We’d stop dead in our tracks when we heard him coming from the next street over. If you were racing your friend on your banana seat five-speed bike, you laid a patch of rubber so you could stop and turn your ear to be sure of the direction from which the sound was coming. You could approximate the distance, direction, and number of minutes you had to grab your money and get to the curb.
The ding ding dinging of that distinctive bell was surely ordered up straight from Pavlov, as it brought the whole street running every time it whispered its cool, sweet message in our ears: The ice cream man is coming!
That truck was a summer evening fixture in our small town. I couldn’t tell you what any of the drivers looked like, but we were always grateful for the arrival of the big truck, whose cargo bed was fitted with a giant freezer, adorned with photos of all our favorite frozen treats. Some of my faves:
When my kids were younger, and I’d hear that familiar dinging in the distance, my lips tightened and my eyes closed as I tried to will it away. “Please don’t come down our street.” I know that sounds awful, but if you could see the toads driving these beat up mini pick-up trucks, you’d be helping me to barracade the door. That truck might as well be fitted with a loudspeaker that announces, “Come see the pedophile, children! I have a rocket pop for youuuuu!” *shudder*
Nowadays the kids are old enough to get that he’s just plain skeevy. I can’t figure out if today’s ice cream truck drivers are creepier or if we just never noticed they were creepy as kids.
[SIDEBAR: Of course, this is coming from a girl who happily climbed into a Jeep with a friend as a two Army men drove us around town during a recruiting event. I also seem to recall they fed us snacks. I’m certain I was not buckled in, either. There was no buckling in those days. Especially with an open side/top vehicle. Where would the adventure be in that? And with men we didn’t know at all. Dear God, I must have been absent the day they had the “stranger danger” talk.]
I wish they could have had the same experience of dashing out to meet the ice cream man that we had as kids. Things have changed so much since I was their age. I’m sure they think our childhood sounds lame, because there were no electronics or hi-tech means of communication. It was a simpler time with simpler pleasures.
One of which was running out to meet the ice cream man and handing him a sweaty, crumpled dollar bill (or change from your piggy bank) and enjoying a cold treat on a warm summer’s evening with your friends from the neighborhood. And no worries about creepy dudes.
As a result of all the rooting around that was done in my sinus region, I not only find myself lacking energy, but I’m also less interested in cruising stores, as I’m still at risk for picking up germs that would maybe not be so bad for you, but would be pretty sucky for me at the moment.
So I’ve turned to shopping online for any clothing needs family members have had over the past few months. It’s worked out pretty well so far.
I was just thinking today how much I miss trolling the racks at TJ Maxx and Marshalls, so, just for kicks, I thought I’d see what TJ Maxx offers online. Who knew? They have a site! Their in-store merchandise is ever-changing and turns over quickly, so I never imagined they would sell their wares online.
Was I ever wrong!
And I’m more than a little concerned about the current state of the fashion world.
I have a few questions (all photo credits go to TJ Maxx online):
Does anyone else think maybe the person who invented this was just prancing around the room with a piece of fabric (or some leftover wrapping paper) and decided it might actually sell like this?
I can see having that opening above boob level for a little cleavage peepage, but this rib cage opening just makes it look like a book depository right there on her abs. Or Cookie Monster’s mouth. Or a great place to put the hangers of the other clothes you’re about to try on. Anyone get this?
Please, PLEASE don’t bring back bibbed overalls. They’re calling this ensemble a jumper, but we all know it’s fancy farmer pants, and they need to be put out to pasture for good.
These are called “harem capris.” I say if you’re going to do harem, commit to the harem, like it’s flippin’ hammer time, m’kay? This just looks like there’s some extra junk up front and nobody wants to see that mess going on up in there.
I call this look, “Larry the Cable Guy Does Drag,” because, obviously. And order soon ladies–it’s almost gone!
This is the Open Back Detail Dress. It conjures many questions. First and foremost, is this really not a swim suit? Swim coverup? What does one wear under this in the event of a stiff breeze or the need to bend over?
Not much covering that caboose. I’m not a prude, just a realist. Someone is going to get to see more “details” than this dress is offering. I can’t even begin to comment on the shoe choice. Next!
Well, isn’t this special? This Ruffle Swim Top by Jessica Simpson should have an age limit on the hanger–no one over the age of six should be allowed to enter the pool area in this little number*:
I’m having a Carol Burnett flashback here. It looks like someone tore down the sheer curtains and bunched them up to create this one-of-a-kind look (grab ’em while they last!):
So much going on here. They’re called “Slim Fit Knit Jogger.” I don’t know who’s hitting the road running in these, but something other than sandals might be a good footwear choice. Also, is it just me, or does she appear to be pooping her knickers at the moment the camera captured this?
Have you ever seen Brooke Shields on The Middle? This looks like something her character would wear. Is this really daywear? I’m so confused.
Good heavens, another version with fringe. It’s like the 40’s meets the trailer park meets Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves.
And on that note, I’m done shopping for now.
*Unless the adult wearing these has opted to pair them with some Daisy Dukes shorts, which would make total sense. To someone.
I’ve been recoving from fairly extensive sinus surgery, so I finally took the time to figure out iMovie. (I’ve also more than gotten our money’s worth out of our Netflix streaming.) I was getting frustrated with the other programs I’d been using, so I thought I’d give this a go. Much more fun, and like all things Apple, pretty intuitive. Still learning, so I’ll have to do some more videos for you. Lucky you.
Also, I hope you like dogs running in slo-mo:
We’ve all typed our name into Google to see what comes up, right? Oh, you know you’ve done it. We all have. I was perusing stories online today and some Hollyweirdo was saying she Yahooed herself. I’d never heard anyone say that, so I tried it.
Yahoo was all, “Honey, I don’t know you, don’t nobody else know you, and unless you’re fixing to get famous and change your gender for all the world to witness, ain’t nobody got time for you.”
So I went slinking back, shoulders slumped, tail tucked firmly betwixt my legs, to knock upon the door of my old buddy Google to see if he remembered me. Of course he did! He flung open that door and I gazed in amazement at a room FILLED with information about little old me. Oh, Google. You shouldn’t have.
No, really. You shouldn’t have. I think he might have remembered a little more about me than I’d like. Bastard all but put a big red flashing arrow over my house on a map guiding the masses directly to my front door.
Then I thought I’d see what would happen if I selected the Images option on the page.
Horse of a different color.
So much to see. And, oddly, none of it me.
First of all, apparently my good friend Google thinks I have an unnatural affinity for creepy dolls, because many images like this come up when you punch in my name:
And is it just me or is this doll destined to grow up to be Walter?
And I’m pretty sure Walter was patterned after our VP:
I do own a book called Creepy-ass Dolls:
but I bought it because I find old dolls, well, pretty damn creepy, and stumbling upon this book at Border’s closing sale was like discovering a friend who shared my innermost thoughts but even took it a step further by adding hilarious captions. I’m mildly jealous that I didn’t think of it first, but I am grateful I didn’t have to hunt down all those frightening dolls and take their pictures.
Because that’s nightmare material right there. See for yourself.
I also found this couple on there. Do you think someone from my past is going to wonder if this is me and my camera-loving man?
I wonder if anyone will think this lady is me:
Wowzers. Somebody really liked geometry class.
Go Google your face and see what comes up. Feel free to share in the comments what you find if it isn’t you.
Dear Cos (Cosmos 2 just seems so formal),
You’ve served me well. We’ve been together now, what–two, three years?
So many calls, so many texts. Good times.
Sure, when I saw this screen:
and waited in anticipation of a fun message from a friend, I knew there was a good chance it would be followed by this message:
as the transmission came to a screeching halt, because you decided it was all too much for you and your basic-ness to handle. Meh. Probably wasn’t a very interesting picture anyway.
I’m also sure you tried your best to interpret what those emojis were when you drew little squares on my screen. I just used my imagination and smiled knowing you probably decided they weren’t worth my time. It’s like you were my personal screener. That was so cool.
The way you slid open to accommodate my texting needs was very modern, too. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
Don’t even get me started on your resilience. I always marveled at your ability to pull yourself together and move on after I’d dropped you for the 50th time on the concrete of the sidewalk or garage floor, and you lay splayed, battery and cover each claiming their own personal space in the world. No whining about a broken screen for you. Nope. You just dusted yourself off and dialed again.
And the funny way you always thought I wanted to say a command each time I slid you into my purse. Oh, how we laughed when you demanded to know the command five or six times, as I fumbled to silence you.
I’m sure Allison appreciated your thinking of her when you would call her on your own, too. Dialing with nary a digit or derriere in sight. That takes talent. Mad dialing skillz–that’s always been your gig.
Listen. As fun as it’s been, I’ve decided it’s time to move on.
Please know it’s not you–it’s me.
I’ve been, um, kinda checking out this other phone. I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t resist the sleek profile and shiny shell:
I just don’t think it would be fair to you for us to continue when I have these strong feelings for another phone. You deserve better than half-hearted feelings.
Well, Cos, we’ll keep you around in case the kids want to take you out for a spin at some point, but as of today, we’re splitsville. We’ll always have our contacts to look back on. Hmm. Well, I suppose I’ll probably be needing those.
Oh, for the love of the man. It looks like that transfer will be tedious:
Oops! We can’t find any supported transfer applications for this device combination. Contacts from the old device will need to be manually typed into the new device.
Shh. Don’t listen. You’re not old. You’re a classic.
Anyhoo, take care. You’re a good phone who did a respectable job. Except for the pictures and groups emails you refused to accept, but whatever. You’re good. Really. You are.
This is awkward.