TRAUMA IN GROCERY STORES, Part 1

In every household there is a designated shopper, usually the mom because she generally has a great sense of what everybody wants and needs and she knows where to get it at bargain prices.
     Unfortunately, in my house hold that designated shopper is not me!
     This is because I do not like to shop (for clothes or anything else unless I REALLY need them) and of course I should never be allowed inside grocery stores because I have a minor issue... okay, the issue is major!
     I get so ridiculously overwhelmed at grocery stores that I forget what I am there for and end up wasting hours mentally crossing items off my list that I would like to buy but cannot because:

                    a) I am always on a diet.

                    b) I cannot afford them.
                    c) I have no use for them.

So I was at a grocery store recently (not WAL*MART after what happened last time) not because I had a burning desire to get lost in food, but because I had to.

     Yes, my household's designated shopper had important things to do that day and I was challenged to step up and be a woman, before we all starved.
     Fine I told myself, because I was more than prepared to take one for the team!
     And surprisingly, in this mind set I managed to overcome the cloud of confusion that usually meets me at the doors whenever I step into any grocery store.
     Instead, a different set of mental circumstances said hi this time…

CONTINUES: TRAUMA IN GROCERY STORES, Part 2

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

DGSA (Dollar Store Goers Anonymous)

I really don't enjoy shopping as much as I should, according to my gender specifications.
     And I generally don't accept invitations to go shopping with girlfriends, unless somebody mentions "lunch" afterwards.
     Maybe once in a while (like twice a year, months apart) it's fun to do but the idea of spending every weekend hopping from store to store, digging through racks for a bargain or trying on garment after garment and messing up my hair and make-up, only to buy nothing is tiring.
     Besides, I find myself envying the husbands and boyfriends who get to sit in the corner passing the time on their iPhones, but because I'm a girl and allowed in the dressing rooms I have to go in and participate.
     Now, take me to the dollar store and we have a different story!
     There, you will never get me to leave... or rather you will after having spent too much money on things I don't need, simply because they each cost a dollar – sometimes two for a dollar!
     Lately, my obsession has gotten ridiculous: I seem to have developed an antenna for locating dollar stores around the city.
     And get this, when I go into one looking for something specific and they don't have it I begin drafting a letter of complaint to the manager (in my head), asking why they don't have my item in stock!
     Worse of all now is that I have what I call "Dollar Store Snobbishness", meaning I do price comparisons between grocery store items and dollar store items – I know it's ridiculous but what obsession isn't?
     And apparently there's a group for "Dollar Store" lovers like there is for "Coupon Collectors" but I'm not ready to join yet because I don't want the stigma.
     Oooh, I wonder if they'll ever start selling clothes and furniture...

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

REALITY SHOWS - WHY CAN'T I STOP?

Hi, my name is Ella and I am a realityholic.
     I waste my days watching mindless reality fluff featuring perfect looking women that have too many problems for all that money they have.
     My particular favorites are the Real Housewives.
     Yes, this cesspool of bowel dirty bitchiness wrapped in Hermés & Louboutins consumes a little too much of my time.
     It is an addiction, and addictions don't make sense.
     In fact, I should be commended for the fact that I have acknowledged this unhealthy craving for drama that can only exist on television for me because it would otherwise get scratched out of my real life.
     Like all addictions, rock bottom will hit like a stray elbow in the night.
     But like a real addict, it also takes more than eight rock bottoms to quit the grease for good... in my case it has been closer to eighteen and I'm still not there yet.
     I hate the way it makes me feel to sit and cringe through every episode, while the logical part of me screams “change the channel you silly girl!”
     Every now and then I skip over an episode on the night it shows for the first time and feel joy and pride at the restraint I hope will continue long into the future...
     No chance!
     Because by the end of the week I am breathlessly scavenging for a repeat episode, short of itching, scratching, sweating or selling a family heirloom just for one chance to catch up.
      Please Help Me!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

DVD? GYM? TRAINER? 1

When one finally gets serious about shedding the unwanted padding around the midriff and thighs, very important decisions must be made regarding exactly how the burn should take place:

                    1. DVDs (or videos in some cases – we all have Tao Bo somewhere)
                    2. The Gym (it's been paid for all these years)
                    3. A Trainer (...!)

A long time ago (when I still considered exercise to be the second most hated form of self-inflicted cruelty after dieting) I remember watching an episode of MTV Cribs and wondering why on earth someone would want a gym in their home?

     Now that I understand, I also prefer DVDs because they do not intimidate nor do they yell or follow me home.
     In fact, have you ever been whooped so badly by a workout you needed to pray for the energy to get up?
     Now, imagine this happening at a gym... uh-huh, now you understand why I'm so intimidated?
     That and all the endorphin addicts flying around.
     How difficult is it to concentrate on sit ups while attempting to keep protruding stomach rolls hidden from Ms. Washboard on the treadmill?
     Or trying not to strangle Peacock Muscle Bags who insists on making more noise doing (5lb) reps than a lonely rooster on Valentine's day?
     Now sprinkle a trainer into the mix and we have a problem!
     At least with a DVD there is a pause button and with a gym there is an exit.
     With a trainer, there is no escape!
     And these folks know exactly who they are.

CONTINUES: GYM?  DVD?  TRAINER?  2

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

MY FIRST TIME!

My first time coming to the States as an adult was – now looking back – quite a laughable experience!
     I guess if you subconsciously base a trip to New York on "Coming to America", some stupid nonsense is likely to happen right?
     As we landed at JFK on that March Monday morning, I spotted some white patches on the tarmac that looked suspiciously like left over ice.
     So after the chaos of getting herded off the plane like cattle and learning how to reuse my knees, I remember stepping out of the terminal and getting slapped back inside to look for more clothes by the sharp biting wind.
     You should have seen me pitifully rummaging through my oversized (again "Coming to America") but under-packed suitcase in the middle of the terminal.

London 0-1 New York

The first sit down restaurant I went to served seafood and of course I wasn't familiar with the system of tipping servers, nor was I used to overly nice waiting staff who spent a lot of time smiling and coming over to ask if everything was alright.

     If anything, that made me suspicious as to what they would be putting in my food when I wasn't looking.
     My first experience of calamari was at a lovely family owned Greek restaurant in London two months earlier and it was scrumptious!
     So when I saw it on the menu in New York I excitedly ordered it – instead what I was served was fried snake!
     Or at least that's what I think friend snake would taste like...
     Anyway, needless to say I wasn't very happy with that but I didn't yet know that I could get even by making deductions on the tip.
     Instead, I walked out with a bitter resentment for all seafood restaurants in New York City and a slimy taste in my mouth.

London 1-1 New York

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

AIN'T NO MOUNTAN HIGH ENOUGH!

“Ain't No Mountain High Enough” – this is lies!
     Forget the part that comes next; just pay attention to this one deceiving statement.
     For someone who was once blissfully unaware that they were not exactly fond of heights, these kinds of statements can give one the false confidence not needed to decide to go and climb a mountain.
     Anyone who has ever set foot in Las Vegas will have made an obvious note that mountains frame the perimeter of the city.
     Yes, everywhere you look, in every direction there are mountains!
     And since we all have subconscious minds that have no ability to determine what information is necessary to hold onto and what information should be discarded but instead holds on to everything it ever comes across and stores it.
     Is it any wonder that sooner or later one begins to entertain the “clever” idea that climbing a mountain is the thing to do?
     Going up wasn't a problem (getting into trouble never is), considering that all I did was look down at the two feet in front of me that consisted of nothing more interesting than a beaten dirt path.
     It was when my hiking buddies decided to play tour guides and point out the “views” that my sense of logic abandoned me, while I clung onto the idea that I was going to suddenly plunge to my death (even though both feet were firmly planted on the ground and if I lay down with both my arms above my head, every part of me would still be touching “ground” – not the point!).
     Coming down the mountain was yet another challenge: "how can a two legged person temporarily function like a four legged animal?"
     Never again!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

WHERE CAN I GET GLOW-IN-THE-DOOR EYES?

So, I found myself playing hide and go seek with a bunch of youths that I had been forced to babysit.
     Okay they were all under ten, but have you experienced a group of fifteen under-10s?
     It's like an encounter with a gang of excited dogs: oh the grubby paws and sticky tongues!
     Anyway, I decided to go and hide in one of the bathrooms that had no windows but had an extraction fan and I kept the light off.
     However many minutes later, the door opened and I was about to start laughing because I had been found but before I could even take a breath, the door closed again.
     Alright, I know I have a caramel complexion which in poorly lit corners can appear closer to extra-dark-chocolate but come on!
     I was standing right in the little girl's line of sight, with the light shining into the dark bathroom from behind her.
     She should have seen me!
     But she didn't, instead she closed the door and left me alone with the darkness.
     As you can tell I was somewhat offended by this.
     Not because she couldn't tell me and the dark apart but because my eye balls and teeth hadn't been spotted!
     Does that mean they weren't bright enough?
     Obviously this now has me wondering how I can get my hands on some glow-in-the-dark eye balls and teeth...
     Plus I have been forever put off ever playing hide and go seek again!
     Or getting caught in the dark alone.

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

ROMANCE IMPRACTICALITIES

Reading a novel at my local coffee shop and hoping not to get bothered, I somehow found myself sucked into a women's reading group.
     They mistook me for a new member and offered me coffee cake, which I didn't say no to because I have no sense or will power when it comes to food, so don't judge me!
     Anyway, I soon found out that this “reading group” was actually an outlet for unsatisfied women who read trashy romance novels late at night and then get together twice a month to share fantasies about the leading men.
    We were each required to give a five minute (blow-by-blow) monologue about our “ideal romantic gesture/situation”, complete with dramatic pauses and colorful embellishments.
    More than a few of which (unoriginally) involved tall dark and handsome strangers meaning the short and pudgy fair-haired fellows didn't stand a chance.
     I must say the group really opened my eyes to how impractical some romantic gestures can be such as:

     1. Candle lit dinners in a tent or on a boat – oh, the fire hazard!

     2. Surprise weekends without prior warning or packing – brings new meaning to “I have nothing to wear”.
     3. Strangers that appear unannounced in the middle of the night – creepy and just down right rude!
     4. Twelve-piece orchestras on private plane – really?
     5. Scooped up onto horses and riding for days with no food or destination – why would this be a good idea?
     6. Magically transported to medieval times with no modern day luxuries or creature comforts... uh, no!

How about just keeping it simple?

     I am a fan of escape but sometimes just some flowers, dinner and a new dress would suffice.

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

WAKING UP IS HARD TO DO!

What is it about Monday morning that makes one feel so distressed and cheated of sleep, even after desperately trying to squeeze in nine hours of sleep?
     Even the early risers among us have bitterly complained about those defeated moments following the blasted alarm clock's treacherous kidnap from the comfortable bosom of sleep.
     While one contemplates the monumentous task of peeling off the warm duvet from their temperature sensitive thighs and rolling out of bed to start the day, miraculously another half an hour has waddled by and one suddenly finds themselves running late – again!
     This is when all sorts of mistakes are made and bruises are introduced to various parts of the body as one rushes around trying to get ready while simultaneously guzzling down gallons of magic “stay-awake juice” (that is responsible for why one is having such a hard time waking up in the first place).
     Some have even been caught trying to skip sleep altogether so as to avoid the inevitable (and often lost) battle with the Morning, but have come to find out the hard way that the body is programmed to function a certain way for a good reason.
     The irony always arrives at the weekend when after five days of resentment and strife, one is rudely awoken from dreams of wealth by none other than a programmed mind instead of the solemnly detested alarm clock.
     No wonder one spends their day twitching with stress – just look at how it starts!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

HAVE YOU RECEIVED A LETTER FROM THE CPRC?

What does One do when One receives a letter from the CPRC - Commission for the Perceived Rights of Chickens, harshly stating that One is being accused of violating the said rights of protected chickens?
     One's first reaction is to obviously comb through One's thoroughly confused mind and think back through weeks of activity, attempting to remember the last time One interacted with a chicken, let alone violated its rights.
     When enough shock has worn off and One genuinely cannot think of where the basis of the CPRCs accusation lies, One begins drafting a reply letter asking for the reason One is being falsely accused of such an offensive action.
     While putting the finishing touches to the reply letter, One spots a telephone number for the CPRC on their letterhead and decides to make a call, hoping that perhaps speaking with someone would clear up this ridiculous misunderstanding.
     However, after eight minutes of waiting in a telephone queue (listening to an incredibly soothing piano version of Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini) for the next operator to become available.
     One is finally connected with a Human Being, only to be told by a bored voice at the other end that the office was to close for the weekend and that One should call back on Monday morning or write a letter.

THE VOICE THEN ENDS THE CALL WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE!

Horrified, One adds a complaint to the reply letter to the CPRC about the unacceptability of the voice's rude telephone manner.

     Upon crossing the road from the post box towards One's drinking establishment, One contemplates whether reprimanding One's nephew – who had grown rather fond of asking “why did the chicken cross the road?” – was the reason the CPRC had written the letter...?

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

WHY IS THE GIRL NEVER THE VAMPIRE?

Let me start by admitting that I am not a hard core vampire fan because I am not fond of seeing blood, which I think should remain inside a person's body where it is was put for a good reason, and that reason was not to “nourish” another.
     However, I have dabbled in a little vampire fiction in my day and like many women who now find themselves seeking out brooding Edward Cullen types to fulfill needs that living men seem unable to wrap their necks around.
     I am a sucker for a vampire love story.
     How can one not be, with all those chest-grippingly romantic versions of someone else's severely altered reality?
     Speaking of romantic, there is something so enthralling about a man so physically powerful he could snap a delicate neck and drink from it in one swift slurp (whoa masochistic moment!) but wouldn't allow himself to bring harm to that neck he loves it so much – Awwwh!
     But I wonder though... why is it always the man who gets to be the vampire or the werewolf or some other form of animal that cannot legally mate with a Human Being?
     Which brings the challenge of a forbidden love to the table.
     Why is it always the woman who has to wait for him or alter her sleep patterns to make it work?
     Hmmm... maybe it's because if a man had to adhere to the nonsense that comes with falling for a vampire or werewolf or zombie or whatever, there would be no story.
     Plus, we women have way too many issues and men are pretty simple folk.
     Yeah, I think if the woman was the vampire there probably would be no romance…

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

THE CHAOS VALENTINE WOULD FACE!

Having (thankfully)  survived another Valentine's Day, I took a moment to observe the chaos that  ensues every year in every country by all its residents, whether or not they are  in a relationship.
     Since there are those who think  Valentine's Day is just another commercialized holiday designed to empty yet  another week's wages, I think that it's about love – celebrating the people in  one's life who one loves and cares about.
     That’s sweet right?
     Well you would think I'd declared war  on America's sweetheart for the amount of hissing spittle spouted my way when I  expressed this.
     I guess I should prepare to be outlawed  next year by both the “I hate” and “I love” Valentine's Day groups who only ever  join forces against the likes of me.
     So I was also thinking...
     What if Valentine was a living person in  today's world; She/He/It would probably need to be accompanied by twenty-four  hour security due to the sheer strength of peoples' feelings towards Him that  are apt to change depending on the weather.
     Now when one is in love and happy with the  world, Valentine would be celebrated with giddy joyful praise, showered with  gifts and rewarded with invitations to every A-list party – only one of which  She would attend of course.
     But when one is broken-hearted, bitter and  despising of every word in the English dictionary that begins with or contains  the letters L, O, V or E, Valentine would suddenly turn into a putrid, puss  oozing enemy with a hefty price on Its head.
     I sure wouldn't wish to be Valentine or  even someone named Valentine on Valentine's Day!
     I also wonder how those Bulls in Spain or  Mexico cope every year with all that red flying about?

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

BLOODY RESOLUTIONS!

We are now a few weeks into the New Year, when resolutions prove to be slippery little animals.      In the spirit of celebration one tends to make commitments that seem valid at the time... until it is time to put them to work.
     Then, all sorts of alterations begin to seep in and before one knows it, there is an entirely valid excuse as to why:

          - “Another glass of wine won't hurt...”
          - “I'll quit smoking on Monday...”
          - “I can't be on a diet because so and so's event/party/birthday... is coming up.”

Notice how New Year resolutions always come with giving up the good stuff?
     And they wonder why nobody sticks to them!
     Sure I make them too (mind you it's always when I am justifying choosing the “moment on the lips, lifetime on the hips” option), but mostly it's to be socially accepted while being treated to free appetizers – I know I have no backbone, don't judge me!
     This is why myself and a few other sorry individuals have devised a list of the top ten reasons why “New Year resolutions Should Absolutely Be Broken”:  

          10. It hurts too much.
          09. I was drunk when I said it.
          08. My husband/wife still loves me anyway.
          07. I can buy bigger clothes.
          06. Isn't it important to be happy?  Food makes me happy.
          05. If I live too long my kids won't get the insurance money!
          04. Who wants to wear a speedo anyway?
          03. I'm already the smallest one of my friends.
          02. If I look any better my spouse will demand sex more often.
          01. If Kim Kardashian can get away with that ass, so can I baby!
 
Now, do you feel any better about breaking your resolutions only 42 hours in?
     I sure do!

  

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com