This *is *my mother’s mother. (My grandmother died last summer. This woman is not my grandmother.) Everything we do someone else has done better, and it’s not always her. At 16 I bought a 35 mm SLR camera with my own money. It was schweeeet. I made the mistake of telling her about it, and then heard for a good 10 minutes about how the camera she just bought was sooo much better becuase it cost more. Did it have a light meter? No. Did it have a view finder? Yes. So her pictures came out too dark or too bright, blurry, and slightly up and to the right of where she wanted them framed when mine turned out beeeeautiful…but hers was still better. Right. Also, I look like a boy becuase my hair is short. Bite Me, Bernice.
Well, my painting is of dogs playing Pinochle!
Oh, and what I meant by “it’s not always her” is that when someone does something that she can in no way claim to do (like has prostate problems or whatever), she’ll tell us about how some friend of hers did it or whatever. Weirdo woman. We were quite shocked that she didn’t get cancer or die to upstage my wedding.
[/bitter, bitter rant]
At the automotive shop I used to own I had two different customers that could never be topped as far as cars were concerned. You mention a particular model and make of car - they had one. But theirs was the rare export model, or had the limited performance engine package, or was a one-of-a-kind special paint scheme. No matter what you came up with, they could top it.
One day, both of these customers happened to be in the store at the same time, so naturally I introduced them to one another and stood back to watch the competition.
It was amazing. Both of them had owned one of every car ever built and all of them the rarest versions. They went back and forth and the stories got wilder and wilder. If they couldn’t top each other with options on the car, then one of them paid less for his or sold it for more money.
Then they started talking about the 1966 Mustangs they owned now and how perfect they were, how original and correct. This one has the original engine in it, well, mine has the original paint on it, well, mine has the original muffler still on it, etc.
After a while they walk out into the parking lot to leave, having thrilled us all with their wonderful stories, and as one of them begins to leave, he simply must show the other the original spare tire in his trunk. Never been on the ground. Still has the factory air from 1966 in it. “Ford” air, nonetheless.
Ever seen American Beauty?
Lynnwood. I live north of downtown Seattle. Gotta go back there tonight to get the pasta dishes I forgot when yo-yo tongue started going off about her sleeping preferences.
And maybe it’s an unfair generalization, but is anyone else getting the impression from the thread that men and women are competitive about very different things? Not just different lists of things, but different types of things?
I thought of another one. I know I’ve posted about this before but I think it was on a different board (so forgive me if you’ve heard it before)
I’m sitting with two friends, P & G, and we’re chatting away. P is a little quiet and G asks her what’s wrong.
“My grandmother is dying” she replies.
We’re immediately sympathetic, and both say that we can understand because both of our grandmothers are dying too.
“No, you don’t know what it’s like!” insists P. “My grandmother practically raised me. She was more of a mother than my own mother!”. G says “It was exactly the same with my grandmother. She took care of us when my mother was working such long hours that we never saw her. I know how you feel.”
“No you don’t!” whined P. “You can’t understand what it’s like. I love my grandmother more than anything”.
G & I look at each other and silenty agree that we are not going to argue over who loves her grandmother the most. I don’t think either of us could believe that P actually tried to argue that she was going through a unique experience here.
Six years on, P’s grandmother is the only one still alive… and P no longer speaks to her.
Now that I’m in my first “real” job, I meet a lot of yuppies… people in their 20s and 30s who are generally well-educated and making pretty good money. These people are ridiculous, and I find it very hard to relate to them. Lots of them are scrabbling to get married, and the women brag about their extravagant weddings and the men brag about their decadent honeymoons. They have to show me all their jewelry, list to me everything they bought while on their two-week cruises in the Caribbean, and tell me exactly how much everything cost. That is really big–getting a bargain is worthy of bragging, but paying huge amounts is even more important to crow about, just because they COULD.
These are also people who bought brand-new cars as soon as they graduated college or law school or signed the contract for their first jobs, and again have to show you the fine corinthian leather or tell you what a great deal they got. The guys are all about golfing on weekends or getting season tickets to local sports teams, and they even brag about their mortgages and brand-new riding mowers and gas grills.
Keep in mind I’m 27, and these people are my age, give or take a few years. I feel like a kid sometimes, because I don’t give a shit about golf or sports or getting married, and I still spend my seemingly-minimal discretionary income on things like DVDs and comic books and concert tickets to see bands they’ve probably never heard of. I hate spending money to begin with, and I would never dream of showing off to near-complete strangers and the thinnest professional acquaintances. I would love to have the ability to “throw it around” like these yuppies, but I’d always choose not to. And come on, we all grew up in the ‘80s and watched G.I. Joe and Transformers at the same time after school–don’t act like you’re freakin’ 50 years old and on the fast track to partnerships now.
Mine sleeps. I know, I’ve checked on him sometimes when I’m afraid he’s drowned. I mean, really…3 minute showers for me, 20 minutes for him. And this is average. It gets worse in the winter time.
Iodine is a necessary nutrient.
Kosher salt is good because it has larger grains, which makes it easier to control the amount in a pinch of salt, and makes it easier to sprinkle uniformly in a dish. Some people say they can taste the difference that having fewer additives makes. I can’t, and I’d bet that most people can’t either.
Some people go much, much further into salt snobbery (I don’t know about you, but I just don’t see myself spending $9 for 4.4 ounces of salt)
Ha! I got you both beat! My mattress came with someone else’s dust mites!
I have a guy friend that insists that everything he has is the best. His new huge-ass TV is the best on the market of course–but you have to stand all the way across the room to see the picture, and the people are stretched wide. I was there watching that Dove commercial where everyone is beautiful in their own ways and they zoom in on this freckled girl. Her freckles were the size of salad plates. Creeped me out. I can’t imagine what a dirty movie would look like 
And his car is the best, his waterheater is the best, his cellphone is the best, his way to quit smoking is the best (all 4 different ways he did it). The price he pays for fresh fish is insane–and he loves to tell you how much each bite costs. Whatta gracious host!
I think it also odd when people brag about their ability to drink cheap wine. That’s just not good!
I once overheard three or four of my friends talking about who had more and worse neuroses. ;j
I’ve never met a group of people who too so much pleasure in reenforcing stereotypes. “You think you’ve got a Jewish mother? My mother wouldn’t let me leave the house by myself until I was 16!” “Your name is Jonathan Cohen? Well my name is Noah Katz!*”
*Names changed to protect the ridiculous.
‘‘It’s like when I go shopping. I have to have the most expensive thing. Not because it’s expensive, but because it costs more.’’
[/Cordelia Chase]
Iodine can have a sorta metallic taste. If you eat both salts, the iodized salt tastes a little more…well…harsh, I guess. Most iodized table salts also contain flow agents. However, unless you are eating a whole bunch of it, I doubt you will ever notice. I just came from my kitchen where I was eating it straight out of the box. Pickling salt is the chemical equivalent of Kosher salt with the texture of iodized table salt. You should never pickle or can with table salt, other than that…go with whatever sticks to the margerita glass best 
Oh yeah, and I recently overheard a discussion at work about how much harder it is for one person’s dad to die of cancer than it was for someone else’s dad to die of cancer 'cause his cancer was worse that the other guy’s cancer.
My friend went on and on about the special stone topped coffee table she overpaid for, uh, bought, at ‘the design center’ and how it was being custom made and shipped from Italy, etc.
Months later, the table arrived. It looked pretty nice, too. And very, very large- maybe 5 x 5 feet.
But when I went under it to retrieve a lost kid toy, I saw a sticker that said “Hencho en Mexico”.
I never said anything because I didn’t know if she was putting on a show for me or had just gotten ripped off by ‘the design center’.
Well, I studied Italian under Leonardo da Vinci, and let me assure you, Hecho en Mexico means “Artisan-designed and blessed by the Pope” in Italian.
I’m surprised that this has grown to TWO pages and no one has mentioned a certain Monty Python sketch.
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Anyone?
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<crickets>
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Hmm… carry on.
And did those feet, in ancient times, walk upon England’s mountains green, and did the holy Lamb of God…?
(Sorry, that’s all I know.)
IN MY DAY WE HAD TO LICK THE ROAD CLEAN!
-There you go Grizz.
I have friend who is more of a one-up-complainer than a braggart.
I earned point with him because I had owned the Bruce McCollogh (sp?, you know the Kids in the Hall guy) comedy albulm since it came out. Showing somehow that I was so awesome as to have known about it and have had it in my collection for nearly a decade.
One day while discussing shaving with him and another friend. He complained on and on about ingrown hairs on his face and when we triedto relate our own ingrown hair woes… He shot us down and went on about how his ingrown hairs are worse than anyones. My other friend and I looked at eachother (both larger guys with facial hair and assuredly ingrown hairs other places on our person) and just shrugged.