Grand Theft Ice Cream

image by xZorex on DeviantArt I did something bad today. For the greater cause, like an avenging Robin Hood of frozen dairy treats, but still. It all starts with an elderly sample woman... My family and I were roaming the mega-sized, dangerous concrete isles of Costco on the search for some elusive ball park wieners when we came to a sample stand. Sample stands are set up all over the super-store with various goodies and are all manned by what seems like every Grandmother in the local tri-state area. Most are named something like "Marge" or "Doris" or "Gertrude" and have poofy perms and drawn-on eyebrows. Despite one's particular affinity for Joker-esqe makeup, they are some of the sweetest ladies on the face of the earth. Never has been receiving a tasty treat been so nice. So, when my mom passed the little white cups of chocolate ice cream bar chunks out to the little girls, Jonmark, and I and realized that there was none left for her, she just shrugged and moved on. Feeling suddenly guilty that I had taken the last sample, I noticed that there were three more cups waiting on the rack on the back of the stand.  I waited until the lovely sample lady was chatting sweet potatoes with another customer and, under the guise of waving Jonmark to come over to our aisle, went to the back of the stand and grabbed an extra cup.  To my knowledge the lady never noticed, though I think one of the other shoppers might have given me the "Oh, no you DIDN'T!" eyebrows about breaking the sacred rule of taking only one sample per person. It was no Grand Theft Auto, but likely the most interesting crime I've committed today. In conclusion, I'm left with this thought: That was really good ice cream.  Like Stealing Ice Cream from a Sample Lady, -Hannah

When I Grow Up I Wanna Be An Old Person!

Lovely Loves,

America (scratch that. pretty much all of mankind) is obsessed with not aging. There's anti-aging creams, anti-aging foods, anti-aging surgery, even anti-aging exercises (pray, check for wrinkles, pray again). Growing old has been labelled tasteless, unfashionable, ugly. Well I don't buy it. While people go inject themselves with toxic paralyzing substances and search for the wrinkle cream of everlasting youth, I embrace old age.

Old age is the age ofexcuses, the backstage pass to life, the skeleton key to the playground over the hill. Once you hit a certain age you can get away with just about anything. Riding the motorized cart through grocery stores? Cutting lines? "Accidentally" tripping rude passerby with your cane? Asking that cute senior citizen to help you cross the road? You're old! Go for it!

The Grandma from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" is an special inspiration to me. "You want to go

insane?" some might ask, but I see it as getting to climb on to my neighbor's roofs (or into their

basements), wearing a cowl, and accusing people of being evil Turks. Sounds like fun to me!

Some other inspiring old people:

-My Grandmas!

-Betty White and the Golden Girls

-Maxine

-The Grandma from "Runaway Bride"

-Mrs.Marple

-The bald,

dancing Six Flags guy who is really a woman (no, seriously. thats a bald

cap.)

-God (so old he's ageless)

-Several other cool oldish people who i can't think of at the moment. They're out there, though.

Somewhere...

Plus, who says being old means not being beautiful? Wrinkles are a sign of a life well laughed and a million smiles. They add character and warmth to a perhaps otherwise mundane face. Plus, if I get age spots i can play connect-the-dot whenever I want!There are definite downsides to aging: the dentures, the arthritis, the need to pee at all hours of the night. But hey,occupational hazards, right?

Plus, just imagine the stories I'll tell my Grandchildren. "Back in the days when I had natural teeth we didn't (insert high-tech invention here). No, no. We used a black box called a VHS player and instead of (insert here) we took a smaller black box and inserted it into a slot in the bigger black box. Really!" Just wait till I tell them about washing dishes by hand, or reading paper books, or riding in mammoth gas-guzzling tanks. Hee hee hee.

Night You Young Whippersnappers,

Hannah Hoo

The Road Tripper's Handbook to Loos

Finally home and loving the freedom of being here. Its funny the things you miss when away from home. For me, it was a long list. You, my own personalized princess and the pea bed, the freedom to be messy and toss my clothing to and fro, wi-fi, lounging in my PJ's, no need to make awkward conversation with barely related relatives, and most of all: our toilet. Go on, make that face all you want, but it's the truth, baby! Allow me to illuminate:

When spending the weekend on a road-trip and staying at my grandmum's house, toilets become memorable events. These are the classic case toilets encountered on a road trip (not for the faint of heart!):

MINE

This is, was, and forever shall be your home toilet. It is dependable, private, and a safe-haven in the scary world of pluming. It accepts you and will never hold a grudge, even after your Great-Great-Great Uncle Philly came to visit.

THE ZEN-ZERE FACILITY

One of the SICO's inside jokes for quite awhile now has been the Zen/Zere ordeal. If you don't know this story, just ask one of us. Anyway, this is a toilet that could be perfect except for it's one, very important Achille's heel: You cannot read the sign. For the life of you, you cannot figure out which door leads to the men's loo and which leads to the woman's loo. Maybe it is a themed joint and you are lost due to not knowing the different names for a male and female armadillo, or maybe the artist who designed the little Man and Woman pictures is a 5 ear old, either way you have to make a decision. Either you hold it and linger in a creep fashion to see which door other people use, or you take the plunge and choose blindly; the consequences be what may.

THE HOBO'S LOO

This bathroom is the stuff of nightmares. You can tell, just from walking in, that this is going to haunt you for years. Your first clue is the dangly strips oftoilet paper, sticking to the floor, walls, toilet, and ceiling. Puddles of unanurally colored soap have leaked out of their jammed dispensers, lying in wait for your wayward foot. Some prankster has switched the hot and cold knobs. Some other prankster, more logical in their scheming ways, flat out stole the sink. The stalls are a repulsive color and the vandal's facebook. Everything from "Jenny Loves Jimmy" to bad poetry has been carved into the plastic partitions. I would go on to describe the toilet, but I don't want to pay your psychiatrist bills later in life.

THE HOLY GRAIL

It has been a long, weary and toilet deprived day on the interstate. Sick of hearing your sibling's favorite Donut Man tape for the 45th time that day, you enter the gritty rest stop or fast food joint's bathroom, expecting to meet the uglier cousin of the loo you encountered at the rest stop two states back, a glorious surprise awaits you! Like a pearl of plumbing and hgenie, the bathroom is shining and fully stocked. You nearly cry as you admire the tastefull wallpaper, gasp in delight at the assortment of soaps and hand towels, surely hear an angelic choir sing out as you admire the shining throne of gold itself. Fainting may ensue depending on whether or not the toilet is really gold.(This has happened to me before.)

THE "OH!" RESTROOM

It looks innocent enough. There is daisy wallpaper, it looks fairly clean, and the building it's in isn't too questionable. You are just about to leave when you notice that what you had thought to be a travel size soap wall dispenser is meant to dispense a variety of other things. And are those really daises? Everything seems questionable now. You leave the bathroom a little more world-wise than you intended on entering.

GRANDMA'S HOUSE

You love your Gran to death, she really is the sweetest, kindest, most loving woman in the world. Her toilet, though? Don't trust it as far as you can throw a McDonald's mechanically separated "chicken" nugget. First of all, it has no door. It is more of a floor to ceiling shutter with wooden slats and no handle, making a sliding barrier that isn't sound proof or little sibling proof in the least. Second, you can't touch anything. Everything being as ancient as it is, you are justifiable afraid of touching, and thus breaking, anthing. You tiptoe, breath in shallow breaths, and only touch the light switch if you dare. The only window has a lovely, personal view of her neighbor's living room, spoiling their dinner and making for awkward encounters. The worst part, of course, is the loo itself. It isn't as much a toilet as it is a "water closet". A similar model was used in King Henry the 8th's castle, pretty sure. Flushing the toilet is a dangerous ordeal as well. You have to press lightly enough not to break it, hard enough to actually flush, and in just the right place or else tough luck. 5 times out of 10, assistance is necessary.

This is just a light sampling of the vast family of toilets. Gross, disturbing, and crude as it is, any hard core road tripper will testify to the afore-mentioned. Plus, whats the fun of seeing such terrible sights if you can't gross out your friends with the grim details? ;)

Green Eggs and Ham,

~Hannah