo 3-Piece Ice Bucket Set My prediction: Kitchen cabinet, then basement, then yard sale. Suitable alternative: “The ice is in the freezer. Help yourself.”
	Krups 4-Slice Waffle Maker My prediction: Exactly one novelty use, then yard sale. Suitable alternative: Perkins
	Pizza Baking Set My prediction: “Who put this in the registry? When’s the next yard sale?” Suitable alternative: Domino’s.
	Alderwood Bread Box My prediction: Firewood. Suitable alternative: Um? The bag the bread came in?

Honestly, I think the people who help couples choose items for their registry are evil. After the couple picks practical items like towels, dishes and silverware, they start suggesting things the couple won’t have room for and will never, ever use.

Dave and I have done well in 15 years of marriage with the inexpensive, sensible Corelle dinner plates and bowls we got as a gift. They cost someone 20% of the price of fancier dinnerware we received and we use them more often.

I brought the cheap silverware from my single days into our married household and when we needed more, guess where I got them? From my sister Marlene’s stash of wedding gifts she had in her attic that she never used. From 1972.

For the married folks here, what kinds of things did you get for your wedding that you never used? Did you sell them? Give them away? Are they still in your basement? It’s yard sale season, you know. Maybe it’s time to liquidate?

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For those following the Plastic Bag Adventure, I thought I’d update you with a picture today. I want you to know I’ll do anything for you guys.

I stood on the roof of my building to get a closer shot. Yes, there is a wall that kept me from falling to my death, but that didn’t make me feel any safer up there. I stopped taking pictures when my legs got weak.

Wal-mart Bag: Stuck 47 days and counting

I went a step further and filmed it flapping in the wind. It’s a breezy day here in Eastern Pennsylvania, but that doesn’t seem to be helping our little friend get out of its branchy clutches.

Some of you are out of the running for the contest. I’m sorry, but I warned you it would be a while. I’m still guessing November, 2009, and it wouldn’t surprise me if it took longer than that. Good luck to whoever’s still in the game!

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Notice: This post has been edited since its original publish date. I removed the link to the website in question because the person who took my material wrote me last night, made her site private and hopefully removed my stuff. I can’t prove it, since the site is no longer available to the viewing public, but I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt.

However, I’m leaving this post otherwise intact to remind everyone to periodically check for stolen material. Use Copyscape.com, which is free and will scour the web for places where your material has been republished.

Here is my edited post:

This is going to be one mean, angry post.

There is a woman, a fraud, who is posting my blog material to her Xanga website: [LINK REMOVED]

You’ll see on the first page my bathroom story from the other day. If you scroll to the bottom and click through “Next 5,” (bottom right) you’ll see more stories I’ve written (plastic bag story, First Holy Communion, and so on and so on).

She posted no less than ten of my blog posts, some in their entirety, some not, and some edited to make it look like those were her experiences. I also recognize some of my friends’ blog posts there. I’m disgusted and frustrated.

I’ve written her directly, posted to her guestbook, commented on each of the stolen articles and asked her to remove them immediately. I also submitted an email to Xanga to report the violation of their Terms of Use. Is there anything else you guys suggest I do?

What’s upsetting me the most is that she’s getting tons of comments on those posts from people who think she wrote them. As a writer, this is a most bizarre feeling. To have over 30 people comment to her about what a great story she wrote is extraordinarily painful.

It makes me want to give up blogging if people are blatantly stealing my content and getting away with it. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. I managed to get a MySpace page to “go dark” because I outed another thief.

Please, please, please do not tell me I should be flattered. I am not. I am fuming. Tell me something to make me feel better, and if you have any other advice for me, I’m listening.

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Fellow humor bloggers, you might want to see if she stole your stuff, too.

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I received a great little item for the Food That Looks Like Stuff collection this weekend. This devilish tomato comes to us from Carla at blah blah blah Blogolicious. She says:

Here’s a picture of a tomato that grew in our garden a few years ago.  We of course adorned it with necessary facial expression.

I don’t know what it is about tomatoes that makes a person want to draw on them, but I did it myself to Weeble Tomato Guy, who was second to appear in the collection.

Anyone who sends me a food that makes the cut receives a Junk Drawer magnet! So please look carefully at your food before you scarf it down. There might be a prize in it for you!

Lycopersicon esculentum diabolus

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I haven’t had many brushes with fame. In fact, only two. Once when Mary Hart of Entertainment Tonight was on our campus at work interviewing Lee Iacocca, she drifted into my building looking for the ladies room.

I was coming down the stairs and was shocked by the woman standing before me. Wearing an exquisite deep blue business suit, perfectly made-up and not a hair out of place, she looked like Miss America.

She asked where the restrooms were and I pointed down the hall. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t get a picture. Just helped her empty her bladder.

The more important brush with fame is that I married a movie star, my husband Dave. Ok, ok. Not a star, per se. But he did appear for about 10 seconds in the 1978 TV miniseries, The Dain Curse. That’s him in his movie costume. He appeared as an extra, an officer handling crowd control in a scene outside a courthouse.

Fast-forward 30 years, he still remembers his encounters with the leads in the movie. Not anything remarkable, mostly glimpses of them walking around the set. But he did say hello to James Coburn, who was pacing around reciting lines to himself.

What that means for me is that whenever we see a movie where one of those actors appeared, I get “I worked with him,” or “I worked with her.” We have a little chuckle over his “acting days” and I think to myself Well, you worked with an actor, but I married one!

So does anyone have more interesting brushes with fame to share? Please tell me you did more than show someone the way to the bathroom.

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Everybody’s famous at Humor-Blogs.com.

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Back in March I introduced a Junk Drawer logo created with a tool called Spell with Flickr. Just type in your letters and it generates a logo based on images it grabs from Flickr OneLetter.

It’s a very cool tool, but something about it bothered me. The letters it grabs from Flickr are likely copyrighted photos and I didn’t want to violate copyright.

Chances are none of the photographers would notice I’ve used their letters in my logo, but that didn’t make it any less illegal. Since I also plan to use the logo on merchandise, the copyright issue became even more important.

So what’d I do? I grabbed my camera, took my own pictures and now the logo is all mine! I would have been done weeks ago, but I was on a hunt for the elusive Perfect K, which I managed to get last weekend. Thank you, Karl Ehmer Quality Meats!

I want to thank my uber-talented colleague, Jason Slipp, for creating this new logo out of the million letters I sent him. The poor guy.

Conversations during the design phase went like this:

Jason: So how do you like the latest version I sent you?

Me: I found a new E last night. It’s a great E. I don’t like the E in Drawer, can you put the new one in The, and the old one in Drawer? And I don’t like the K. I need a new K. This one’s too thin. And I’m worried about having two brick backgrounds with the U and the D.

Oh, and look at how many uppercase letters I have! There should be more lowercase and I’m not sure if I love the first R in Drawer, but it’s kinda cool with the circle around it. Oh wait, I do like the first E. Can you put it back the way it was?

Jason: You’re killing me, woman.

For the record, he was paid for his services, but probably not enough for the torture I put him through.

It was a chore getting this thing finished, but pretty fun, too. For weeks on end, I’d be driving along and a great letter would pop out at me. Pull over, take the shot, send it to Jason, tweak the logo.

It’ll adorn the comments section and stuff I’ve created on Zazzle for purchase or to hand out as blog contest prizes. Eventually, it’ll appear at the top of the blog once I get my theme perfected.

Another big Thank You goes to JD of the I Do Things So You Don’t Have To blog, who slogged all over her town looking for letters for me. She sent me half a dozen signs and one of them made the cut. JD, your wonderful right-corner R takes its place in blog history!

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In other Junk Drawer news, if you’re following the progress of the plastic bag in the tree, it’s still there, and it’s still driving me nuts. Check out the Plastic Bag Tracker box above my picture in the sidebar, updated daily.

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Trust me. This post title will make some sense in a minute.

We’ve got something new for the Food That Looks Like Stuff collection. This little guy was discovered in a pack of chicken fingers from Wegman’s in Bethlehem, Pa.

Taken on the whole, this looks like a sleeping dog to me. I’ve decided it’s a Basset Hound, though sadly, front legless.

Because I like to get second opinions when I’m not sure I’ve got a food that looks like something, I sent it to my sister Ann to examine. Here’s her response:

Is that God’s face on the right?! Or Zeus?  Full head of hair and full longish beard?!  OMG!

Do you see the face?

Taking a poll. Who thinks it’s a dog and who thinks it’s God/Zeus? Who thinks we’re seeing things?

Sleeping Basset Hound-God-Zeus Chicken Finger

Addendum, 4/29: OK, folks. Here’s where I see the face. Please don’t mock my graphic design skills. I have none.

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There are two numbers I’m obsessed with: One, my weight, which never makes me happy. And, two, the amount of readers who’ve subscribed to my blog’s feed. Smiles all around. I’ve finally cracked the 100 mark!

Actually, I have three separate feed counts that total almost 150, but I don’t count the older feeds because I’m not sure there are active readers behind those numbers. I’m only eying the current feed, which sits nicely at 103.

I want to take a moment to thank everyone who subscribes to the Junk Drawer, or who comes in from a bookmark. Thanks also go to those who added me to their blogrolls. I appreciate the links that lead people here.

I’ve said on more than one occasion that it’s really my readers who make my blog what it is today. Yes, I write this thing, but something amazing happens when I click the Publish button. A party breaks out in the comments section.

People have asked me how I achieve such a high number of comments each post. Honestly, I don’t know the formula, but I know dumb luck is a big part of it. Somehow I’ve attracted the right mix of people who leave the funniest comments after every visit.

During a birthday party last weekend, my family was sitting around talking about things that go on in The Drawer. We remembered some funny stuff left in the comments and someone said “Huh? What are you talking about?” and another said “Oh my God! You’re not reading the comments? You have to read the comments! It’s a goldmine in there!”

Bottom line, if you’re reading The Junk Drawer, hugs and kisses. If you’re not reading the comments, you must change your ways because you’re missing out on a key element of the blog. You might chuckle at something I’ve written, but you’re going to snort something out your nose if you dig further and read what people dropped in the drawer.

Thanks again, everyone! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Blogging has been some of the most fun I’ve had in my life, and you’re responsible for that. Toast yourselves and have a great weekend!

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Ahhh, bathroom issues at work. We either hear something we don’t want to hear, or see something we don’t want to see.

The two bathrooms nearest my office are single-use. You have to lock the door behind you because the only toilet inside has no privacy wall around it. The room has just the toilet, a chair, a sink and a trash can. And the toilet is at the farthest point from the door.

If you forget to lock the door, you’re in serious trouble. If someone comes in, unless you can cross the space-time continuum, there’s no way you can slam it shut before they see you.

Someone forgot to lock the door.

Here’s a run-down of the voice mail I got from a colleague who walked in on some poor sap.

Kath, the opposite of my worst fear happened to me. I walked in on a dude in the bathroom who didn’t lock the door. He was totally exposed, man. Just an island out there. He was an older dude. I don’t know who it was.

As I’m shuttin’ the door, I’m like “You gotta lock the door, dude!” He’s like “I know! I’m sorry!” Usually I’m scared I’m on the opposite end of that, totally prone! Dude. It was crazy. God! I have a 2:00 meeting. I gotta go. God!

When I met up with him later, he told me that in the split second he was witness to the horror, he could tell the guy was hunkered down for a long visit. He had the chair pulled up in front of the bowl and was reading! On the toilet! At work? The hell???

I will never understand why a man will take reading material into a bathroom at work, plan to stay a while, and forget to lock the door. Maybe he was so excited about the latest Wall Street Journal, locking the door slipped his mind?

When I use the ladies room, I probably check the lock four different times before I’m sure I’m safe. If someone walked in on me, I’d have to find a new job. I could never go back.

And let’s not forget there were two victims here. The obvious one, but also my colleague, whose eyes are still burning from the vision. No matter how brief the encounter, he’ll probably never forget it.

For the love of God, check the lock once, twice, three times if you have to. I’m not sure post-traumatic stress disorder is covered under my benefits plan.

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Every few months, I go to my doctor to get an injection that must be administered at a ventrogluteal site. What’s a ventrogluteal site, you ask?

My big ‘ol smiling butt, that’s what.

I’ve gotten quite used to getting injections this way. It’s not painful at all, and subjects me to only a mild amount of embarrassment. Pants down. Inject. Band-aid. Pants up. Done.

Not the last time I went.

This time, I got Nurse Rached who was either in a terrible hurry to get me over with, or never got the instructions for making her patients feel comfortable in a vulnerable position, or both.

I got myself in position, leaning at roughly a 60 degree angle against the examination table. Pants down. Cheek in position. Knee bent. Ready.

I could hear Nurse Rached prepare the various paraphernalia necessary to give the injection.

Typically, the nurse will toss out the syringe plastic wrap, cotton ball and Band-aid behind her on a counter. Nurse Rached apparently felt it was too time-consuming to turn around and lay the items down behind her.

So she piled everything up in a heap on my butt. Yep, there I stood. Me and my ass table.

Plastic wrap. Check. Needle cap. Check. Syringe!!! Check. Used cotton ball. Check. Band-aid wrapper. Check. Got anything else you wanna throw on there? Your coffee cup? A phone, stapler and tape dispenser and you’ve got yourself an office.

Needless to say, I was mortified. Um, you almost done back there?

Listen, I don’t go around leaving garbage on her butt, so I’d really appreciate not getting her again for my next injection. Besides, I hope to lose 20 pounds by my next visit, so it’s possible there won’t be enough room for disposables.

Lady, check the nurse manual. I’m pretty sure it says exposed butts are embarrassing enough.

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For those of you who think my junk drawer is too neat and clean, you haven’t seen my refrigerator.

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Not that anyone would care, except for Lee, who wanted to know what’s in my real junk drawer — here ya go! Just the usual suspects: batteries and more batteries, scissors and tape, checkbook, address book and a few other things I may or may not ever need again.

I suppose the stupidest thing we have in here is our old doorbell. My husband Dave showed his handyman prowess last summer when he installed a new doorbell. What should we do with the old one? Why, of course! Put it in the junk drawer. You never know if the new one will fail and we won’t have $8 to buy a new one and will have to re-install the old. Um. Yeah.

Every now and then Dave makes us sift through all this junk and clean house. We’re due for another sweep, don’t you think?

So, what’s the dumbest thing you’re holding onto in your drawer?

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I’m doing lousy with my diet, but my husband Dave’s doing just great. He’s well into a double-digit weight loss and I’m thrilled for him.

But I wonder if what he’s eating has altered his brain chemistry a bit.

He said this yesterday and meant every word of it: “God, this celery is so freakin’ good!”

I’ll call a doctor in the morning.

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