Open to Suggestions

 

Any ideas about what's going on in this picture? Anyone? All interpretations welcome.

I've stared at it now for about ten minutes, and I still don't know what's in that dude's hand. Or why his neck is yellow. Or exactly what kind of exchange is taking place. 

Whatever it is, they both seem happy about it.

Seriously. Your thoughts?

Dear Diary: A Way With Word

 

Pretty much says it all. Well put, 7-year-old me, well put.

Friday Horoscope

You will have a very good night or a very bad night. 
Either way, it will involve handcuffs.

Small Humiliations: Part XIV

Several years ago, when I worked at Marshall Field's HQ (before it began its sad, deranged, Hulk-like morph into Macy's), my coworkers and I often traveled the 12 floors down to the lower-level food court to partake in the frosted delight that is Fruigurt. What's Fruigurt, you ask? Why, only frozen yogurt that comes with multiple fruit and nut toppings of your choosing and is the perfect afternoon snack, especially with an employee discount.

One day, we all piled into line and placed our various orders. I got what I always do, a chocolate and vanilla twist cone, while another coworker finally emerged holding a tall smoothie cup with a straw.

"What did you get?" I asked him.

"A Triple Berry Threat," he said.

I scanned the menu board.  "A what?"

"Triple Berry Threat."

I checked the menu again. Finally I found the item description and began giggling so hard I could barely get the next sentence out.

"Treat . . . not threat. . . it's Triple Berry Treat."

By that time he was laughing, too. But I liked the new name so much that I decided to pay tribute to his hasty (or slightly myopic) reading of the Fruigurt choices by using my extremely limited photo-shopping skills to create the following poster, which I sent to him via email later that day:

It still makes me laugh.

Dear Diary: Modest AND Good at Math

I'd only like to point out that Ortonville is a whole 12 miles from my hometown. Oh, and I just happened across my old sticker books the other day. I noted that, in addition to the standard sticker fare, I had also slapped in some thin sheets featuring the days of the week in a line: Sat Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri. In my current adult state, these were instantly recognizable as belonging to birth control pills. So that's how much of a sticker freak I was. I lifted the daily reminder strip off my mom's oral contraceptives. No wonder I have a sister.

Nice Ride II

Last weekend, I went to Perkins for lunch with my parents. It's one of my very favorite places, largely because it produces the "chicken crisp melt," formerly the "chicken tender melt," otherwise known as the CTM. If you haven't tried it, you must. But I digress.

My dad parked his car (in the shade of course) right next to a bright yellow Mazda Miata convertible. He immediately leaned over to check it out and starting waxing poetic about how nice it would be to have such a sporty vehicle to zip around in during the summer months. Just as we were heading into the restaurant, a couple in their mid-80s emerged and happened to overhear his comments.

"It's not for sale," the man said, adjusting his Navy veteran cap and smiling broadly.

"That's yours?" asked my dad.

"Yep. Bought it last year. Only 19,000 miles on it."

"Well, good for you for getting a snappy little car like that!" said my mom.

I looked back at the Miata, a vehicular manifestation of well-earned discretionary income. These oldsters had the moxie to pump as many RPMs as would fit into their remaining years, and I had to admire that. I hope when I'm 80 I'm moving under my own power, much less driving, much less driving something awesome.

Maybe I better back off those CTMs.

Nice Ride

When I was in Atlanta recently, I was sitting in traffic in the backseat of a friend's car. I happened to look over and see an older guy patiently idling a super sweet, well-maintained, tricked-out motorcycle. I recognized the make on the shiny beast simply because another friend's husband drooled over that particular kind for years before he finally bought one.

So I said, "Hey! That's a Harley Davidson Heritage Softtail!"

I said this aloud for the benefit of my carmates, but I didn't turn my head away from the window, not realizing that I was blatantly staring directly at the guy on the bike, and he was staring back.

Evidently he could read lips, because he flashed me a huge smile and a thumbs up.

And evidently I could read lips, too, because I saw him mouth, "That's right!"

Drumsticks Be Damned

This morning I saw two wild turkeys standing on the front step of a local beauty salon, as if waiting patiently for it to open.

It wasn't quite as worrisome as when I saw them standing in the parking lot of "Ready Meats."

Perhaps they realized their narrow escape from death and are now seeking self-improvement. They want to live, dammit! LIVE!!

And that starts with some highlights.

Courtney and the Bandit

I don't really have an explanation for this one. I guess in second grade I already had a thing for swarthy men? Although, since the story is about Jack, I suppose it's a bit homoerotic. I'd also like to note that, in the intervening years, I have learned how to spell "surprised" and how to use a semicolon properly. Thank you.

Dear Diary: Tales from the First Grade

I recently discovered the diary that I kept when I was seven years old. It sounds like I'm making that up, because what first grader keeps a daily journal? This one, that's who. It's been an interesting peek into the psyche (and varying stages of penmanship) of my young self. For example:


January 14, 1985 was a pretty jam-packed day, and not a great one for Mindy. I'm glad I felt the need to specify that the wall involved in the tooth-cracking incident was "hard." I'm also glad I confessed to my greatest fear in elementary school (other than E.T.), which was somersaults. And apparently I still don't know how to spell that correctly, because I had to defer to spell check about three seconds ago. Live and learn. Well, sometimes.

Move Over, California Raisins

Text from my sister the other day:  If you had a band of Mr. Potato Heads, what would you call it?

My text back:  It would either be a religious revival group called the Idaholy Rollers whose hit single is "Out of the Dirt," or a reggae band called Baked and Fried.

I then asked my mom the same question. Evidently her secret love of hip-hop also applies to imaginary food-based music, because she went with Spuds N' Thugs.

Either way, I think we'd sell out the garden.

Quotes of the Week

#1.  Wailed by a gangsta on his cell phone in City Center:  "I ain't gonna get all gooey an' fuckin' sentimental . . . nah . . . nah . . . Mom! . . . She just talks too much shit!"

(He's got 99 problems but his moms ain't one.)

#2.  Wailed by a crusty old man on Hennepin who was ogling young girls:  "Where were all you beautiful ladies when I had hair?!" 

(Sir, I'm no mathematician, but I'm going to go with:  in utero.)

A Passage from India

A few years ago, my friend Linnea traveled in India and treated us all to a hilarious blog. What follows is one of her posts that I specifically saved for future enjoyment. And now, because she is brilliant and because I think this account deserves the widest audience possible, I pass it along to you.

I went to a movie in McLoud Ganj Friday night. I saw the DaVinci Code. Perhaps you are imagining your own experience at your local cinema? Perhaps you also saw the DaVinci Code? Though we may have seen the same movie, it is unlikely that there are any additional similarities in our experience. First, the theater had the look and feel of the inside of a bus - most likely because the theater’s seats came from a bus. I believe there were still seat belts attached to some. There were only about 30 seats in the theater and no screen. The movie was shown on a large television. Barb – not exaggerating – it was half the size of yours. If you could haul that thing to India, you could set up shop. It might not be the most lucrative endeavor however as I only paid 30 rupees for my ticket (less than a dollar). You may be shocked to learn that the version of the film I saw was a bootleg – it was grainy, a bit off center and the opening credits were in Russian. Though the film is in English it was shown with English subtitles displayed. It was clear that the subtitles were written by someone for whom English was a second or possibly fifth language. I don’t think a single line of dialog was correctly represented in the subtitles. When Tom Hanks exclaims “it can’t be, a fleur de lis” the subtitles read, “it can’t be, flute is bleeding!” I found myself wishing I couldn’t hear the dialog because it would have been fascinating trying to decode the plot from the subtitles. Knowing the magical “holding grill” people kept talking about was actually the holy grail would have been key. At least, perhaps sensing its importance, they actually attempted to translate that. Unusual words and those with more than two syllables were frequently spelled “….”

I have heard the movie is not good. I can’t really say whether it was good or bad but I can say the version I saw was the funniest movie I have seen in a while.

Saturday evening ended with an encounter with the largest spider I have ever seen. The spider was perched on Sherry’s ceiling. The spider had fangs. The spider had biceps. The spider was flashing gang signs and waving a stick at us. We had encountered the spider earlier that morning and had attempted to capture it but, when poked with a broom, it spewed a bunch of tiny spiders and ran for cover. Oh, the humanity.

There was a fair amount of high pitched squealing and some scurrying in and out of the room (people scurrying, not the spider – the spider was frozen in place on the ceiling) as we discussed a plan to rid our flat of the menace. A vote was taken as to whether this would be a catch and release operation or if the solution to our spider problem would be final. It’s a do-gooder lot, the volunteers, and we’re surrounded by Buddhists monks everywhere we go. Given this it was surprising how narrow the victory was for catch and release. The plan involved a bucket, Elliot, a fellow flatmate, on a chair with aforementioned bucket pressed against the ceiling over the spider and me sliding the cardboard from a board game along the ceiling. Thankfully the plan worked. The spider plopped into the bucket and was rushed outside. It was deposited a safe distance from the house and order was restored.

Small Humiliations: Part XIII

One morning, a friend of mine took her two boys (let's call them Frick and Frack ... names have been changed to protect the innocent) to the coffee shop with her. It so happened that Frick was potty training at the time.

Shortly after arriving, he approached his mom and told her that he had had an accident. More specifically, that he had dropped a deuce. He didn't exactly put it that way, but it works well for the purpose of this story. She quickly hustled the kids to the bathroom, pulled off her son's pants, and was immediately puzzled. There was nothing there.

It should also be mentioned that, because of the heavy toll on underwear taken by the potty training, my friend had thrown pants on the kid that morning without anything underneath. Was this a bit cavalier, desperate, or just outrageously hopeful? These are the kinds of decisions you make more effectively after coffee.

Anyway, circumstances had combined to beg the question that she then whispered in horror:

"Frick, where's the poop?"

Did she dare to dream that, from this point onward, it would simply evaporate? His reply snapped her back to reality.

"It fell out in the coffee shop."

So she did what any good mother would do, and went looking for it. Midway into her surreptitious investigation, she spied a lonely turd on the floor. And to make matters worse, it already had a footprint in it.

Now, at this point, you're probably thinking, how can this situation take yet another embarrassing turn? I'll leave you with one last sentence:  The footprint belonged to Frack.

The Case of the Missing Prisoner

I present to you another gem from my elementary school archives. I think I made this "book" in 2nd grade. How do I know? Because it's not about dinosaurs. Everything in 3rd grade had a decidedly extinct reptile theme. But evidently I decided to take my first crack at a crime caper at age 8.

 Okay, we're starting off strong. We have a main character, and he seems pretty likable.

Not bad. Alex can hoist a handcuffed man by his belt loop, and he does it with a smile. However, he seems to be driving some sort of spaceship. And the criminal appears to be shackled to an anti-gravity ball and chain. Also, I don't know why he doesn't just walk out between the bars.

Only minor problems here. I seem to have forgotten how to draw elbows, even though two pages earlier I was doing just fine. I've made the criminal a bit cocky and placed a handy dandy map of his entire plan on the back wall. It starts with a shovel and ends with a hole, and these are really the kinds of schematics you're bound to forget if they're not prominently displayed. Also, that's the brightest moonlit night I've ever seen.

Interesting. We find out that Alex is a redhead (and a bit of a drama queen). But things really start to fall apart on the right-hand page. It looks like all my artistic energy went into drawing that rolling fortress, and I had to make do with a red felt-tipped pen in a pinch. That's okay. I'm sure no one will notice. They probably won't notice that the ticket counter is located on top of the train, either.

Three things I love about this spread: 1) I didn't know what to call the passenger car, so I went with "people carry," which I think cuts right to the chase. 2) I knew that there was a double letter in "caboose," dammit, but I chose the wrong one. 3) The most exotic destination I could conjure for the train was New Mexico.

On the previous page, we established that "Alex is the boss," and boy, is he authoritative. And now bald, apparently. But look how he commands attention. I'd obey anyone who knew how to say "hurry up" in two different ways. Especially if he had six fingers.

On your left, you'll note that not only is Alex a crack shot with his "pop" gun, but he manages to look downright jaunty while doing it and even throws in a sassy comment to boot. Although it appears he's now a midget. I think that, while Alex was aiming at the criminal, I was aiming for perspective. 

On your right, in a bizarre twist, Alex and his "helper" Jon (who has not been introduced until just now) disguise themselves as clowns before arresting the criminal (whom I now refer to as "the stupid guy"), and a previously unknown plot point involving peanut shells turns out to be the key to the entire case. When pressed for an explanation of this tidy wrap-up, and asked why I chose not to draw any of these colorful shenanigans, I can only speculate that I simply ran out of room.

But sometimes our visions just have to be crammed into 12 pages, no matter how grand they are. You work with what you got, man. You work with what you got.

Crack-Up Crackup

I recently stumbled across this recording again and remembered how hard it makes me laugh.

Gotta love voicemail. Enjoy!

Party in Aisle 18

 

This pic comes courtesy of my friend Amanda and her friendly neighborhood Cub store. 

I'm not sure if I should view the labels as a progression in an interesting night, or as an amendment to the five stages of grief. I know only one thing for sure: Aisle 18 is where it's at!

Is This Thing On?

Occasionally, I say something funny. Out loud, I mean, not here in the blog. Sometimes, those comments are well-received ... and sometimes they aren't. Two examples of the latter:

Once, I was in the elevator at the end of the day with my coworker John and another woman. John looked over at the number pad, pointed to the button that read "DH" and asked if I knew where it went. I said no. Then he said, "What do you think DH stands for?" And I said, "Direct to Hell."

In response, I got crickets. Then a tumbleweed blew across the elevator floor.

Another time, a coworker was telling me that the people in her neighborhood have a progressive dinner every fall. The previous year, the theme was Italy, so they had Italian food and wine. For the next event, my coworker suggested they do a Southern theme, or a Loveboat theme, or (my favorite) a 1930's Prohibition theme. So I said, "What are you gonna do for that, get hammered and run from the cops?" 

Nothing. Nada. 

Ah, well. I amuse myself, and I guess that's what counts.

Hop To

www.gingerhop.com

Dining Date:  June 2011

On My Plate:  The battered fish n' chips. Two of the biggest, juciest, flakiest pieces of fish, served with wonton chips and sauce. Also delighted to find Sapporo beer on tap. Delicious!

Servers Rate:  Friendly, attentive.

Fun Fact:  There's a decent selection of gluten-free items on the menu. There's also a veggie burger named after Steven Segal.

The Damage:  Reasonably priced. About $20, including tip, though we didn't have any apps.

The Verdict:  Cool place. It's an odd little fusion of your favorite Asian dishes with pub fare, and the restaurant itself would be suitable for after-work happy hour or a nice dinner out. It doesn't hurt that I'm a fan of the overall graphic design, either. Bottom line -- my food was great, and it was just fun.

Explicit Eavesdroppin'

The best snippets of bus conversations (from people on their phones) in the last few weeks:

"You need to call up them peoples and they'll find you a dif-ernt day at a dif-ernt time. I don't know what to tell you, homegirl. It's a fuckin' dentist office."

"No, you got problems cuz that money be burnin' a hole in your pocket. You ain't gotta spend it all right away.  Lakisha.  Lakisha.  Laki  . . . listen, bitch!  . . . What forms did you have to fill out? You shoulda talked to me, I might coulda helped you with that."

"I was like, fuck yo birthday! You gon' have lots more of 'em."

"What was it called?  Twat? . . . oh, Twilight.  I saw the first one, but I ain't never got into it.  Cuz that bitch almost died an' shit.  I cain't have that.  If you gon' die, just die, don't do it halfway.  It's a motherfuckin' movie, ain't no one gonna care."

Small Humiliations: Part XII

A friend of mine once told me that she knew someone who worked at a company that rented moving equipment. One day, a guy came in wanting to rent a trailer. The guy behind the counter ran down some specs for him, and then asked what kind of vehicle he drove, since it would determine the maximum trailer size.

"Oh, I've got a Goolie," the customer said.

"A what?"

"A Goolie," he repeated, nonchalantly.

"I'm . . . not exactly sure what that is."

"Well, it's right outside. Take a look if you want."

Confused, the clerk headed out to the parking lot and found a beat-up old car with part of the name worn off. The man drove a Pontiac 6000 LE.

Say What?

Three of the weirdest quotes I've ever heard on the bus. Don't expect context for these, because in many cases, there wasn't any:

"That's the last time I buy a Chinese padlock."

"Fingernails are stupid. But they're useful in self defense."

"Toys for Tots, n----! Toys for Tots!"

As a side note, a homeless guy once approached me at the bus stop and told me I look like Amy Klobuchar. After I gave him 95 cents, he yelled, "Cowabunga, dude!" and ran off. I used to laugh about this occasionally until last week, when I was flipping through Minnesota Monthly and realized that, dammit, I do look like Amy Klobuchar.

Hugs Not Drugs

Ladies and gentlemen, I submit for your review the poster I designed in second grade for an anti-drug campaign. You can tell this was an important artistic work, because it's laminated.

Let's break this down, shall we?

So it looks like we have a little kid clinging to his father in the upper left-hand corner, and he's recounting a crazy-ass dream he had. Or maybe he just doesn't want to get back into that nightmare of a bed with what appears to be giant claws on either end.

What's happening in the dream?

In the center we have Mr. Milk lassoing Mr. Cigarette in a bizarre cowboy vs. Indian tableau. They actually don't look terribly unhappy. However, things get more serious on the outskirts. On the left we have Mr. Apple stabbing Mr. Asprin (who evidently is already wounded, since he's missing an I) in the mouth. I'm not sure why aspirin makes the cut of dangerous illegal substances, but there you have it.

On the right, we have the young fruits and vegetables engaged in a Lord of the Flies situation, armed to the teeth and out for blood. At the top, Baby Orange is poking Baby Drug (must be a generic) in the ass with a dagger. Below that, Baby Carrot is dueling with Baby Wine (though shouldn't he really be just a grape?)

But the best part is that, above all this violence and chaos, is the overarching message of "Hugs Not Drugs." Because clearly Mr. Milk and his associates are winning the day with love. Did anyone, at any point during the creation of this elementary school propaganda masterpiece, think to point out that perhaps I shouldn't illustrate my thesis with a crying child and a group of slightly racist characters locked in mortal combat? No. No, they did not.

Or maybe they did, and I ignored them. What matters is that I won second place, as evidenced by the red ribbon on the top left. So suck it, logic and good taste. You've never been key players in the war on drugs, anyway.

Monumental Issues

I recently watched a commercial for Cialis that featured men and their ladies having various little encounters that triggered spontaneous romantic moments. In one scenario, they accidentally brushed hands while setting up a campsite, and from what I could gather, the dude was super happy he could pitch a whole different kind of tent on the spur of the moment.

What confuses me is that, at the end of the commercial, all the couples are lounging naked in his-and-her claw-foot bathtubs, sometimes in the middle of nowhere, staring out at the horizon. WHY, Cialis, WHY? Why have they dragged bathroom fixtures into a field where there is no plumbing? Why aren't they in the tub together? Is this before or after a bit of hanky panky? Was it that dirty? Or do men with ED really just want a good long soak?

It makes even less sense than the Hoveround commercial that features elderly people riding motorized scooters at the Grand Canyon. That I can actually believe. Not that they rode the scooter all the way there, but that a person could, indeed, putter around in one to sight-see.

And while I'm on the topic, remember that Lunesta ad where the animated butterfly flew around, and everything it flew past fell asleep? Did anyone else think it was odd that the butterfly flitted past Mount Rushmore and all the presidents nodded off? Why did they feel the need to feature a historic landmark? Did they really believe someone out there was thinking, "Wow, if that stuff can knock out Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt AND Lincoln, think what it can do for me!" Tune in next week when Crazy Horse has psoriasis and the Statue of Liberty has a yeast infection.

A Mo-Rockin' Meal

Marrakech Moroccan Cafe and Grill

1839 Central Avenue NE, Minneapolis

Dining Date:  May 2011

On My Plate:  Bistella, a dish described by the waitress as "dinner and dessert in one," and which I have been unable to convey adequately to anyone since tasting it. It's layers of phyllo dough with chicken and all manner of spices (cinnamon, ginger, cilantro, saffron) plus almonds, topped with powdered sugar. So it's a mishmash of savory and spicy and sweet and nutty . . . kind of mysterious and overwhelming all at once. My dining companion had the kefta, which was a tasty concoction of meatballs and eggs in a tomato sauce.

Servers Rate:  Friendly and willing to help out the novice. Knowing nothing about Moroccan cuisine, we went with recommendations from our waitress and got a good overall sampling.

Fun Fact:  This place is old school but clean and inviting. There's a charming, brightly painted patio out front where you could sit and sip your tea. A quick two-block walk from the new Nimbus theater, it makes a perfect hangout after a show.

The Damage:  Minimal, especially considering the large portions. Under $15.

The Verdict:  Definitely an adventure! Would like to go back and give their couscous a try.

21 More (Old) Questions

Do you have a webcam?
Yes, tune in at midnite CST for a hell of a show.

Have you ever been forced to take a bath with one of your siblings? 

Of course! But I drew the line last year.

When showering, do you start the water and get in or get in and start the water? 

I have to start the water before I brush my teeth, b/c it takes 4 minutes to get it hot.  (Just like me.)

Do you have more enemies or more friends?  

All my enemies have been eliminated, or so my sources tell me.

Have you ever sent an anonymous letter?  

Letter, no.  Envelope filled with naked pictures of me, yes.

Do you follow your horoscope? 

No, but I do read fortune cookies. My last fortune said, "Plan your graduation party with Leeann Chin Catering and Delivery." Profound.

Have you ever stolen anything from your friends?  

Their souls. Perhaps I've said too much.

Would you kill a dog for $1000?   

Depends. Is the dog an asshole?

Are you impatient? 

Next question.

Do you consider yourself nice?  

Go to hell.

Have you ever smoked heroin? 

You're supposed to SMOKE it?! I put it under my pillow and got a grand from the heroin fairy.

What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?

I suppose I could work the dimples, but my milkshake is what brings all the boys to the yard.

Are you crazy? 
Stop looking at me, swan!

Is conversate a word? 

Absaloofaliciously.

Do you like Paris Hilton?  

I'd shove her sparkly sunglasses up her ass but I'm afraid she'd like it.

Do you have A.D.D.? 

No, unless that stands for A Delicious Derriere.

Do you love chocolate? 

If you don't like chocolate, you might as well go join Al-Qaeda.

Are you a superstar? 

Don't you remember you told me you loved me, baby . . .  said you'd be coming back this way again baby . . . baby baby baby baby oh baby . . .

What do you smell like right now?
Polo Ralph Lauren Blue. And success.

Do you have a hickey on your neck right now? 

Why do you ask that, just because I'm wearing a turtleneck in May?

Can you name the seven dwarfs?  

Pride, Greed, Sloth, Gluttony, Envy, Lust, and Wrath.

21 (Old) Questions

Remember when, back in the early days of MySpace, you could kill the better part of an afternoon just filling out random, ridiculous surveys that people forwarded to you? Before finally deleting my old account, I decided to copy some of my more bizarre and/or hilarious responses. Naturally, I've posted them for your enjoyment.

Name?

You should know, you were screaming it all last night.

Who do you trust with your life?
That's a very short list. If you're on it, you probably know it. If you're not on it but would like to be, press 1. If you're not sure you're on it, press 2. If you're on it but would like to be removed, go to hell.

 

If you could change your name to anything, what would it be?
Maybe Candy, because then I wouldn't have to lie when I dance.

What would you do if someone told you that you were the most beautiful person in the world and they would do anything to wake up to your face each and every morning?
I would say, "Thanks, but I'm still not giving you change for the bus."

Who is the nicest person you know?
Whoever doesn't try to monopolize my corner.

Have you ever snuck out of your house/someone in your house?
Have I ever snuck out of someone in my house? That's so dirty! And difficult to do without waking them.

How did you get the idea for your MySpace name?
It was a very long, drawn-out process that involved a peg-legged gypsy woman and my star chart. 

What does your dad do for a living?
He says he's in auto insurance, but I don't think that explains the multiple passports and semiautomatic in his bottom desk drawer.

What did you dream last night?
I can't remember, but last Friday night I dreamed I was in a gun battle in a Korean parking garage.  Figure that out, Freud!

Have you ever done something to make trouble?
Some called it an "international incident" . . . I just called it a brief but torrid affair with a certain young man third in line from the throne of England.  Big whoop.

Are you mad at anyone at the moment?
Mitt Romney.  Because what kind of a name is Mitt, anyway?

If you had to be reincarnated as a sea dwelling creature, what would you be?
A giant squid, because I would be universally feared and admired for my powers of suction. Wait . . . 

Of all people, with whom would you want to be stuck in a well?
Anybody with a flotation device and survival skills.

Do you like to spoon? 

I like to fork.

What do you wanna name your kids? 

Oh come on. Women don't share that. What if some bitch steals your idea?

How many houses have you lived in?
Two with my family, one in Japan, and one while those people were on vacation.  Shhhh!

How many watches do you own?
One. And it's always peanut butter jelly time.

Have you ever been to Kentucky?
I don't think so, but I notice my cousin's name is on this marriage certificate, so you do the math.

How many lamps are in your bedroom?
Only one. Any more and there's too much glare off the mirror on the ceiling.

Easiest person to talk to? 

Rob Lowe. He hasn't done anything worthwhile since The West Wing, and he's not doing anything right now. Go ahead. Call him. He'll be there.

Have you ever stripped?
For money, no. For the sheer joy of the pasties, yes.

 

Stretch of the Imagination

A few years ago, when my sister was dating a guy who was 6'6", we decided to have a tall joke contest. These were my submissions.

He is so tall that . . .

17. When you talk to him, there's a two-second delay.
16. If you want to hug him, you have to hire a sherpa.
15. His first toy was the world's largest ball of twine.
14. He had to upgrade to Verizon's stratosphere plan.
13. For show and tell he brought Babe the Blue Ox.
12. When he failed his driver's test, he blamed cloud interference.
11. He instructs his barber to "just trim it to 40,000 feet."
10. When he pees in Grand Forks, they start filling sandbags.
9. He's the only person to join the Mile High Club without a plane.
8. When he wants to change the channel, he just taps the satellite.
7. His parents had to record his growth chart on the Washington Monument.
6. He was the only kid in Little League to catch a comet in right field.
5. When he says he sees dead people, you know they're in heaven.
4. When he moons someone, the tides change.
3. Birds worry about him pooping on them.
2. He had to take the Statue of Liberty to the prom.
1. Other kids had lice . . . he had aliens.

You Quack Me Up

The other night I was texting back and forth with a friend, trying to decide where we were going to eat before seeing a movie. There were several minutes' lag time between messages, since she was also trying to coordinate with her husband. By the time she finally proposed a restaurant, I checked the clock and told her we might be cutting it too close to make the show. Her reply:

Okay that's good. Sorry ... can't get our dicks in a row fast enough.

I think I read it twice before busting out laughing, which I was then doing so hard that I couldn't get a text back to her before she realized what she'd written. The next message:

And wow, I meant ducks!!

Auto-complete epic fail.

Going Wilde

www.wilderoastcafe.com

Dining Date:  March 2011

On My Plate:  The Trinity College Tuna Melt and an Orange Crush. Hands down the best tuna melt I've ever had, unless you count my mom's, which is in a class by itself.

Servers Rate:  Not entirely applicable in this case, since you order and pay in advance at the front counter.

Fun Fact:  The last time I was here, it was to meet up with a childhood friend I hadn't seen in 20 years over a cup of coffee.

The Damage:  The food is little pricey but totally worth it. Sandwiches start at about $10.

The Verdict:  Not sure you can go wrong at Wilde Roast. It's a fantastic place to meet a friend and lounge about for a nice long chat. Looking forward to seeing their new location in Riverplace this June.

Fire It Up

www.flamerosedale.com

Dining Date:  January 2011

On My Plate:  A juicy rotisserie chicken quesadilla that rocked my world. My dining companion had the aloha burger.

Servers Rate:  Splendid, mainly because our waiter was named Willy.

Fun Fact:  The bathrooms are super cool, as evidenced by the picture above. Also, you can view a photo of every single dish on their website.

The Damage:  Very reasonable prices. I took a friend out for a birthday dinner and spent less than $40 total. They also seem to have a pretty decent rewards program if you're a regular, and they have a late-night happy hour from 9pm to close, which would be perfect after catching a movie at the Rosedale AMC.

The Verdict:  Because of the fire theme, this was a great place to eat on a blustery winter night. The staff was really friendly. Plus the high-walled booths offer plenty of privacy and lend themselves well to good conversation. Definitely going back.

Down Home in NE

 

www.hazelsnortheast.com

Dining Date:  December 2010 (we're going back just a tad for this one, a fond reminiscence as the weather heats up)

On My Plate:  The turkey commercial, perfect comfort food for a bone-chilling evening. Finished up with possibly one of the best desserts I've ever had -- the brownie barge. Picture a brownie with an oatmeal bar base perched on vanilla ice cream and doused in caramel sauce. Now picture how happy it made me.

Servers Rate:  Pleasant.

Overall Vibe:  Similar to Pop!, the previous inhabitant of the space on Johnson and 29th. The food is a little pricey, good but not spectacular. However, Hazel's menu makes more sense, and it works with the restaurant's revamped decor. It feels like home, but with a bit more style.

Fun Fact:  Although they tried their best to prevent the cold from seeping in by hanging a heavy curtain across the front door, it was still quite uncomfortable sitting near the entrance. I wore my coat through the meal. Finally, just as we were about to leave, they turned a small heater our direction.

The Damage:  Under $20, including tip.

The Verdict:  Keeping in mind that we visited only a week after they opened, I'd be willing to give this place another try, maybe for breakfast, which I hear is really something. It's also a great addition to the neighborhood, which is filled with homey little shops and eateries, like Sarah Jane's bakery and The Coffee Shop NE.

Lack of Love in an Elevator

I was recently on the elevator heading to work along with three other people. A bubbly young woman was chatting with a man who was obviously a coworker, and another woman was standing behind me. Bubbles, as we'll call her, since she was FAR too energetic for a Monday morning, started talking about her daughter.

Bubbles:  "Oh, my baby's never going to leave me. She's going to live with us forever."
Me: How old is this kid?
Bubbles:  "Have I shown you the double pacifier picture?"
Me: Oh, crap. It's an actual baby.

At this point, Bubbles whips out her cellphone, and I make a concerted effort to avoid looking in her direction. She shows the picture to her coworker, who offers an appropriate adoring response, and then shows it to the woman behind me.

Meanwhile, I'm watching the floors tick by and hoping against hope that I stay off her radar. No such luck.

"Here," she says, literally shoving the phone in my face.  "I think you're missing out."

Parents, we know you think your kids are precious. And, most of the time, we're willing to give you the obligatory oohs and ahhs that are somehow your reward for procreating. Hell, we even lie and say your offspring are the most adorable things we've ever seen, even if they look like scrunchy little aliens.

But here's a general guideline: No matter how proud you are, do not force ridiculous pictures of your child on complete strangers and demand validation. Especially if they've shown absolutely no interest, and especially if they appear tired and/or generally surly.

What bothered me more than Bubbles' audacity (besides the invasion of my personal space) was that she gave no thought to why I might not be ogling her kid. Maybe I'd just lost a baby. Maybe I was having trouble getting pregnant. Whatever the reason, I wasn't interested. But she insisted.

So, when she said, "I think you're missing out," I wanted to reply, "Nope, I don't think I am." 

What I actually said was, "Cute." But I said it through gritted teeth and without smiling, and my lack of enthusiasm seemed to deflate her a bit, which was highly satisfying.

In any case, I managed to get my point across without explicitly telling her where she could shove her phone next. Because hey, I'm a bit of a grouch before 9 a.m., but I'm not a monster.

Tiny and Tipsy

My sister, mom, and I once found ourselves discussing the best possible title for a television show about a drunk and a midget who fight crime.

Hey, it could work.

After a couple minutes, I suggested "Shorty and the Barfly."  I thought this was a pretty good off-the-cuff idea ... until my mom topped me in the very next second.

Without even thinking, she said, "How about Shrimp Cocktail?"

Hollywood, here we come!

Chewing the Fat ... and Loving It

www.barlagrassa.com 

 Dining Date:  March 2011

On My Plate:  The portions here are sizable and perfect for a family-style meal. My dining companion and I split a marinated pork shoulder bruschetta and a red onion with goat cheese bruschetta. We then each had the gnocchi with cauliflower and orange. The small version was enough to fill us to bursting! Delicious.

Servers Rate:  Excellent. I was treated very well from the moment I got there, and our waiter was good about explaining the menu and making recommendations.

Fun Fact: While I waited for my friend to arrive, the front door to the restaurant literally broke, causing mass confusion among the valets. Also, the small complimentary cinnamon cookies we received after dinner are perfect for wiping out post-dinner breath ... and tastebuds. They're a bit hot.

The Damage:  Surprisingly minimal, although we didn't order drinks, so that helped. Under $30, including tip.

The Verdict:  A great first experience. Fantastic food, really cool location on Washington Ave, and kind of a hot spot at the moment (make reservations). The only thing that might keep me from returning is the noise level. We felt lucky we were seated toward the back, so we could at least have a conversation.

Babblin' Crude

Best bus quote of the day, from a guy talking to someone very loudly on his phone about hooking a friend up with a job on an oil rig:

"Well, hopefully he'd be willing to give up the pot. I mean, I like to smoke a little weed, too, but for eighty grand a year with no education and a bad criminal record? That's a blessing. I gotta go. I got anger management today."

Cluck Yeah!

http://www.brasa.us/

Dining Date:  February 2011, at the Minneapolis location.

On My Plate:  An amazing pulled chicken sandwich that had just a hint of a spicy kick, served with unbelievably good chips. Also split a side of cheesy grits and warm, sweet cornbread. I don't say this very often, but every bite was a delight.

Servers Rate:  Good. It was a Thursday night, but the place was packed, so there was plenty to keep our waiter busy.

Overall Vibe:  Pleasant. It's a cozy fit in the winter, but when the weather warms, the side garage doors of the restaurant open onto a large, festive patio.

Fun Fact:  Brasa was featured on an episode of "Man vs. Food." Also, I understand that the guy who runs it is not only super hot but also has a twin brother.

The Damage:  Minimal, considering how much I enjoyed it. Under $20, including tip.

The Verdict:  A do-not-miss establishment that lives up to the hype. Plus it's mostly organic and local.

Now That's Love

A certain friend of mine tends to have hilarious conversations with her husband about ridiculous hypothetical situations. For example, after making the bed recently, one of them commented that leaving a pillow underneath the covers made it look like someone was still sleeping in it. They then imagined how horrified they would be if someone wasn't just sleeping there, but had actually died. After discussing it further, the scenario eventually evolved into this conversation.

WIFE:  "What would you do if we came home and found a dead hobo in our bed?"
HUSBAND:  [thinks for a minute] "Well, first of all, I'd never let you see it."
WIFE:  "How would keep me out of the bedroom?"
HUSBAND:  "I'd send you to the grocery store. I'd say we needed eggs."
WIFE:  "And what would you do while I was gone?"
HUSBAND:  "I'd call the cops and get everything taken care of. And then when you got back, I'd say, 'Guess what? We're staying at the Hampton Inn tonight!'"

I don't know about you, but I think this one's a keeper.

Not-So-Open Forum

www.forumrestaurantmn.com

So this post is a tad moot, since I just learned that Forum closed on April 17. It's a shame, really, not only because I had a delightful dinner there with a friend just a few weeks ago, but because it was a great addition to downtown Minneapolis. Anyway, on the off-chance that the closure isn't permanent, here's the review.

Dining Date:  March 2011

On My Plate:  A fantastic beef stroganoff, delectable "ghost cosmo," and chocolate cake. My dining companion had the duck, a citrus salad, a dragonberry mojito (lip-smacking), and a smores dessert.

Servers Rate:  Super friendly. Our waiter was great.

Overall Vibe:  Classy yet comfortable. The art deco design alone is a treat -- it lends a sense of history without being overbearing.

Fun Fact:  There's still a sign in the window reading "Forum: Now Open!" right next to the closure notice. Also, its logo looks a bit like a razor blade.

The Damage:  Will run $30-$40 a person easily. Luckily we had a gift certificate to apply toward our bill.

The Verdict:  Sad that I may not be able to visit again.

OMG, Where was the Second Needle?!?!

The last sentence is really the kicker.

April 14 (AP) A woman in Pittsburgh who said she'd been stabbed with a knitting needle is in critical condition following emergency surgery. Police spokeswoman Diane Richard says the 27-year-old woman walked into UPMC Presbyterian hospital about 9:35 p.m. Wednesday and told security guards she had been stabbed before she collapsed. Richard says doctors treated the woman for a knitting needle lodged in her abdomen and later found another knitting needle inside her body, though police aren't releasing details about the second needle.

Get Your Gorkha On

In the interest of keeping some spice in my life, in this blog, and (in this case) my diet, a friend and I have decided to set a standing date each month to try a restaurant that neither of us has ever been to. As I start this Twin Cities Eats series, please keep in mind that I'm by no means a foodie. I will have the occasional culinary adventure and will try just about anything once (see: eating sea urchin and manta ray in Japan ... then see: I hate seafood even more now). However, my tastes are pretty simple, and my pocketbook is pretty light. So, while you might not get reviews of the trendiest spots, you might learn a bit about a restaurant where you won't regret spending some of your time and money. First up:

www.gorkhapalace.com

I go by this place every day on my bus. It's just north of downtown Minneapolis on the corner of 1st Avenue and 4th Street, right behind The Bulldog NE. They share their parking lot with two other establishments, but it's free if you can grab a spot!

Dining Date:  April 2011

On My Plate:  The chicken mo:mo appetizers were delicious little potstickers. I could have eaten a dozen of them. My chicken sekuwa entree arrived still smoking in a cast iron skillet. It was flavorful and an ample portion, but not as good as my dining companion's chicken tikka masala, which rocked my world, especially when soaked up with naan.

Servers Rate:  Personable and attentive but laid-back. They almost gave us too much space. However, they were very helpful with the menu for first-timers and johnny-on-the-spot with drink refills.

Overall Vibe:  Quiet and relaxed. This place is all about fresh, organic, locally grown and raised food. They have a ton of vegetarian and vegan options, including several menu items marked as halal.

Fun Fact:  You get to choose the spice level on every dish you order. They even have a "mild plus" option for extra safety. Also, they serve goat and yak. Yak, people.

The Damage:  Less than $20 (before tip). 

The Verdict:  Will definitely be going back, perhaps to try their lunchtime buffet. And maybe some yak.

I Got the DTs in my 2Ts

One of the greatest news stories ever. From April 11th.

(Reuters) On Friday, Taylor Dill-Reese went to an Applebee's in Madison Heights, Michigan, where -- among other things -- she ordered her 15-month-old son Dominick an apple juice. What the little boy apparently got instead was a margarita.

Why doesn't this kind of stuff ever happen to adults? How super duper would it be to say, "I'll have a Coke," and then, when you take your first drink . . . surprise, there's rum in there!

His mom told WDIV-TV that she only realized something was wrong when Dominick "kind of laid his head on the table and dozed off a little bit and woke up and got real happy."

OK, first, the kid drank it without complaint. Which was smart, if you think about it, because it seems like he enjoyed it. I certainly wouldn't grimace at my free rum and Coke, immediately call over a waiter, and demand plain ol' soda.

Second, the kid napped and rallied, which I love. But not as much as this:

The little boy reportedly began hailing strangers, too.

Ah, a lovable, gregarious drunk in diapers. The best kind. Entertaining and no messy cleanup. I can only imagine what the baby-slur translated as:

"Hey! You! . . Yeah, you! Commeer! Yer not gonna believe this. This joooose . . . apple . . . I always get apple, and it tastes like apple, ya know? But this . . . this shit is CRAZY, man! Am I right? Shhhhhhhhhh! What I gotta do to get a refill? Recognize myself in a mirror? Done! That's me, there I am, and I'm lovin' this sippy cup today, man! LOVIN' it!"

The company said it would change the way it serves juice to youngsters to eliminate the chance of any mixups that could result in any more toddlers receiving mixed drinks.

Oh, but then how would we get news bulletins like this in the future? Don't rain on my parade, Applebee's. Keep up the good work.

The Grass is Always Greener

This is my 100th post, and yes, it's about weed.

Was reminded of this little chestnut tonight. A friend of mine has a pal in her apartment complex who spends a great deal of time with Mary Jane. Theirs is the kind of relationship most strive for: intense yet non-committal, centered around Doritos and feelin' groovy.

Returning home from work one day, my friend noted a very distinct aroma emanating not from her pal's apartment, but from somewhere down the hall. Knowing that this was information her pal would want, she immediately sent him a text announcing that someone else in the building definitely had weed.

Except, instead of sending the message to her ganja-puffing pal, she accidentally sent the text to another friend whose name was just one letter off. It was a friend from high school whom she hadn't spoken to in months.

The reply?

"SWEET! Get me some!"

Some friends are just keepers.

Small Humiliations: Part XI

The recent onset of "spring" has me thinking about sneezes.

I put "spring" in quotes because, though the hometown baseball season started today and I haven't scraped my windshield in a couple weeks, I remain skeptical. We've been burned by you before, Old Man Winter! You lull us into complacency with the sight of grass and the euphoria of shedding heavy down coats. And in the joyous fog of walking to work in actual shoes ... yes, the very same shoes we'll wear all day long ... we start believing we can do crazy things like plan road trips and park on both sides of the street. We dare to dream!

And if you don't hit us with a final, random, soul-crushing snowfall, and instead retire to what I can only assume would be an icy, icy bed ... well, there's still allergy season.

Which brings me back to the sneezes.

I can think of one truly epic sneeze that still makes me laugh every time I recall it. Naturally, it occurred on the bus and was made even funnier because of that particular locale.

One morning, I felt a tickle begin in my nose. Even though I quickly realized it was probably going to be a full-blown (pun intended) event, I tried my best to stifle it. Because let's be honest, nobody is ever thrilled when someone really honks one on public transportation. You can aim that sneeze into a tissue or into your sleeve, but all anyone is thinking about are those little germy particles floating around in a confined space.

So I pinched my mouth shut and closed my eyes and fought it back. It looked like I was having a mini-seizure, but it worked. Or so I thought. In the brief moment that I relaxed with relief, the sneeze came back. With a vengeance. It now caught me completely off-guard, and I had even less control than usual.

I don't think I can do justice in print to the sound that came out of my mouth, but the closest approximation is probably a very loud, very high-pitched "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Despite my good intentions, I was now the girl who suffered a mini-seizure and then screamed at my fellow riders for no apparent reason.

The scream even scared me. And then, because I was so embarrassed, I closed my eyes immediately and pretended that nothing had happened. As if the people around me wouldn't notice that I was red in the face and giggling uncontrollably.

So, to sum it up: seizure, frightening verbal outburst in public, laughing to myself while "sleeping." It's a wonder I'm still single.

He's Just Not My Typo

And now it's time to play one of my favorite games of all time . . . type the beginning of a question into a web browser and see what's tippity-top on the minds of people searching for answers.

Today's initial phrase: Why can't I have

The first result: Why can't I have an organism

This was followed by a link with the title "Why can't some women have an organism? And what is the cause?"

Ah, yes, the elusive organism. Never around when you need one. Unless, of course, you're blessed with multiple organisms, in which case you may need to get a bigger apartment.

I was going to respond to this astute query on Yahoo Answers, but I was laughing too hard.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: spelling matters. Sometimes it matters BIG. Sometimes it's the difference between a moment of exquisite pleasure and mitochondria. I'm just sayin'.

Small Humiliations: Part X

When my sister was in her teens, she and a friend decided to hit the library one afternoon. On their way, they stopped to buy some snacks. This was especially daring, since there was no food or drink allowed in the building, but being the rebels they were, they decided to risk it. 

They settled in at a table and felt like downright villains as they snuck clandestine treats from their backpacks while reading. It was a small town ... you took your thrills where you could find them. I'm still shocked and amazed at a friend of mine who once stuck a piece of used chewing gum between the pages of a book. Shocked because she'd dare to do it, and amazed because nobody hauled her away in handcuffs. She left that library unshackled and continues to walk among us a free woman to this day.

Anyway, my sister's friend had chosen for one of her treats a pack of candy cigarettes, and sometime between The Babysitter's Club and the latest Sweet Valley High volume, she decided to bust those bad boys out. Still trying to be secretive, she slipped her hand into her bag, located the small box, brought a thin stick quickly to her lips and bit into it with a satisfying crunch.

A pause, then a horrified whisper.

"Meghan! . . . . . I just ate chalk!"

What's the lesson here? Maybe that cigarettes are bad in all forms. Or maybe that you shouldn't break the rules. Or maybe that you should just look before you bite, lest you ingest your own school supplies. Take your pick, America.

Crying Fowl

As I walked to the bus this morning, I couldn't help noticing a duck waddling across the icy surface of the nursing home pond. He was walking back and forth quacking angrily, like, "What the ... when we left, this was water, right? Yeah, I took a quick dip right before takeoff. Shit! Well, now what am I supposed to do?"

I don't blame him. I'd be pissed, too, if I flew back from vacation and my home was frozen over. But, since I doubted I could adequately explain the concept of water having three forms and the related effects of temperature, I simply urged him to do as the Romans (and especially Minnesotans) do at this time of year:  "Have patience, my friend. Patience."

In response, I'm pretty sure he did as the ducks do (and many frustrated Minnesotans). He flipped me the bird.

Minor Details

Woman to her friend on the bus:

"We was crazy for each other. And my aunt, she was like, you ain't even known each other that long, but boy, I tell you, I prolly woulda married him. But we fell out. I can't even remember why, exactly, but somethin' happened, and we fell out."

Ten minutes later, during a lull in their conversation about an unrelated topic:

"You know what . . . I think he mighta went to prison or something!"

MPAA Anonymous

Last Saturday, at 10:52 a.m., I received the following text from an unknown number:

"Hey its olivia can I watch let me in? Kelsys mom says its not scary n she thinks its ok?"

Now, I don't know an Olivia, but I do happen to know that "Let Me In" is a remake of "Let the Right One In," which is a fantastic movie about a child vampire that contains several pretty horrifying scenes involving murder, bullying, and various supernatural phenomena. And though there's no way of telling how old Olivia is, the fact that she's asking for permission suggests that she might not be ready for such a viewing experience. So it was everything I could do not to text back:

"Sure. Just put Kelsy's mom on speed dial for when you wake up with nightmares. Love, Mom."

On second thought, maybe I should have written back. She probably took the lack of response as permission and may be traumatized because I was reluctant to virtually parent a stranger. Nah ... Kelsy's mom seems like she's got everything under control.

Small Humiliations: Part IX

A couple weeks ago, a friend of mine embarked on a quest to find some new jeans. She walked into the department store dressing room with an armful of items and proceeded to the first available empty stall. Once inside, she went to lock the door behind her, not realizing that there was a full-length mirror attached to the back. As she turned, she mistook herself for another person, thinking that she'd mistakenly entered a dressing room that was already occupied and ... this is the best part ... apologized to her own reflection.

Let me just say that again, in case you missed it. This friend glanced at herself in a mirror, didn't recognize her reflection, frightened herself, and said to her image, "Oh! I'm sorry!"

It should come as no surprise that the person staring back at her simply stood there bewildered for a moment before bursting into embarrassed laughter.

Drop Me a Note II (or Halls Well that Ends Well)

Okay, how about these for motivational blurbs:

1.  Call in sick.  Unlike "Keep your chin up," hearing this advice might actually make you smile.

2.  Just get through today.  Far more realistic a goal than "conquering" the day.

3.  Puke and rally!  Let's be honest, it's the best you can hope for.

4.  Cover your mouth, jackass.  Because nobody wants to envy you ... they just don't want to catch whatever knocked you on your ass.

5.  Fuck you, flu!  I realize this one comes with a host of censorship problems, but it expresses everything so completely.

6.  Feeling sucky? Suck on this. This could also be dirty, even dirtier than "You got it in you." But it's more relevant to the product in particular. In fact, I think it should be the company's new slogan. I would buy cough drops with an attitude.

Your move, Halls.

Drop Me a Note

Today I bought a pack of Halls cough drops, due to the fact that my body just finished doing battle with a flu bug the likes of which it had never before seen. I'm pretty sure that its legend will be passed down through generations of white blood cells, whispered in a tone of reverence and awe. In short, I spent the entire weekend splayed out on my couch, aching to the tips of my eyelashes and grateful (as always) for the invention of Imodium and ibuprofen.

However, now that I'm fully rehydrated and have once again graduated to solid foods, I have a lingering head cold and cough that demand soothing. As I opened my pack of honey/lemon-flavored drops, I noticed a peculiar branding effort. On the wrapper, in addition to the Halls logo, were printed several short messages, presumably intended to be inspirational.

I've seen this trend on individually wrapped items before, most notably on Dove chocolates. I find the little notes a tad redundant for that product. I don't need a pep talk, Dove. I already have your chocolate. In fact, if a pep talk was enough, I wouldn't even need the chocolate. But for the moment, I feel just peachy with this slab of fat melting in my mouth.

Anyway, here's what the Halls wrapper said, with my reactions:

1.  Keep your chin up. This I understand. It's motivating, and it implies that you feel my pain.
2.  Conquer today.  A little more vague, but generally uplifting.
3.  Dust off and get up.  All right, already. We get it. You're not taking any excuses. You're our middle school gym teacher. So quit yer hackin' and climb that effin' rope already!
4.  Inspire envy.  I'm not so sure about this one. What exactly are people supposed to envy? My inflamed nostrils?  My watery eyes?  My general lack of focus due to sinus pressure?
5.  Don't try harder, do harder!  Yoda-esque this is. And maybe kind of dirty.
6.  You got it in you.  I don't know what "it" means. The cough drop? Courage? Mucus? Plus, in addition to being grammatically incorrect, it's way dirtier than #5.

Halls, I see what you're going for here. You've got so much wrapper space, and you're using it to try to make me feel even better than your lovely mentholyptus has already accomplished. But I think you could improve.

Tune in to the next entry for phrases that might actually ring truer with someone who's ill.