A Day In the Life and Opa!

No theme for this post . . . just a mish mash of thoughts . . .

Is it just me, or does everyone else feel as though the people who complain most about intolerance are also the ones who are the least tolerant to others' ideas, beliefs, feelings, etc.?

tolerance: a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward opinions and practices that differ from one's own. (*my emphasis on the bolded*)

I'm not sure if we can blame social media for this too, but it certainly seems in recent years that fewer and fewer people understand the definition.  And that's all I'll say on the matter.

Here's something I'm not tolerant about: If you have tattoo 'sleeves,' a white, strapless wedding dress should not be in your future.  Also, if you have a tat on your upper back (I'm not talking about a butterfly on your shoulder; I'm talking about an eagle displaying its wingspan across your back), a strapless wedding gown is also not appropriate.  After a mere 3 dresses, my tattoo-less daughter did say 'yes' to the dress, but not until I suffered through watching another girl try on an endless parade of dresses, none of which looked all that grand on her.  Just sayin'!  (And I was half-tempted to post a photo here, because with all those mirrors, she wound up in every picture I took of my daughter)

It's sad that I get most of my news about my son's college life on Twitter, but that's how we roll.  He does call me once a week, but that just isn't enough for me.  Imagine my surprise when I saw that one of his suite mate's tweeted "Fire in the 720's!" over the weekend.  Since I didn't receive a call from school officials, I assumed all was ok.  And when you stalk people, you generally shouldn't phone them to ask what the hell is happening.  He called yesterday and casually mentioned that someone in his suite decided to heat up a cookie on a JimmyJohn's bag for 5 seconds in the microwave and it simultaneously combusted.  Then the unfortunate fool grabbed the burning bag with his bare hands and ran it to the sink.  Then had to walk to the hospital at 4 a.m. because he was in too much pain to sleep.  My first question was, "Didn't the fire alarm go off?"  My son doesn't think the smoke detectors work too well, since they've never gone off, and he knows damn well someone in the building must have smoked something in a bathroom over the past five months.  Well, that's reassuring to a mother!

Husband and I tried a Greek restaurant in town Friday night.  We haven't been to that many Greek places, but know and love the basics.  This place was weird, though.  First, the menu didn't explain the items at all.  Just the name of the item, the price, and sometimes the choice of lamb, beef or pork.  The waitress was no help either.  She was a beautiful 20-something of Greek descent, but English was clearly her first language, despite her lack of answering any of our questions about the menu.  When we asked about beer choices (no beverages of any kind on the menu), she asked us what beer we liked.  Huh? I guess she was trying to match up a Greek beer to our American preferences, but it was still odd.  We had the Aris and the Alfa, which we enjoyed, but it would have been nice to have had a choice via the menu.  I think we stood out as the only non-Greek patrons in the place, asking too many questions and not ordering a flaming dish.  Anyway, the tzatziki, souvlaki, loukoumades, and meltzanosalata, were all good, but don't ask me for the ingredients.