Since moving in with my parents, two weeks ago, there has been a debate going on between my mom and dad. The debate has been over the shed that my father built 20 some odd years ago. My mom wants the shed taken down and replaced with a new one. My dad thinks otherwise. My mom’s argument is that the shed is a ghetto shed. It has holes in the roof and floor and it has not been painted in many years. My dad thinks the shed has character.
The main reason my mom wants the shed destroyed is due to the critters. There is at least one ground hog that lives under the shed and Lauren and I saw an opossum hanging out near the shed last week. My mom was not happy to hear the news of a new critter.
This past weekend, the debate ended. With the “help” of my dad, (“help” meaning that I used his pry bar, his hammer, his Saws –All and his sledge hammer) I dismantled their shed. The ruckus that I caused at 9 AM on Saturday morning was enough to cause, Mrs. L, the widowed older neighbor, whose property borders my parent’s property where the shed occupied, to come outside and inspect the demolition. Mrs. L is pleasant enough and her and I got to talking about the different critters that live under the shed. She has seen the ground hog and noted that she thought they lived under her deck just 30 feet away from my parent’s shed.
Every now and then my mom would pop her head out the back door to see the progress. She is deathly afraid of animals and would not come too close in fear that the varmints would come scurrying from the home at any moment. She brought out drinking water on one occasion and asked me if I had found any money in the shed. I told her, with the 8 boys that lived at their house I was more likely to find beer, pot, or porn mags stashed in the shed. There was none.
After a few hours the shed was completely demolished. Mrs. L was in her back yard doing some work by her deck and she yelled out. “Oh my God. There is something under my deck. I think it is the ground hog.”
I walked over and peered through the lattice covering. There was definitely an animal there, but it looked more like an opossum and I told her so. She was convinced it was dead and I told her that opossum’s do that. They play dead. Mrs. L carried on for a few more minutes about the animal under her deck. She tried banging on the deck and throwing water on the animal but the thing did not move. She finally asked my dad for help. He found a long thin pole and attempted to nudge the animal though the lattice to see if it would move.
Lauren and my mom must have heard the commotion and came outside to spectate.
“What’s going on over there?” My mom asked nodding towards the neighbor’s deck.
I laughed and said, “I don’t know but this day is getting weirder. I am watching Dad, poke Mrs. L’s opossum with a pole.”
Monday, April 30, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Baseball
We were watching the Phillies game in my parent’s family room and Maxfield was pointing to the different players on the television screen, across the room.
“That guy throws the ball. That guy catches the ball. That guy swings.” He said as his little finger punctuated the air towards random players.
The night before Lauren brought the kids to one of my softball games, so, Max was more interested in baseball now that he has seen his dad actually attempt to play. They arrived a little late to the game but Max got to see me bat and he was happy to see me get a single on my last at bat.
Chase Utley, the Phillies second basemen, ropes one to left center for a double. “Look, Max.” I said. “He just ran to second base.”
“Just like Daddy.” Max exclaimed.
“No Max.” Lauren explained. “Daddy only got to first base.”
I looked at Lauren and I mumbled with a wink, “That seems to be the story of my life, lately. I can only get to first base.”
My mom, who was sitting on the other end of the couch, snickered. She turned to Lauren and said, “Did he just say he only gets to first base?”
Lauren nodded.
“Well,” my mom said, “Getting to first is the most important one. Remember that.”
“That guy throws the ball. That guy catches the ball. That guy swings.” He said as his little finger punctuated the air towards random players.
The night before Lauren brought the kids to one of my softball games, so, Max was more interested in baseball now that he has seen his dad actually attempt to play. They arrived a little late to the game but Max got to see me bat and he was happy to see me get a single on my last at bat.
Chase Utley, the Phillies second basemen, ropes one to left center for a double. “Look, Max.” I said. “He just ran to second base.”
“Just like Daddy.” Max exclaimed.
“No Max.” Lauren explained. “Daddy only got to first base.”
I looked at Lauren and I mumbled with a wink, “That seems to be the story of my life, lately. I can only get to first base.”
My mom, who was sitting on the other end of the couch, snickered. She turned to Lauren and said, “Did he just say he only gets to first base?”
Lauren nodded.
“Well,” my mom said, “Getting to first is the most important one. Remember that.”
Monday, April 23, 2007
Fun while moving
The other day I was unloading a truck of some of our belongings and I was trying to sort them in the storage area. I was trying to read what we had written on the boxes so I could figure out what we needed to have easily accessible and it made me think of something I used to do whenever I helped friends or family move.
I am posting it here as a public service for anyone who ever gets stuck having to help people move. It makes the long moving day that much more fun. When you know you are helping friends move, bring your own Sharpie.
A few years ago my brothers and I were helping our brother Pat and his wife Bridget, move into their new house. Her dad and brother were helping as well. As we unloaded the truck, we would read the boxes to know what room we were supposed take them. As it always is with moves there are boxes that are labeled with random writings. Things like, “Tools” or “Toys” where you don’t really know where they are supposed to go in the house so you have to ask the homeowner.
I, of course, brought my own Sharpie to the move. I waited until most people were in the house and I wrote other random things on some boxes. Things like “Sex” before the word “tools” or “toys”. I even wrote “Bridget’s Porn Collection and Videos” on a box and set it aside. I told all my brothers to make sure her brother was the one to move that box.
His reaction, a double take to make sure he read what he read, was hysterical. We laughed most of the day.
So when you are helping someone move, bring your own Sharpie.
I am posting it here as a public service for anyone who ever gets stuck having to help people move. It makes the long moving day that much more fun. When you know you are helping friends move, bring your own Sharpie.
A few years ago my brothers and I were helping our brother Pat and his wife Bridget, move into their new house. Her dad and brother were helping as well. As we unloaded the truck, we would read the boxes to know what room we were supposed take them. As it always is with moves there are boxes that are labeled with random writings. Things like, “Tools” or “Toys” where you don’t really know where they are supposed to go in the house so you have to ask the homeowner.
I, of course, brought my own Sharpie to the move. I waited until most people were in the house and I wrote other random things on some boxes. Things like “Sex” before the word “tools” or “toys”. I even wrote “Bridget’s Porn Collection and Videos” on a box and set it aside. I told all my brothers to make sure her brother was the one to move that box.
His reaction, a double take to make sure he read what he read, was hysterical. We laughed most of the day.
So when you are helping someone move, bring your own Sharpie.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Windows
I was having a conversation with my brother Pat the other day and he as telling me that my Mom had him doing all kinds of chores around her house in preparation of my arrival.
Pat told me he was helping her fix one of the windows in one of the upstairs bedrooms when my mom said to him, and I am paraphrasing,
“I just don’t want Max to fall out the window. I didn’t care so much with my own children, when you guys were younger, but I don’t want my grandchildren to fall.”
Pat told me he was helping her fix one of the windows in one of the upstairs bedrooms when my mom said to him, and I am paraphrasing,
“I just don’t want Max to fall out the window. I didn’t care so much with my own children, when you guys were younger, but I don’t want my grandchildren to fall.”
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
From the mouth of Momo9
This morning as I was leaving for work, my laptop bag over my shoulder, I leaned over to give Lauren, who was sitting on the floor with Wyatt, a kiss goodbye. It was a quick peck on her lips. “I love you.” I said. “Have a good day.”
I turned to leave when my mom, who was sitting on the couch sipping her tea said, “THAT was not very passionate.”
It's good to be home.
I turned to leave when my mom, who was sitting on the couch sipping her tea said, “THAT was not very passionate.”
It's good to be home.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Just say no.
Like most people, I enjoy America's new pastime, Game Shows.
I don't watch any one show in particular, nor do I watch specific shows on specific nights. I catch the occasional show here or there, like Smarter Than a 5th Grader, Deal or No Deal, Identity and 1 vs. 100 (For those who read this blog that are younger than 30 or do not have kids, Identity and 1 vs. 100 are on on Friday nights and yes there are television shows on Friday nights). I usually watch game shows when there is nothing else worth watching.
Like any average person I sometimes get sucked into the show. Whether it is the host, the contestant, or the questions and dynamic of the game, I become part of the show. I answer the questions out loud so my wife will realize that I am not smarter than a 5th grader. I play the whole "I would have taken the deal at $157,000." And I also find myself calling people idiots when they get questions, that I consider easy, wrong.
The only problem I have with these new types of prime time game shows is the way they break for commercials. They let the questions build up, they work the contestestants into having to make a decision to either take the money or continue, the build up the suspense and then the host of the show says something like, "We'll find out...right after this." The studio audience moans and they cut to a commercial.
I have no issues with commercials. They are the way television works. My issue is the fact that the shows actually try to act like they are NOT going to cut to a commerical when everyone, the contestant, the audience and the viewers at home, know they are cutting to a commercial. I find this somewhat insulting to my intelligence. Why put on the act when eveyone knows there will be a commercial? Why build the suspense? Why does the host smile and wink at the camera like he is playing a practical joke on everyone? Again, I find it insulting. They don't do this on Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune. Bob Barker never stopped Plinko in mid-game to keep the audience on the edge of their seat.
Now, whenever I watch one of the new game shows and they work the cheesy-suspense-commercial break into the show I change the channel and I tell myself I don't want to know what happens. I won't watch the commercial. It's my way of, kind of, telling the game show people I am not a rube. I am not to be played. That I don't want my 4th grade intelligence insulted anymore.
I don't watch any one show in particular, nor do I watch specific shows on specific nights. I catch the occasional show here or there, like Smarter Than a 5th Grader, Deal or No Deal, Identity and 1 vs. 100 (For those who read this blog that are younger than 30 or do not have kids, Identity and 1 vs. 100 are on on Friday nights and yes there are television shows on Friday nights). I usually watch game shows when there is nothing else worth watching.
Like any average person I sometimes get sucked into the show. Whether it is the host, the contestant, or the questions and dynamic of the game, I become part of the show. I answer the questions out loud so my wife will realize that I am not smarter than a 5th grader. I play the whole "I would have taken the deal at $157,000." And I also find myself calling people idiots when they get questions, that I consider easy, wrong.
The only problem I have with these new types of prime time game shows is the way they break for commercials. They let the questions build up, they work the contestestants into having to make a decision to either take the money or continue, the build up the suspense and then the host of the show says something like, "We'll find out...right after this." The studio audience moans and they cut to a commercial.
I have no issues with commercials. They are the way television works. My issue is the fact that the shows actually try to act like they are NOT going to cut to a commerical when everyone, the contestant, the audience and the viewers at home, know they are cutting to a commercial. I find this somewhat insulting to my intelligence. Why put on the act when eveyone knows there will be a commercial? Why build the suspense? Why does the host smile and wink at the camera like he is playing a practical joke on everyone? Again, I find it insulting. They don't do this on Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune. Bob Barker never stopped Plinko in mid-game to keep the audience on the edge of their seat.
Now, whenever I watch one of the new game shows and they work the cheesy-suspense-commercial break into the show I change the channel and I tell myself I don't want to know what happens. I won't watch the commercial. It's my way of, kind of, telling the game show people I am not a rube. I am not to be played. That I don't want my 4th grade intelligence insulted anymore.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Misreading the signs
These are two incidents on how a three year old sees the world around him.
One-
The city of Orlando's public transportation is called the Lynx. It consists of bus routes that "link" you through town. The Lynx's bus stops are marked with a round sign with, either a picture of a bus on it or the "paw print" of the mountain cat the Lynx.
On our last day in Orlando I was driving the kids to the store when Max yells out from the back seat, "Daddy, Daddy! Stop! Stop! A clue. A CLUE!"
It took me a few minutes to figure it out but then we spent the rest of trip trying to find all the clues.
Two-
Now either my laziness has taught Maxfield, or he is just THAT observant of other people, but he knows to look for the handicapped push pad to open automatic doors in public places. These pads are usually located right next to doors at his eye level.
While staying at a hotel, before our trip back up north, we were exiting the lobby and he wanted to use the handicapped button to open the door. The only problem was the doors were not the automatic handicapped type of doors. The button he kept trying to push, which was at his eye level, was the fire alarm for the hotel.
Thank God that both Lauren and I are quick enough to get to him before he actually set it off.
One-
The city of Orlando's public transportation is called the Lynx. It consists of bus routes that "link" you through town. The Lynx's bus stops are marked with a round sign with, either a picture of a bus on it or the "paw print" of the mountain cat the Lynx.
On our last day in Orlando I was driving the kids to the store when Max yells out from the back seat, "Daddy, Daddy! Stop! Stop! A clue. A CLUE!"
It took me a few minutes to figure it out but then we spent the rest of trip trying to find all the clues.
Two-
Now either my laziness has taught Maxfield, or he is just THAT observant of other people, but he knows to look for the handicapped push pad to open automatic doors in public places. These pads are usually located right next to doors at his eye level.
While staying at a hotel, before our trip back up north, we were exiting the lobby and he wanted to use the handicapped button to open the door. The only problem was the doors were not the automatic handicapped type of doors. The button he kept trying to push, which was at his eye level, was the fire alarm for the hotel.
Thank God that both Lauren and I are quick enough to get to him before he actually set it off.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Day One
We successfully made the drive from FLA to PA over the past two days. It is now Saturday morning, 8 AM, the first day of living with my parents. My mom is making sausage, biscuits and gravy, which is my favorite. And here I thought Maxfield and Wyatt were going to get spoiled.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
A Sad Sight
It was sad and heartbreaking.
It was.
Maxfield standing at the end of the driveway, tears rolling down his face, screaming at the top of his lungs at the movers, "Give me back my stuff!"
It was.
Maxfield standing at the end of the driveway, tears rolling down his face, screaming at the top of his lungs at the movers, "Give me back my stuff!"
Monday, April 09, 2007
A new frontier
A little over two years ago, Lauren, Max (Wyatt was not around at that time) and I moved from Pennsylvania to Florida. At that time I started the blog Poop and Boogies as a way for family and friends to “keep in touch” with what we were doing and so they could see pictures of Max (and eventually Wyatt) growing up.
I have hinted here over the past few months that we are moving, and yes we are moving back to PA. We are quite excited to be able to go back and be surrounded by family and friends. We should, God, the Mortgage Company and Title Agent willing, be moving by the end of this week.
I am not sure what this move will mean for this blog. I have always used it as a way to keep family and friends informed about us. But now that we will be living amongst family and friends I am not sure just how informed they will need to be (Hell, most of my family did not read it anyway). I hope to be able to maintain it in the same fashion and style that I have always done, but with new adventures on the horizon, well…I am not sure.
I know there will be some fun things to write about. For instance, until we can find a house, we will be living with my parents. That’s right I will be living with Momo9. Last Thursday I drove from Orlando To Philly (17 hours and I did not wear a diaper) to drop off some of our belongings at my folk’s house. I was chatting with my mom about, well a little about everything and Poop and Boogies came up. She asked me if I was going to keep blogging and I said, “Yes. I may do it a little different but for the most part, I will keep posting stories. I am sure you and Dad will provide some material while I am here.”
My mom’s eyes widened and then they quickly narrowed into a piercing stare. She said, “I swear if you write anything bad about me I will sue you.”
I laughed and I told her that would be by next post.
I have hinted here over the past few months that we are moving, and yes we are moving back to PA. We are quite excited to be able to go back and be surrounded by family and friends. We should, God, the Mortgage Company and Title Agent willing, be moving by the end of this week.
I am not sure what this move will mean for this blog. I have always used it as a way to keep family and friends informed about us. But now that we will be living amongst family and friends I am not sure just how informed they will need to be (Hell, most of my family did not read it anyway). I hope to be able to maintain it in the same fashion and style that I have always done, but with new adventures on the horizon, well…I am not sure.
I know there will be some fun things to write about. For instance, until we can find a house, we will be living with my parents. That’s right I will be living with Momo9. Last Thursday I drove from Orlando To Philly (17 hours and I did not wear a diaper) to drop off some of our belongings at my folk’s house. I was chatting with my mom about, well a little about everything and Poop and Boogies came up. She asked me if I was going to keep blogging and I said, “Yes. I may do it a little different but for the most part, I will keep posting stories. I am sure you and Dad will provide some material while I am here.”
My mom’s eyes widened and then they quickly narrowed into a piercing stare. She said, “I swear if you write anything bad about me I will sue you.”
I laughed and I told her that would be by next post.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Holiday
I will be taking a few days off from Blogging. I hope everyone has a great weekend. Happy Easter. Happy Passover. Happy weekend, Etc. Etc.
Here are some links of some blogs to enjoy.
LawnWhisperer Day
Today is the birthday of, one time blogger, occasional guest poster here on Poop and Boogies, rare commenter, my brother and least favorite son of my mom, the LawnWhisperer.
For his birthday I decided to post one of my favorite guest posts he did for me a while back.
Dipper or Scooper
By The LawnWhisperer
There are two types of people in this world. There are dippers, and there are scoopers. I myself am a dipper, and I am surrounded by scoopers. Most of my family is scoopers. My dad is a big time scooper; I think he invented the scoop. My two youngest brothers, Mike and Jim, are scoopers, but I think they are pretend scoopers. They scooped all their life, just to get under my skin. Then I went and married a scooper. I should have done a better job of questioning while we were dating. I asked the silly questions like, “What are your thoughts on having kids?” “How many would you like to have?” “Are you a democrat or republican or neither?” “Where do you see us in ten years?” Then finally, “Will you marry me?”
I never asked the big question, “Are you a dipper or a scooper?” I’ll tell you, I am pissed that I did not ask the question. It definitely would have made me think twice about marrying her, if I knew ahead of time that she was a scooper. See, this is of major importance at snack time. I love chips and dip. I make a nice garlic dip. The perfect amount of garlic salt mixed with sour cream is mouth watering. It makes the worst kind of potato chip taste like heaven. One bowl of this dip gets you through a half bag of chips. That is if you are a dipper. If you are a scooper, you get maybe 10 chips. I hate sharing my dip with a scooper. I like to dip the chip in the dip. After all, it is called dip.
Sharing with a scooper, throws off the recipe. If I know I am sharing my snack with a scooper, I have to make more dip. Sometimes I will make two bowls, one bowl of dip, and one bowl of scoop. This way I get to enjoy my entire snack. But my wife wastes her scoop. She won’t eat it all, and then it gets tossed. That is perfectly good dip, that I could have another night, but it goes to waste.
I have tried to teach my wife to be a dipper, but she refuses. My siblings and parents have never crossed over to the dipper side. It is almost like a scooper creed, once a scooper, always a scooper. I am trying to teach my two little guys to be dippers. My daughter is a lost soul now. She has been with a scooper for far to long. I can’t convert her, but the little guys are still impressionable. There is hope still, but it will be difficult. I should have married a dipper. I did not ask the question, and now I am paying the price.
So all you single guys out there take notice of the important things. Ask the right questions before you pop the question. It will make a big difference at snack time. “ Are you a dipper, or a scooper?” If she replies in a way that is negative to your view on this topic, leave her. It will be better in the long run.
For his birthday I decided to post one of my favorite guest posts he did for me a while back.
Dipper or Scooper
By The LawnWhisperer
There are two types of people in this world. There are dippers, and there are scoopers. I myself am a dipper, and I am surrounded by scoopers. Most of my family is scoopers. My dad is a big time scooper; I think he invented the scoop. My two youngest brothers, Mike and Jim, are scoopers, but I think they are pretend scoopers. They scooped all their life, just to get under my skin. Then I went and married a scooper. I should have done a better job of questioning while we were dating. I asked the silly questions like, “What are your thoughts on having kids?” “How many would you like to have?” “Are you a democrat or republican or neither?” “Where do you see us in ten years?” Then finally, “Will you marry me?”
I never asked the big question, “Are you a dipper or a scooper?” I’ll tell you, I am pissed that I did not ask the question. It definitely would have made me think twice about marrying her, if I knew ahead of time that she was a scooper. See, this is of major importance at snack time. I love chips and dip. I make a nice garlic dip. The perfect amount of garlic salt mixed with sour cream is mouth watering. It makes the worst kind of potato chip taste like heaven. One bowl of this dip gets you through a half bag of chips. That is if you are a dipper. If you are a scooper, you get maybe 10 chips. I hate sharing my dip with a scooper. I like to dip the chip in the dip. After all, it is called dip.
Sharing with a scooper, throws off the recipe. If I know I am sharing my snack with a scooper, I have to make more dip. Sometimes I will make two bowls, one bowl of dip, and one bowl of scoop. This way I get to enjoy my entire snack. But my wife wastes her scoop. She won’t eat it all, and then it gets tossed. That is perfectly good dip, that I could have another night, but it goes to waste.
I have tried to teach my wife to be a dipper, but she refuses. My siblings and parents have never crossed over to the dipper side. It is almost like a scooper creed, once a scooper, always a scooper. I am trying to teach my two little guys to be dippers. My daughter is a lost soul now. She has been with a scooper for far to long. I can’t convert her, but the little guys are still impressionable. There is hope still, but it will be difficult. I should have married a dipper. I did not ask the question, and now I am paying the price.
So all you single guys out there take notice of the important things. Ask the right questions before you pop the question. It will make a big difference at snack time. “ Are you a dipper, or a scooper?” If she replies in a way that is negative to your view on this topic, leave her. It will be better in the long run.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Observation about potty training
Maxfield is pretty much completely potty trained. There are the occasional accidents but for the most part he is diaper free and has been for over a month.
Call it advice for people that may be potty training their boys or whatever; I just wanted to document a few observations.
1) A few weeks ago, Max and I came home from the playground, both of us covered in sand. We hopped in the shower. While I was rinsing him off he told me he had to pee. I told him it was okay for him to pee in the shower, which he did. For the next two weeks that is the only place he wanted to pee. He would walk into the bathroom, pull down his pants and pee on the shower stall doors.
2) When a three year old says he has to pee, he means RIGHT NOW. Not in a minute, which is the time it takes to walk to the bathroom and pull down his pants and get his aim lined up. It means right now as in you have 10 seconds to do all of that.
3) When a tree year old says he has to poop, he means in about a half an hour. And although you rush to get him to the bathroom once he tells you he has to go (see #2 ((pun totaly intended)), he will just sit on the toilet and hang out, swinging his feet, chit chatting about Diego. And just when you think it was a false alarm, and you try to remove him from the toilet, he will go. I do realize it is better to err on the side of caution with this one. It is better to wait it out than to have an accident.
4) Toilet paper is so much different than wipes.
5) Discussions about who has a penis and who doesn't, are almost a daily occurence.
Call it advice for people that may be potty training their boys or whatever; I just wanted to document a few observations.
1) A few weeks ago, Max and I came home from the playground, both of us covered in sand. We hopped in the shower. While I was rinsing him off he told me he had to pee. I told him it was okay for him to pee in the shower, which he did. For the next two weeks that is the only place he wanted to pee. He would walk into the bathroom, pull down his pants and pee on the shower stall doors.
2) When a three year old says he has to pee, he means RIGHT NOW. Not in a minute, which is the time it takes to walk to the bathroom and pull down his pants and get his aim lined up. It means right now as in you have 10 seconds to do all of that.
3) When a tree year old says he has to poop, he means in about a half an hour. And although you rush to get him to the bathroom once he tells you he has to go (see #2 ((pun totaly intended)), he will just sit on the toilet and hang out, swinging his feet, chit chatting about Diego. And just when you think it was a false alarm, and you try to remove him from the toilet, he will go. I do realize it is better to err on the side of caution with this one. It is better to wait it out than to have an accident.
4) Toilet paper is so much different than wipes.
5) Discussions about who has a penis and who doesn't, are almost a daily occurence.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Doritos
I was quite pleased the other day, when at the store, I saw a new flavor of Doritos on the shelf. Smokin Cheddar BBQ (No “G” on the “Smokin” because I guess that is the hip way of spelling it). I, of course, could not say no to a new flavor of Doritos and I bought a bag.
That night I settled on the couch with my new bag of Doritos ready to try to new flavor sensation that the chips would provide. Whenever I try a new snack or chip I like to take my time with each chip to make sure that it works for me. I just can’t reach in the bag all willy-nilly and grab a handful and shove it into my mouth. I have to place the chip on my tongue to make sure my entire tongue experiences the full flavor of the spicy-powder cheese coating. Chip tasting is like wine tasting. There is a bouquet, the taste and texture and the after taste. They are integral to the overall rating of a good chip. I have to say that this new flavor is quite good.
As I was savoring each chip, I read the back of the Doritos bag, like one would read the back of a cereal box at breakfast. The back of the bag stated that there was contest of new flavors. The “Fight for the Flavor” I think they called it. Apparently Doritos has two new flavors, the other being Wild White Cheddar, and the consumer gets to vote as to which flavor will stick around. I was intrigued and pissed at the same time. Intrigued that I would actually get to vote on something where my vote may actually count. Pissed that the store did not have the other flavor on the shelf otherwise I would have bought that as well.
I explained to Lauren that I needed to go out and find the other flavor. She said something to the effect of me falling into their “marketing trap”. I told her I had a responsibilty to vote, you know, to secure the better flavor of Doritos for generations to come. I was thinking of the children. I also told her that if I entered my vote I had a chance at winning a one-year supply of Doritos. I think she called me a “sucker for advertising” and she asked what is considered a “year supply of Doritos?”
I read the back of the bag and it states that a year supply is one bag of week. Clearly the Doritos people need to do some more market research because I could go through a bag every three days.
That night I settled on the couch with my new bag of Doritos ready to try to new flavor sensation that the chips would provide. Whenever I try a new snack or chip I like to take my time with each chip to make sure that it works for me. I just can’t reach in the bag all willy-nilly and grab a handful and shove it into my mouth. I have to place the chip on my tongue to make sure my entire tongue experiences the full flavor of the spicy-powder cheese coating. Chip tasting is like wine tasting. There is a bouquet, the taste and texture and the after taste. They are integral to the overall rating of a good chip. I have to say that this new flavor is quite good.
As I was savoring each chip, I read the back of the Doritos bag, like one would read the back of a cereal box at breakfast. The back of the bag stated that there was contest of new flavors. The “Fight for the Flavor” I think they called it. Apparently Doritos has two new flavors, the other being Wild White Cheddar, and the consumer gets to vote as to which flavor will stick around. I was intrigued and pissed at the same time. Intrigued that I would actually get to vote on something where my vote may actually count. Pissed that the store did not have the other flavor on the shelf otherwise I would have bought that as well.
I explained to Lauren that I needed to go out and find the other flavor. She said something to the effect of me falling into their “marketing trap”. I told her I had a responsibilty to vote, you know, to secure the better flavor of Doritos for generations to come. I was thinking of the children. I also told her that if I entered my vote I had a chance at winning a one-year supply of Doritos. I think she called me a “sucker for advertising” and she asked what is considered a “year supply of Doritos?”
I read the back of the bag and it states that a year supply is one bag of week. Clearly the Doritos people need to do some more market research because I could go through a bag every three days.
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