Martin's New Year Message

There are certain times in the lives of all of us that require
us to put aside our differences and for one single moment look
to the passage of time and the passage of our lives and take a little stock in the now.
In this part of the world the tradition mainly observes December 31st as the New Year. Whenever
it is observed, I have to believe that it is, inescapably, a time of reflection and trepidation for the
future for all of us. It's also a time to connect with friends and remind yourself about how important those
closest to you really are. A time to embrace those that touch you every day and to take in the joy of another year
completed on this beautiful earth with these strange and wonderful people.

A lovely sentiment from my husband. His heart is much bigger than mine.

Celebrity Death Watch 2010

Celebrities in 2009 had a rough year. In honor of my Death Haggery, here are my picks for the top ten Celeb Deaths of 2010.

Liz Taylor
Phil Spector
Nancy Reagan
Bush Senior
Jimmy Carter (still sharp as a tack but boy, does he look frail)
Courtney Love, in a particularly mundane way, like a car accident, rather than bringing the crazy
BB King (I will cry my eyes out)
Dog The Bounty Hunter (Perhaps by getting strangled with his hair extensions; one can hope)
Ron Wood (Only Keith Richards will live fo-ev-ah!)
Robert Morganthau; he's 90 and retired and now he's going to drop dead

Bonus, no one saw that one coming:

Tiger Woods. He's too much of a narcissist to commit suicide but he obviously has a very dark side he's hidden for years and I think he's going to go out in some sort of freaky way: falls off his yacht, gets killed by jealous husband/boyfriend, sex game gone wrong, or you know, Elin could finally beat the hell out of him permanently with a nine iron

~or~

Bonnie Prince Charlie in a royal sort of way, like falling off his horse onto his pointy head

A Disturbing Children's Book

Mia has a lot of children's books. I mean, a lot. Some were gifts from Margaret & Peter's friend, who is the director of the Howell Carnegie Library, and many of those are autographed by the authors and illustrators; some were given to me by an old friend, along with many many Disney movies she got rid of when her daughter grew out of them; we've also bought many books for Mia, as well . As a result, I have no idea where this particular gem game from.

Yes, dear and gentle readers, that is indeed a pile of poo on top of Little Mole's head. The blurb on the back on the book reads, "When Little Mole looks out of his hole one morning-PLOP!- something landed on his head. Little Mole questions each of his neighbors - a pigeon, a horse, a hare, a goat, a cow, and a pig- trying to find out whodunit on his head. They each deny the charge and as evidence of their innocence, they each show Little Mole how they do it." As in how they poop.

Mia and I read this book the other day, and Mia was a bit puzzled ("This isn't funny, Mommy") and I was just grossed out. And disturbed. At one point, Little Mole gets pooped on by a pigeon and I guess I understand that. Who hasn't been a victim of a random bird from time to time? Damn seagulls at the Jersey Shore pooping on my Subway.

But the book isn't funny, or charming, or cute. It's just....weird and disturbing.

Thank God it hasn't sprung off into a cartoon, right?

In Which Ken Loses A Foot

Even though Ken tragically lost part of his left foot in a freak Pomerianian attack, he's still ready to hit Panama City Beach with Spuds McKenzie.

The Christmas Story Chez Watson

The in-laws came for Christmas and we had a nice time. Margaret's Alzheimer's is clicking along quite nicely and I wonder if she is taking her Aricept as she should be. Unless Peter is throwing it down her throat every day, the simple fact is that she won't take medicine. This concerns me. Martin, however, will be addressing that issue; I don't go into that sort of thing with Peter.

In the ten years that Martin and I have been shackled together, Peter has gone from a little irritable, but generally pleasant to a downright crabby old man who obsesses over the leaves on his lawn and any day now, will start running out, shaking his fist and shouting,"Slow the hell down you bloody cunt!" at people who drive over 35 mph in his neighborhood.

I still love the old fart though.

One of Margaret's most prominent symptoms with the Alzheimer's is that she repeats herself continiously. I am very patient with her about this; it's not like she's doing it because she thinks you are ignoring her, she just doesn't remember she's already told you 18 times. Margaret and I had the following conversation at least six times in my kitchen:

M: When I asked Mia what she wanted for Christmas, she told me she wanted Dexter.
L: She misses him a lot and I tried to explain that he needed to be with his Michigan family this year for Christmas. (Dex has an uncle who isn't doing well physically).
M: I just didn't know what to say to her, poor little thing.
L: I know, it's difficult on all of us.

Finally, Martin realized that I was starting to get upset and got his mom onto other things. I wasn't upset at Margaret, it was just an upsetting subject and I thought I had a handle on my emotions for Christmas. The worst episode I'd had this year was telling Martin, "You know, I really miss my parents, even after this long." But after hearing what Mia said about Dexter that many times, it was starting to drive a stake through my heart and I really didn't want to go hide in the bathroom and cry for half an hour while I was trying to cook Christmas dinner.

The original plan was that Margaret and Peter were coming down Christmas Eve, we would have our big dinner then and they would return Christmas morning to see Mia open gifts, have lunch, then hit the road. Instead, they decided to stay until Saturday, which was wonderful except for the fact that I had not made plans for another meal and as a result, we had some leftovers, but not much else. We had even run out of bread. We decided to go out to eat Christmas evening; surely something would be open, one of the many chains. After driving all over the greater Indianapolis area, and no one else going for my idea of getting the Speedway two hot dogs and fountian drink for $2.99, we finally stumbled across Tomo. It was a great find. The food was wonderful, the restaurant is very stylish inside and Mia was instantly smitten with our chef. Unlike the movie A Christmas Story, thankfully, the waitstaff did not sing.

I did a completely unscientific poll on Facebook regarding the revolutionary new Snuggie, the blanket with arms! The verdict is that you either love 'em, or you hate 'em. Mia got a pink one, along with slipper socks, and she loves hers. I tried it and thought it most resembled a fleece hospital gown with a collar. Neither practical nor comfortable.

At this very moment, in fact, Mia is lying on our bed, wrapped in her hot pink Snuggie, with her slipper socks on, watching Clean House. I've raised a 76 year old shut-in. All she needs now is a Clapper.

Did you look at that ad? I really want to see someone doing a pub crawl in a Snuggie, or wearing one at work. Especially in the office; people do crazy shit in bars all the time. Can you just imagine the water cooler conversation? "Dude, did you see, Bertha is wearing a Snuggie at the reception desk. I'm coming to work tomorrow in my sleeping pants that say Home Of The Whopper."

Merry Merry Quite Contrary

I spent today doing my Slacker Housewife Cleaning routine. Clean 20 minutes, goof off for 20 minutes. I did hit my highest score ever in Spape Shifter. (1,864,721) as a result of said goofing. I actually scrubbed my floors on my hands and knees, and cleaned out my fridge, two things I generally try to avoid doing more than once or twice a year.

That's the thing with housework: it's so mind numbingly boring. However, it's much easier to do half an hour every day rather than the house going to hell and only doing it once a week or so. Besides, it feels much better to have a clean house. Like Ikea says, Home is the most important place in the world.

I am still stunned about Britney Murphy dying. I liked her; I thought she was funny and cute. The rumors, of course, are swirling. I never would have put her on the list of young stars to die an early unexpected death. It sounds like it's going to end up being an accidental overdose of prescription meds, a la Heath Ledger. If it was Lindsay Lohan or Amy Winehouse, I wouldn't have been shocked at all. I would not want to be any sort of celebrity. It seems like the fame machine sucks a lot of people out far before their time.

It looks like we may be getting the Reader's Digest Condensed Version of a health care plan. It's a start; just like other programs, I'm sure there will be a plethora of changes once it's actually in place. I'm withholding my judgement for now and thinking that the glass is half full, and we will eventually fill it to the brim.

My father-in-law specifically requested a roasted chicken for Christmas dinner and I can do that. Much less complicated than my original idea of pork tenderloin with a sage cream sauce, which is wonderfully delicate and delicious but an enormous pain in the ass to cook. All I do to roast a chicken is rinse it out, soften butter and stir in seasonings and spread the butter mix between the skin and the meat and bake it. I like to do what I call the Simon & Garfunkel seasoning: Parsley, sage, romemary and thyme. Oh and I also throw a couple cloves of garlic in the cavity because garlic makes the world go round. Sort of a bistro style chicken.

We accomplished 90% of the Christmas shopping in one fell swoop; Thank you, Big K in the dicey area of town. They had a great selection of toys and other gift stuff and the prices were good as well. KMart has come a long way on their quality. Their Joe Boxer stuff is good; so is the Jaclyn Smith. (Side note: Last year, when we went there after Christmas, I got a black cashmere short sleeve JS sweater for $9.99)

These days, when there is only so much money you have to work with, you have to sometimes do things you never thought you would, like shop at KMart. I hated wearing KMart Trax shoes as a kid. They screamed KMart. Now, they carry Thom McCann and other brands you've actually heard of.

Martin and I going Christmas shopping for each other/ourselves, after Christmas. I don't have to have something to open Christmas morning and I'll get twice the stuff the day after.

Lest you think I've suddenly turned into total Debbie Downer, I did do some Christmas decorating. The tree is up, but shy on ornaments. I can't find my box of ornaments. I have the silver beads, and the lights are attached, and the deep purple ribbon in on, but the silver balls and all my good ornaments? Not a freaking clue. After I got what we have on, I turned on the lights, and said screw it, it's festive enough. I did, however, have no problem locating my holiday bears.

Anybody that knows me would never guess I have two big Totes full of Christmas Teddy Bears, with one Snowden snowman thrown in. They are various years, with the oldest being from 1998. I know I bought that one, myself, the first of the evil jolly little bastards. I'm sure this year, I will have two more. I do not believe Teddy Bears constitute decor. This is totally out of character for me. But they are cute and certainly festive, no?

Happy holidays to you, and yours.

It's Always Sunny In Indianapolis

Martin and I watched Public Enemy. I was excited about seeing it; I had high hopes. Johnny Depp, filmed partly on location, an Indiana story; one of my favorite true crime stories with a certain romance to it. How could this movie not be incredible?

Snoozefest. The script was awful. A really interesting story, ruined by Hollywood again.

Has Hollywood run out of ideas? Everything is a sequel or a prequel, or a squequel if you're the Chipmunks; it's a reworking of a TV series or an older movie. Does no one in Hollywood read, for the love of God? Read the papers, read books, read local news. There are a million great stories begging to be told. Hollywood seems to ignore these in favor of the tired, tried, and true.

Or vampires.

******
I've been reading all about the David Camm case. This would seem to be just another entry in Spousal Murrrder Theater, but on closer consideration, I actually think Dude is innocent.

I tend to think immediately that the husband is guilty; sadly, I am usually right.

This time, I don't think he's guilty. I think it was a random killing by Boney, and that Boney was possibly targeting the little girl to molest her and killed the witnesses. After the reading I've done, I'm incredulous that Camm is being tried for the third time. I think the prosecutor just has it in for David Camm and even though the evidence exonerates David Camm nearly 100%, the prosecutor is just determined that he's going to "get" David.

I'm fairly sure than my six year old daughter Mia, could have done a more professional job with the forensic evidence.

I am hoping, after a heads up from yours truly, my dear friend Loretta writes about this case. I think she's a much better writer than I am and could lay it out in a much more straightforward way than I could, in summarizing this complicated case.

The case covers forensics, infidelitys, an ex-state trooper, questionable and weak motive, and legal precedent. The Whole She-Bang.

It's so rare that I think anyone in the Spousal Murderrrr Theater is innocent, it's worth noting.

*****

I have dry skin, so I'm a lotion whore. I've used every type of lotion from the pricey department store offerings to Bath & Body Works (makes me itch and the scents aren't remarkable) to Avon, to what I saw in the drugstore.

No matter what I've tried, Palmer's Shea Butter is what I always go back too. It makes my skin glow. It's not greasy, and it's not watery or gloopy; it soaks in nicely. It has a very light scent that's pleasant.

If you tan, either in the real live sun or in the electric sun, Shea Butter actually helps maintain your tan, rather than leaching it out. Some lotions contain ingredients that decrease your tan, rather than enhancing it.

*****
I'm cheap. This is well known and I'm not ashamed. I've lived very well and I've lived very poor. Very poor is miserable. Making your money stretch and living medium well is just fine.

I got my hair cut and styled last week and spent almost $50. That's a lot on hair for me. I color it myself and generally go to Great Clips with a coupon, and let them trim my hair. This time, I sprang for a real salon, was seduced by a deep conditioning treatment and got a great haircut with great hair.

I had short, almost crew-cut hair for years. It surprises me how much I love my long hair, and how pretty I think it is. I used to hate my curly hair and now, I like it and I'm glad I finally found someone who knows how to cut curly hair.

I feel like I have Rockstar Hair.

*****

Martin has been making noises about the dreaded "family picture". We've done this before, when Mia was about 18 months old. His parents were involved as well and I guess the pictures were...okay.

I feel badly that Dexter will not be in the picture since he's back in Michigan. It's the best place for him to be, but the whole situation has broken my heart even though I know he is where he needs to be.

I want my stupid dogs in the picture.

It hurts that my dogs would be in the picture, but my son probably won't.

*****

Is this just life, or did Fate or Karma just deal me a really shitty hand? Sometimes, I wonder about this. If there was a Top Ten of Terrible Things To Happen To You, I think I could check off at least 8, probably 9.

I've had people tell me, "You are the strongest, steadiest person I know." I'm really not, but that's a nice compliment. One of the best, ever, I will always remember compliments, was Dexter's biological father telling me I was the most intelligent person he knew.

Granted, he doesn't get out of his house much.

*****

And it the last bit of wisdom, the Dollar Tree is a great place to get stocking staffers for little kids.

The Threat of Santa Is Thick

Hey, I'm not above bribing my children. I used to be able to pay off Dexter with a simple Snickers bar, and Mia is still of an age that Fruit Snacks are Kiddie Caviar. Santa works from early October staight through New Years, when the threat is still a close memory.

Mia is generally such a good natured, happy girl, I don't have to drag the Santa threat out much. She got straight A's on her report card, and a certificate that I'm going to frame, and gets 100% on nearly everything she does. She gets a homework packet on Monday that she has until Friday to do, and she generally has it done, with illustrations, before Tuesday night bedtime.

Martin refers to her as an apple-polisher; I just hope I don't have (insert name of girl at high school who was rumored to cry over A-'s) on my hands. I think it's great that she's so smart, but I don't want her to suffer over it, either. I mean, I thought I was a social misfit in school, but I didn't stand out in the group for excessive ragging. Although, I did get chocolate pudding thown at my brand new coat walking home from the bus stop in third grade and cried most of the day.



I don't remember how old I was when I found out that when you're a kid, school is your job. You just get longer holidays than most grown-ups. Middle school and high school can be miserable, soul-sucking experiences. I do remember my dad sitting me down and lecturing me. He told me, "You know how I go to work every day? If it's raining, or snowing, or I don't feel good? I still go." I said yeah, Daddy, I knew. "Well, you know your Momma works hard too, right? Those are our jobs, and to take care of you. Right now, your job is school and working hard at it." I don't remember what occassioned the lecture, but I know I cried after, because I knew I wasn't doing my job right.


I'd like to thank all the twisted minds that decided a Christmas Chimpmunk Special, with antimated chimpmunks and real live people, that is a musical, is a good idea. Just the previews make me want to go hang out with Marilyn Manson and drink absithe. I can't wait until I have to endure the entire movie.



I'm so disappointed in Tiger Woods. I always had such admiration for him as a wonderful athlete and a gracious man. Dude is married (we'll see for how much lonter) to a fucking Swedish Supermodel. They are both beautiful people, in a physical sense. And his hook-ups? Skanky, one and all. Dude is batshit, some sort of raging sex addict or something. When, honestly, is a Swedish supermodel, not enough? For anyone? It's like an ABBA song gone wrong.

The only radio station in Indy that I can tolerate, The Track, has gone Christmas, fairly early during November. They were the Station That Played Everything, like Doug, in Detroit. From the looks of The Track's webpage, it could be assumed that they are now playing Christmas music all damn year. I've heard or read somewhere that some radio stations have done this, because people allegedly love Christmas music. I am not one of those people; it does not make me jolly, or want to sing along, or wrap presents; it instead, again, makes me want to hang out with Marilyn Manson and drink abshithe. Lots of asinthe. Lots and lots.

In-laws are coming for Christmas. I'm thinking of dinner ideas. I'm leaning toward something very porky and full of rosemary and black peppercorn. I will have to rethink that, or risk killing my MIL, and she's a lovely person, I adore her. Put it this way; I can be a truly cold-hearted person. I love both of my in-laws, very much, but they are getting older and one of them is going in the ground first and we will be left with the survivor because neither could live alone and I know who my vote is in for.

Sick

Dear and Gentle Readers, yes I am indeed writing this at stupid o'clock in the morning. I can't sleep.

I should have know I was getting sick Monday. That is my normal hunting-gathering day and generally, I'm completely organized, coupons paper-clipped to my list which has which items I'm getting at which store and which coupons to use where. My usual rounds are Kroger, Dollar General and Aldi's. (Shopping note: Kroger for double coupons up to a dollar off; DG for cleaning, name brands are always cheaper if you are willing to be flexible and they accept coupons, making it even less expensive such as Snuggle Fabric Softener for $1.00 with my $2 coupon; and Aldi's for odds and ends and snacks.)

I stumbled through our newly remodeled huge Kroger's throwing random stuff in my cart and had to make several circuits of the store. I then gave up and went home. The thought of putting away all the food made me even more weary.

Because I don't need to share the details, let it just suffice to say that I've spent too much time face down, staring at the Scrubbing Bubbles gel sticky-on stuff in my toilets these past couple days.

I also have a pretty good fever; when I was a kid, my mom always told me, she knew I was sick when I ran a fever, otherwise I was healthy as a horse.

I spent a good bit of the day dozing on the couch with Luna, today. I have a million things I want/need to do to get ready for the holidays and I did nothing, except throw in some laundry, which is still busy getting wrinkled in the dryer.

Now I'm wide awake, sweating my ass off even though I'm wearing boxers and a tee shirt, and can't sleep because my stomach is feeling like a whirly-gig.

Getting old is not for sissies. Used to be, if my stomach was twitchy like a whirly-gig, it was the tequila spins.

These days, it's just plain old flu.

Another Thanksgiving, Put Away For Another Year

This Thanksgiving was the tenth anniversary of my mother's death. I willed myself not to think of it all day. We had a very lazy day, Martin, and Mia, and me. We slopped around in our pjyamas all day and ate late. It was nice, food was good, I made it through.

Martin commented to me the other day, and others have as well, that I've sounded very down lately, very blue. Really, I'm okay. I've been very introspective lately, but I'm taking my crazy pills, and this is always a bad time of the year for me. I'm fine, though.

Sometimes I feel guilty that I never got my parents a gravestone. My father wanted an elaborate stone with praying hands at both sides. My father, who set foot in church about 8 times during my life, and those for weddings and funerals.

My mom never expressed any desire for any type of marker. I'm pretty sure she's buried next to my late Uncle Arnold, which probably would have made both my mom and Uncle Arnold fairly unhappy. I don't remember the two of them ever exchanging any sort of words.

I don't feel any need to have an elaborate gravesite for my parents, or a need to visit said gravesite. My Mom and Dad are, like Rod Stewart says, "In my heart, in my soul." I wear my Dad's wedding band, which he rarely wore, and my mom's anniversary ring. I feel their love for me all the time.

Meloncoly, but not depressed.

xo
Lisa

It's Tuesday In Indianapolis

And it's gloomy and grey outside. It doesn't seem like we've had a lot of those brisk and sunny fall days.

Although we were very graciously invited to one of Martin's co-worker's home for Thanksgiving dinner, we are debating if we will go. His co-worker has a big family and we both feel a little strange about it. A bit of the only child syndrome on both our parts I think. Martin is on call this week-end, so driving to Michigan is not an option; although Margaret and Peter would be happy to see us, they don't attach any particular significance to Thanksgiving. In years past, they always used to go Christmas shopping in Canada on Thanksgiving Day. No one is really a huge fan of turkey, and since we already had Thanksgiving in July (i.e. a turkey breast), if we stay home, I'm going to make some nice filet mignon. And the green bean casserole as well. It wouldn't be a holiday without green bean casserole in my house.

One of the things I miss about not having a lot of real close family; I remember many holidays with lots of aunts and uncles and cousins from various family branches around and having a lot of fun as a kid.


I've been watching Sons Of Anarchy on FX. Somehow, I missed Season 1, so I'm hoping to catch it on On Demand. I read somewhere that it is allegedly based on The Sons Of Silence, a real motorcycle club, who have a chapter here in Indy. We've driven by their clubhouse many times. SOA is good, but a bit of a stretch. The bikers on the show are awfully clean cut and the ones I've seen riding around here, well, "clean cut" might not be accurate. And Jax, who is very very cute, and the doctor? Uh, not so much. Convienent pairing, but not very believable. Maybe I think that just because I hate her character, she's smarmy. I think I've finally gotten past Katie Sagel as Peg Bundy or Leila, and she's good in her role as the Biker Mama. Henry Rollins plays a crazy ass white surpremist douchebag and he's horribly evil but does it well. The writing, I think, could use a boost; it's The Sopranos on bikes.


I think Mia is having a Barbie Christmas. She loves her Barbies, even if many of them are in various states of dishevelment and involuntary amputation of extremities. The Barbies that don't have their clothes attached, are generally at least part-time nudists. Like they think they're Lady Gaga* or something and it's perfectly normal to run around without pants on. There is a pet station for Barbie that I think she would love, and she'll be thrilled with lots of new clothes for them. I'm also looking forward to getting her the new Disney Princess doll. Finally, an African-American Disney Princess. Took them bloody well long enough. I think one of our holiday treats will be Mommy and Mia day; we'll get mani/pedis and go see The Princess & The Frog together. Mia's school had a Christmas Shop day, and Mia bought me a pink, purple and green neon bracelet that glows in the dark and says "Best Friends Forever." Broke my shirveled little heart.

* I acutally quite like Lady Gaga and her crazy.

And The Beat Goes On

Isn't syrup a funny word? Not only the way it sounds, but the way it's spelled? Martin and I were talking on IM, and I told him I had finally figured out why the Kroger Value Sweet Tea always tastes funny to me. It's made with high fructose corn syrup rather than sugar. Probably why it's ninety-nine cents when the Dean's Iced Tea is $1.89. It's no doubt considerably less to make. Anyway, I was stymied over spelling syrup. I had to go look on the bottle of pancake syrup to figure it out and it still looks funny.

I've been playing a lot of the free games at MSN Games. I've never been much for games. I went through my Sims stage, but my Sims always were mopey, and could never make a friend let alone have a relationship; they burned the house down cooking at 3 a.m. if left unmonitored, and it was a chore to get them to go to work. My Sims were always depressed slackers.

I play cards, usually Rummy, but I'm sick to death of it, so I started with the MSN games. My favorites are Book Worm, Bejeweled 2, Bubbletown and now, Shape Shifter. Really the adult versions of the Memory game. I finally figured out today that I've been playing them because I don't want my brain to atrophy. I'm starting to feel that way sometimes.

I'm doing fairly well keeping up on my Becky Home Ecky chores, but it's mind numbingly boring. Plus, I spend all day alone with two needy dogs. I haven't started having conversations with them yet, but I do talk to them once in a while. I trip over them a lot, because they always have to follow me everywhere. They even wait outside the bathroom door for me. Me going to the mailbox is enough to give them breakdowns.

Sometimes, I'm a slacker, too. Tuesday, I occupied the couch and Luna and I watched some serious daytime tv. We watched Cold Case Files, The Sopranos, and American Justice, some of my favorites. NOTE: Do not watch creepy Cold Case Files about home invasions gone wrong and then go upstairs and take a shower while you are home alone and then wonder if you remember locking the doors or not. Of course, I do have my protectors. They both bark like its doomsday if they catch a glimpse of someone outside. A visitor is a cause for untold joy.

I think Sarah Palin is supposed to be in Indiana sometime soon to promote her book. She really needs to just go away. I'm tired of hearing about her, hearing the goofy things she says, listening to her ultra annoying speech pattern. The last person I knew who said "You betcha!" was Richie Cunningham on Happy Days.

I think there should be an island some where that celebrities that we are tired of can go and live. Of course, I think there already is and it's some kind of reality show. Maybe they could stop filming this crap, and just send them off into obscurity and not tell them its not being filmed. I can easily think of several celebrities who need a one-way ticket and lots of sunscreen and bug spray. Brad and Angelina; Posh and Beck; the whole stinky crew from Twilight (do any of those kids shower, ever?), The Simpson Sisters; the Heidi and Spence Creature that actually wrote a book about fame whoring. I think those two would show up for the opening of a new drive thru window at Taco Bell if they got their pictures taken.

How To Make Your Dog Sick

is really quite easy. Just feed them a can of Armour Potted Meat spread. We ran out of dog food and didn't realize it. Bennie, the big dog, can go til evening without eating, but Luna, the four pound terror, can not. I gave her a can of the potted meat. After all, it looks kind of like canned dog food, right? For some reason, my FIL brought us some when they visited. Maybe he thinks it's something exotic that's not available in Indiana? He also brought us a couple cans of Vienna sausages, which I remember eating with Ritz crackers on camping and road trips as a kid.

It made Luna pretty sick. She threw up. She was listless and didn't want to sit on anyone's lap. She perked up by morning, but I was worried about her. She's normally so happy and a big lover. Anywhere I go, Luna is right next to me.

Perhaps I need to get out of the house more; two of my recent blog posts start about my dogs. That much closer to crazy dog lady, right? I remember being horrified by a woman in my first writing group who wanted to write poems about her cats, because they were so cute and did such cute things. I'm blogging about my dogs. That can't be good.

I'm just finishing a book called House Of Secrets, by Lowell Cauffiel. He also wrote the excellent true crime book, Masqaurade, among others, which I wrote about on my old blog. He had even commented on the entry, because I wondered if he was still alive. (He is. It's wasn't an email from The Beyond.) House of Secrets is one of the most horrifying cases I've ever read about. Pretty close to the Karla Homolka/Paul Bernardo case in level of sheer depravity and horror. This one involves family; incest, child abuse, murder. Mr. Cauffiel lays out a very complex case with many people involved, in a straighforward, easy to keep track of, way.

Fall always puts me in the mood for red wine. I long for the days when we have a house again, hopefully with a bit of a yard. It's good bonfire weather. I think a pot of chili might be in the plans for this week-end.

I can't believe Thanksgiving is right around the corner, then Christmas, then 2010. We have no plans for Thanksgiving as of yet. Thanksgiving this year falls on the anniversary of my Mom's death in 1999, and also the anniversary of my first marriage. Two rather unhappy events in my life. I'm glad the Brits aren't a big fan of the holiday. I have no intentions of participating in Black Friday, either.

Here is the verbatim text of a note Mia wrote while playing school:

"Class I am leaveing town becuse the class is being to lowd and there's a lot's of fiteing."

I'm thinking that a career as a teacher might not be in Mia's best interest.

A Hell Of A Week

this has been, and we have two days to go.

A dear dear friend of mine is dealing with a cancer situation and I can't bear to even think about it for more than a few seconds. This is the second of my friends to recently find themselves in cancer situations. I'm thinking the best until I hear otherwise, but it's consuming me, always rattling around in the back of my mind.

The news from Ft. Hood was awful, just unbelievably sad. The speculation surrounding the gunman is starting to really piss me off. Because he is a Muslim, some of the right wing crew are already labelling him a radical and a terrorist. Anti-US statements may have been made by him; I've made some as well, and I'm far from a terrorist. He was born in the United States, of Jordanian descent, and who knows if he's even ever been to the middle east, let alone subscribes to radical notions? He was not happy about the war and was apparently very freaked out about being deployed. Please note, I am in no way endorsing or excusing his actions. I'm just thinking certain media outlets (Hello Faux News!) are slinging some shit and it may very well not stick. They are making leaps in judgement that I'm sure many people of the Muslim faith find appalling. I tend to think the dude just went batshit; that is the beginning and the end of the whole thing. Only my opinion, of course.

Next up: more batshit crazy in Orlando, Florida. A workplace shooting. Guy lost his job two years ago, filed bankruptcy, and lost his mind somewhere along the line.

These times are hard. These times are scary. I'm so thankful Martin found a good job here. I've been sending out resumes for the past four months and haven't even gotten a phone call. I've applied for every job I've been remotely qualified for and I haven't gotten a call from anyone. I'm having a deja vu from Michigan. It's hard to keep plugging along when you don't even get a call from Target; you know they must need help for the holidays.

Hoping for a quiet week-end.

My Dogs Had Fleas

Isn't that the punch line to some lame old joke? You will notice the past tense in the title; we have quickly packed their little flea suitcases and escorted them out. I can't remember the last time one of my dogs had fleas; rolling in poop, getting sprayed by skunks and eating dead animals they regurgitate in the house on my brand new rug, yes, but fleas? No, thank you very much. We haven't lived in the country for a long time, and my dogs are spoiled and lazy and only grudgingly go for a walk. And what the hell is a flea doing still alive in late October, anyway? Is this a Hoosier thing, one more example of me forgetting just how far south we are?

I'm always looking for more housework to do, you know.

Martin has been home all week with the flu. Not the H1N1 although that's certainly going around here. Even though he's feeling better, the doctor requires that he is symptom free for 48 hours before he goes back to work. His workplace is fairly stringent on that sort of thing as well. I knew he was feeling better when I baked homemade pizza and he declared it the best pizza he'd ever had. My pizza is good, but it's not that good.

Last night, in between watching the news about Ft. Hood, we watched the movie I Know Who Killed Me. It was shockingly bad and not in a campy sort of way. The premise, the dialogue, the acting, the props and sets. Lindsay Lohan looked wasted through a lot of it.

Mia is obsessed with missing the school bus. She will be beside my bed, fully dressed, teeth brushed, coat and backpack on, at 6:45 in the morning. Her bus comes at 7:30. She'll be on the verge of a total meltdown because she's afraid she's going to miss the bus. It's ratcheted up if I haven't laid out her clothes the night before and she starts to panic about what she's going to wear. Even on week-ends, when we let her stay up later in the hopes of her sleeping in, she's still up at the buttcrack of dawn. Thankfully, she is pretty self-reliant and will get herself something to eat and watch Sponge Bob or play games on the computer. She'd also stay in her pajamas all week-end if we'd let her.

I have laundry to fold and more linens to wash. The glamour, it never ends.

In Case You Were Wondering

I haven't written shit or shinola in the past week, as far as writing. I feel like I need to, I made a commitment to do this, and I try to count my blog, but more often than not, I'm boring here. My day-to-day life is not very compelling. Writing about it is certainly not using my craft.

If indeed, I do possess a true gift for the craft, which I sometimes doubt.

I'm so lazy. I have problems finishing projects. I always have. I can remember trying to teach my cousin Peggy to knit, and my aunt commenting that I need to finish things I start. I distinctly remember a shrink I used to see telling me, you can't go on to another thing, meaning relationships, until you've finished the last. I leave threads hanging all over every thing I sow.

I did, however, become adept at tying up loose threads with past relationships. They all hate me. No loose ends with that. I do it that way. I'm not particularly proud of this, but I did rock a few worlds back in the day and beat feet when my life started inspiring me to listen to country music in more than an ironic/iconic way. Going got tough, Lisa got going.

That was the Story Of My Life.

Martin and I have had every sort of crisis and downturn and awful thing happen. Everything horrible you can imagine happening to a couple, short of cheating or our child getting sick. Financial ruin, check; substance abuse, check; physical illness and/or catastrophe; check. I've hung onto it all. I've turned it over and dwelled on it and let it go. Just let it go and move on. It's been a big realization for me. Like, we fought the law and the law didn't win. We did. I'm the least romantic of people. I hate the mushy shit. Martin loves romantic comedy movies, he believes in romance, but he also believes I really need my anti-depressants as well, so I guess it's working.

Now, I need to write. Like one of my inspiration books says, "If not now, when?"

It's okay to be filled with doubt about this. I know, I know in my mind and in my heart, sometimes, I can write something, if only a sentence, sometimes a whole passage, that can knock my socks, and yours, off.

I just need to do it.

When Gran Comes To Town

We had a lovely visit with my in-laws. I made a nice dinner Friday evening and we visited. Saturday, Gran and Mia and I went shopping and Poppa and Martin went to some train stores. Mia got some very cute jeans and tops and a new warm-up. She is such a girly girl. She loves new clothes. Martin got some train layout trees. They have real dried sedum in them. He didn't have to stalk the neighbors' gardens. He was pretty excited, too.

We had a nice late lunch/early dinner with Margaret and Peter before they left for Michigan. For once, when Martin mentioned to his dad the idea of moving here, closer to us, his dad didn't dismiss it out of hand as impossible.

The most likely reason Martin's dad didn't just brush the idea off would be that my mother-in-law has finally been diagnosed correctly; yes she is developing Alzhiemers, that awful disease. For a long time, her forgetfulness was being blamed on the medication she was taking for her low blood pressure. While that may have contributed to it, it's obvious now that its much more than just simple forgetfulness. She is in the early stages, according to the tests done. She is on medication to address the Alzheimers now and hopefully, we will see a difference. Or at least, it won't progress as quickly.

My friend Tiffany went to an early Halloween party on Saturday evening and we watched her son Timothy. He and Mia occupy and entertain each other completely. They don't argue and they find things they can both do, although Mia does tend to boss him, as she bosses everyone. They're very cute together.

Tiffany and I also played Cupid, to a degree. She has a single uncle, who asked Tiffany if she knew any single women. Tiffany is twenty-five and pointed this out to her uncle, who is, you know, uncle age. Like closer to my age than hers. She mentioned it to me and I thought of my blogging friend T-Shirt and voila, pictures and texts were exchanged and they met and went out. I texted T-Shirt and asked how it was going an hour or so in, and she texted back, "He's an idiot." I panicked, because I had never met the uncle and I really like T-Shirt and even though I send her CraigsList personal ads that I think are funny, if I set her up with an idiot, I'd be mad at me, if I were her.

After I sent her a lame apology, she said, "I'm kidding, he's nice and we're having a great time." I've never been too successful at playing matchmaker, so if they didn't hate each other on sight, I'd consider it a major achievement. If they actually like each other, I'd be at the pinnacle of my matchmaking career, worthy of the Oscar of set-ups by friends.

I tried to watch the Colts game this afternoon. It's hard not to be a Colts fan living in Indy. They are a great team. Almost so good as to be boring. All these years as a Spartan fan have prepared me to hope for the best but expect the worst and sometimes, get a really wonderful surprise. The Colts just consistently nail it. They don't play perfectly, but they play smart and they play hard. I've always prefered NCAA level play to pro, but I'm really trying with the Colts. I miss the heartbreakers, nail-biters, and underdog wins.

I'm still enjoying Mad Men tremendously and can't believe there are one a few episodes left in the sesaon. It's the best show on TV, and I never thought something could bypass The Sopranos. Sons of Anarchy has promise, but needs tighter writing and dialogue. Its got good bones, but the skeleton needs to be fleshed out.

Speaking of which, it's 9:58 on Sunday evening. Time for the Don Draper fix. As the Go Fug Yourself girls said of Jon Hamm; "Could I be the green eggs in his Hamm?"

The In-Laws Are Coming

Mia is on Fall Break from school until next Monday, so Margaret & Peter are coming down to visit. They are actually going to stay the night! Not with us, of course, but in one of the many fine hotels nearby.

Normally, they would drive down, spend a few hours and drive back, since Margaret was afraid her elderly boxer would die while they were gone. Moe, sadly, is no longer with them, so they have a bit of freedom to wander the roads between southeastern Michigan and Indianapolis.

Today will be spent hunting and gathering food, making what I can ahead of time, and tidying the house. I've decided to make a small ham. Margaret can't tolerate anything with much seasoning in it at all these days, so I thought a ham would be easy, tasty without spicy, and a good fall type of meal. I'm going to add scallopped potatoes au gratin, but of the most mild variety. No bacon, or bacon grease, will be used in the preparation of the potatoes. With a side of peas, some take and bake bread and a raspberry crumb cobbler, (from a box, shhhhhh), I think it will be a nice meal.

I'm looking forward to seeing them; we haven't since spring.

First Time Mumma

From The Writer's Block: Describe the youngest baby you've ever held, and how he or she felt in your arms.

I've always considered myself to be fortunate to have one biological child and one adopted child. Although they are equally my children, I got to experience the best of both worlds.

Getting pregnant with Dexter was a surprise. I was scared out of my mind, but determined, and happy. I also felt very alone; sometimes it seemed to me that I was the only one who thought this whole Lisa with a baby thing was a good idea.

I had been around babies to a certain degree, but not newborns. Babies kind of freaked me out. I thought they were cute, most of them at least, but I was terrified of holding them. They just looked so frail and helpless with their little wobbly heads twirling on their turkey skin necks.

S and I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation after the epidural kicked in. He was a big Captain Picard fan. As a result, I knew far more about Star Trek: The Next Generation than I ever could have hoped to know. One of Dexter's uncles, in fact, looks very much like the dude who played Commander Bill Rikert. I always thought he and Deanna Troy were an unlikely match, although I coveted her hair.

I didn't have a lot of hard labor. In fact, it only hurt at the very end, and it was a wowser. I remember asking one of the nurses in the room, "When is this pain going to stop?" Except I don't think I was quite so subdued and I'm sure I was loud. She chirped back at me, "As soon as your baby is here!" Wow, thanks, I'm so glad you decided on a career in nursing.

The first thing Dexter did when I held him was poop on me. Apparently, this is not uncommon. He was red and squinchy and howling and I'd never seen anything quite so amazing. S declared that he looked just like Ho Chi Minh, and I agreed. Both of us were overwhelmed that we had created this little entity, I think.

Dexter is sixteen now. He's not having an easy time with the teen-age thing, but I still find it pretty amazing that I was instrumental in creating another human being, so that makes him amazing to me.

Affirmation

I must write something every day, even if it's only something mundane on this very mundane blog.

Grocery lists, weekly menus and to-do lists do not count, no mater how creative the chores or menus.

From The Pocket Muse, by Monica Wood:

"My friend Alison, who has four kids, rented a motel room for three days just to write. She claims it changed her life. Get out of town."

Wonderful idea, but I don't see that happening anytime in the near future. I do, however, need to move out of the dining room, where hausfrau temptations abound. Have laptop, will travel. At least upstairs.

I've Got To Stop Reading The Personals On CraigsList

It's not as if I'm looking for a casual encounter, a missed connection, or miscellenous romance.

I just read them because so many are so damn funny.

Guy Number 1
Guy in his late 50s will be in Indy this week-end and would like to find a lady with lovely feet. After pleasuring himself while looking at your feet, he will then take you to dinner! Presumably, dinner won't be in the parking lot of the DSW or Payless.

Guy Number 2
Has a picture of himself, from the neck down, in his underwear. While his equipment is certainly impressive, the Joe Boxer bikini underwear, sold exclusively at KMart, is not. Dude, at least put on some Hanes or Jockeys.

October Is Breast Cancer Awareness Month

Breast cancer has affected so many women I know, myself included.

Is you look on the right side of my blog, there is a badge for The Breast Cancer site

All you have to do is click on it, and click the button on the site to help fund free mammograms. You don't even have to register. The site is funded by sponsors. If you click through and buy something from one of the sponsors, that's great; but you don't have to.

Please take just moment of your time and visit them; add them to your favorites and click through every day. It's a very small thing, but everything starts with a baby step.

Chilly

I have finally broken out the sweatshirts and retired my flip flops for the year. I've even started wearing socks on a regular basis and I hate socks. I hate cold feet, worse, though.

Most of the kids at Mia's bus stop are already sporting their winter coats, and on occasion, knit hats. Like it's March and we're in that terrible deep cold that makes me long for a beach, a fruity drink, and the smell of Bain de Soleil.

It's not just the kids I've seen overdressed, though. There are more than a few adults with winter wear on. I find it partiuclarly amusing when they have on a heavy jacket and shorts.

It's chilly in the mornings and after dark, but it still hits the mid to high fifties during the day, so I think some of these Hoosiers are overdoing it, a bit.

This week-end, Martin and I took a drive, since it was a beautiful fall day. We drove out toward Brownsburg and wow, there are a lot of cornnfields between here and there.

I may kvetch about Indy, and make a certain amount of fun of Hoosiers, but I do love it here. Where else can you be seven miles from the downtown of a big city and find a cornfield? In fact, Martin's company is at the airport complex and right across from their facility is a huge field that is farmed. It's rather quaint and charming to look in one direction and see planes taking off and look in the other direction and see a combine.

The Model Railroad Curse

My husband is a model railroder. No, he doesn't wear that jaunty little blue and white striped cap while he does it. Or train engineer overalls. Thank God.

When we lived in Howell, MI, he had an HO scale layout that was twelve by twenty feet. It was huge, and detailed, and now, he's on N scale, much smaller, which sits on a door supported by sawhorses in my bedroom.

He gets really excited when he gets the new issues of Model Railroader every month. I get really excited when I get my Vanity Fair every month, but that's apples and oranges. This month, there was a huge pictorial (in Model Railroader, not Vanity Fair) about doing an autumn layout and Martin was especially thrilled, since he was planning on doing autumn in his Indy 4 Yards Monon Trail or whatever layout thing.

So Martin was showing me all these wonderful pictures in Model Railroader of autumn trees.

Our conversation went something like this:

HIM: Okay, so I should grow sedum. But it takes two years, so the brother of the author of this article in Model Railroader suggests I ask my neighbors for some sedum.

ME: What the hell are you talking about? You're going to stalk the neighbors gardens and ask them for the sedum when it goes to seed? What the hell is sedum anyway?

HIM: It's a plant that when it seeds will look good on the layout. It will go great with the autumn layout.

ME: I don't even know how to respond to that. Should I have bail money ready when you get arrested for stalking our neighbors plants?

HIM: Oh you're so funny. Look at these beautiful autumn trees. I could do that.

ME: Sure you could. Those orange leaves look just like Cheet0os. You could get a bag at Wal-Mart, like the Wal-Mart brand, and Krazy Glu them on the branches and spray them with Aqua Net and they'd look just like those trees in the magazine.

HIM: Did you just suggest I use Cheetos in my layout?

ME: Yep.

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

Although, there is nothing remotely resembling a valley within fifty miles of Indianapolis as far as I know. It reminds me of when I lived in eastern PA and would come home to Michigan. When the plane was coming into Detroit Metro, I was always struck by how flat Michigan was. Now that I live in Indiana, I know what flat really is.

It's a beautiful day; sunny, breezy, not sweltering hot. I didn't get my Indy Star today but I did notice that as of 1 o'clock, the people who live three doors down still hadn't retrieved their copy. I was tempted, oh yes, but instead Martin bought one for me. I had this idea that I would sit out of the patio and read it and cut out my coupons (which are really the highlight of the paper) except it was a little too windy and my stuff kept blowing all over and it was annoying the piss out of me so I came back inside.

The spider is gone. And I feel horrible. Instead of relocating her away from the house, there was a broom involved and the spider, alas, is no more. My friend Tiffany spent a couple days with us this week-end. Tiffany, God love her, could make a truck driver blush sometimes. I'd showed her the spider earlier in the week and when she saw it was still there, she told me, "You need to kill that motherfucker before she drops those suckers and they're all over your house." When I told Martin I'd gotten rid of the spider, he asked me what I did. I told him the cold hearted details: A broom and vigorous flip-flop slapping were involved. He asked why I didn't just move it. That's when I started to feel horrible. I'm sure there is going to be some sort of spider karma in this. Did I mention I loathe spiders? An even bigger one is going to show up in my shower or closet or something.

There has been talk about bathing Bennie The Wonder Dog today. He's generally pretty self-cleaning, but Martin says he is starting to need his annual bath. There is no way I am wrestling the fifty pound dog into the tub and no one else has moved in that direction, so I guess Bennie gets a pass on the bath. Luna also could use a beauty treatment, but we can bathe her in the kitchen sink. Nothing like four pounds of wet pissed off Pomeranian, you know. Who would have guessed a dog can give you such dirty looks?

Saturday Night Live was such a disappointment last night. As evidence of the "cool" perspective, both Martin and I were really looking forward to the season premiere. Megan Fox was hosting, wow, she's such a great comedic actress, I could hardly contain my laughter. Oh yes, that is sarcasm. About the only funny thing about her were the incredibly ugly pair of blue shoes she wore for the monologue. Those shoes were an "Oh honey, NO," fashion moment. Hideous. And where did she get that awful, amateurish Marliyn Monroe tattoo on the inside of her forearm? It looks like something her buddy in the juvenile detention center gave her with a Bic pen and a darning needle. One of the new cast members dropped the F Bomb during a Biker Chick Chat skit that could have had enormous potential yet fell completely flat. U2, who I was actually quite geeked about, played the two least appealing songs from their latest CD. They did, however, play three songs instead the normal two and finished up with Ultraviolet (Light My Way), which has a special place in my heart, since Achtung Baby was the very first CD I ever purchased. Too bad they played the closing credits over it. What, NBC has such a hot line up after SNL they can't just let U2 play out their song without credits on their faces? It's U2 for God's sake!

Mia is curled up on the couch with her Blankey, wearing her most glittery crown, watching Sponge Bob. As you do.

Since I already cut my own bangs this week, I'm thinking of coloring my hair today. Why not go for broke on the possibility of really messing up your hair? That way, when I walk Mia to the bus stop tomorrow, the middle of the Three Rotten Boys that live near us can ask me, "Did you dye your hair?" just like he did last time. I told him, that's not something you ask a lady, just like you don't ask a lady how old she is. He looked at me and says, "So, how old are you?"

These three boys are about five, seven and nine. The seven year old in totally in love with Mia. All summer at the pool, he was pulling out his most impressive seven year old swimming moves, hoping to impress her. "Did you see that, Mia?" he'd holler across the pool after a particularly spectacular cannon ball that managed to splash even those seated near the pool with no intention of actually getting in and getting wet. Like me. Occasionally, when Mia was lying on the deck chair, he would come over and sit with her. Mia would look at him, rather coolly, and say, "Could you not sit on my towel? I don't like that." I christened them the Rotten Boys, but actually they aren't that bad. It's just that there are three of them, and they aid and abet each other. I'm sure their mom, who Never Has Said One Word To Me, Ever, took them to the pool to exhaust them because she let them run around like wild animals. I wonder what's she's doing now to get their ya-yas out, since it's too chilly to swim. I wonder if there is duct tape involved.

I'm disappointed that Martin is back to working eight to five on Mondays. Since Dexter is on late start for school on Mondays, it made it a lot easier to go into the week with Martin not having to be at work until noon. Although,I do have problems remembering that Dex starts an hour late on Monday and freak out when I see him in the morning; "What are you doing here? Why aren't you at school?" I'd never even heard of late start for high school until we moved to Indy. What kind of slacker crap is that?

I don't know how to feel about my recent burst of blog. I neglected it and now I'm blathering all over about all sorts of craziness. I think part of it is that I spend far too much time alone lately. I grew up an only child; I crave my solitude. This is, however, the first time in years, I actually have regular time by myself. I'm alone with my thoughts and I've become a much more introspective thinking person than I used to be.

You, my dear and faithful readers, are either cursed or blessed by this.

Are You Cooler Than Your High Schooler?

I've had conversations lately about the perception of cool,how cool you think you are and what the rest of the world sees.

Back in my wild, mostly misspent, but lots of fun, twenties, my idea of a forty something person was sitting around on a Sunday morning, checking your stocks in the paper, listening to the news, sipping decaf and saying, pass another bran muffin, dear, oh certainly pumpkin. "Cool" was nowhere in the equation.

Now that I actually am that age, it's a little different.

I still listen to most of the music I've always listened to. We have a Mini Cooper, and Martin, being Martin, has to tart up every car he owns with stickers and add-ons. The Mini has Union Jack side mirrors and a GB sticker and a Cooper Motor Works sticker. While it's not a completely rare car, they aren't thick on the ground. While I am cruising along, grooving to the Cure or The Dead or U2, I get second looks. I attribute this to the car, not to the fact that I look ridiculous.

(As a side note: Traditionally, like motorcycle riders, Mini drivers wave to one another. I find it incredibly rude when I wave to a fellow Mini driver and they look at me indifferently. If you don't understand the cultural responsibility of owning a Mini, don't drive one.)

A friend of mine was at a bar, listening to the house band, having a beer, jamming out and dancing along when he caught a glimpse of the mirror and was horrified by the middle-aged guy dancing. Until he realized that it was him.

I find myself telling my son to "Turn that shit down, NOW," when he blasts his choice of music.

I still wear my rock tee shirts. My favorite of late is a Fender Guitar shirt that says Ye Old Rock N Roll amid the graphics. I'm sure, considering the cut and fit of the shirt, that it is meant for a twenty something hottie, who probably wouldn't have a clue about Fender. The whole iconic aspect would just be lost.

I try not to dress too young, but on the other hand, I'm not at the matron stage. It's hard to ride the line between cool and ridiculous.

The plus side of it all is that I'm at the point where I don't really care all that much if other people think I look So Not Cool or Trying Too Hard. I'm happier in my own skin than I ever have been.

It's Not Your Mother's Meatloaf

After what one of my friends termed my "vitriolic screed" the other day, how about some cooking fun?

I posted this ages ago on my old, now defunct, blog, but since it's getting to be fall, at least in some places, it's a good time for comfort food and to revisit the best meatloaf in the world.

Whenever my mom made meatloaf when I was a kid, I groaned. It wasn't meatloaf so much as baked hamburger with some ketchup tossed in. Not too appetizing. My meatloaf, however, is a delightful cheesy wonder. The foodies will be horrified because of my generous use of American Processed Cheese Slices, or even better, Velveeta, but sometimes, just like nothing satisfies your cravings like PBNJ on folded over white bread, American Processed Cheese Slices are just what you need.

Best Meatloaf Ever

1 pound ground beef
1 can tomato paste
1 egg
1 cup bread crumbs
4 slices American cheese or Velveeta

Preheat oven to 350. Mix everything but the cheese together, and add spices of your choice. I like seasoning salt, garlic powder, Italian seasoning and ground pepper and a touch of salt. Layer half of the meat mixture in the loaf pan. Add the cheese. Spread the rest of the meat mixture over the cheese to completely cover it. Sprinkle oregano or Italian seasoning on top and bake for an hour.

The meatloaf goes very well with

Baked Mashed Potatoes

Four servings of Insta Mash, prepared
1 cup sour cream
1 egg
1 package Lipton's vegetable soup mix
1 cup shredded cheddar

Spray a casserole pan with cooking spray. Mix the prepared potatoes with the rest of the ingredients and bake for an hour.

Add some frozen veggies and it's a good meal.

Nothing fancy, reasonably priced, easy to double and generally uses things you already have in your cupboard. Even my son, who, when I mention meatloaf, reacts as if I told him I was sauteing cockroaches in a nice lemon butter sauce for dinner, likes this meal.

Insert Catchy Title Here

Arachnophobia

We have a spider on our patio that is the size of K-Fed. It's obviously a female spider setting up to hatch a million baby spiders. Parts of the web stretch from the drain spout on the second story to her actual web, which is about eight feet high up on the side of the house. She's just a big brown spider, about the size of a man's knuckle. She's also fast. I think she's got little tiny spider sneakers on. I loathe spiders but I haven't had the heart to remove her. She's worked so hard on her intricate web. I've tried taking some pictures with both my cell phone and my digital camera but they don't do justice. I'm all about leaving Nature outside where Nature belongs, and I'm not thrilled with our new housemate, and the prospect of a million baby spiders, but I'm going to leave her alone, for now.



Sometimes, I Forget How Far South We Are Geographically

Although the whisper of fall is in the air in other places, not so much in Indy. This morning, it's seventy degrees with ninety percent humidity. I love the heat and love summer, but this isn't summer, it's like living in a swamp in back woods of Georgia. It's overcast and it's rained the past few days, but not enough to break the stupidity, I mean, humidity. At least it's not snowing, right?

All About The Pennies

I have new found love for Aldi. I realize that a lot of people just don't "get" Aldi's. If you use a shopping cart, you pay a quarter deposit. You have to bring your own bags, or buy them at the checkout. You bag your own groceries. The stores aren't huge and they don't carry high end name brands. Nearly all of the the Aldi brands I've tried, however, are if not comparable, are even better than name brands. One of our family favorites is the frozen chicken Kiev and cordon bleu selections. They are individually wrapped and cost 99 cents each. With some noodles and a veg, they make a very nice, very easy, inexpensive dinner.

I love seasoning salt. I'll put it on just about anything. I thought I was buying the five and a half ounce fifty cent seasoning salt at Wal-Mart, but had grabbed meat tenderizer by mistake. At Aldi, I got a sixteen ounce container of seasoning salt for $1.29. All of the basic pantry staples are considerably less than even Wal-Mart. It's all about making that food dollar go a little farther.

Did You Know, President Obama Is Black?
On the political front, I'm beyond tired of hearing all the backlash and criticism about President Obama. All of the thinly veiled and blatant racist crap is just that, crap. The majority of the people in this country elected a black man. There were no shenenagins in the election, Obama doesn't have a brother who is a governor who manipulated his state's polls or a family who is in financial cahoots with terrorists because it's all about the oil and the money. He was elected by popular majority because obviously, voters thought he was the best choice.

I have no patience for racism. All of the Bubbas who have issues with the color of Obama's skin, let's see what they've accomplished. After all, the Bubbas think they are superior due to their skin color, so they should have used those advantages to get the best education possible and use that superiority to further their beliefs, and make the world a better place for Bubbas, right? They may know all about the history of their Aryan heritage and how to tattoo a swastika on a recently paroled cousin, but most of the Bubbas can barely string a comprehensible sentence together, let alone organize a piss up in a brewery when the beer is free.

Health Care
The health care debate, and all the teabaggers, and all the conservative talking heads, are not doing anything to elevate their credibility. If they would actually read the proposal, they might understand it. Obviously that fool who shouted out "You lie!" hadn't read it. Not even the Cliff Notes version.

My family has been without health insurance. Both Martin and I have decades of experience in our fields and had always worked hard, paid our taxes, and tried to live the American dream. Neither of us had anything to do with the fact that the companies we worked for were mismanaged and driven into bankruptcy by the greed of the company leaders. The Tier I automotive supplier that Martin worked for actually paid their CEO a huge bonus while he dismantled the company, closed locations that had been in business for decades and devastated more than one small community. The same company also cancelled the health insurance for their retirees and manipulated their self-funded 401(k) plans, to the company's advantage, of course. That whole mess settled in a class action lawsuit that recieved little to no fanfare.

Sorry, got off on a tangent, but that whole situation still infuriates me and it's the same scenario that has been played out all over the country in recent years and no doubt is still going on.

We're living in a country where people die because they can't afford to be sick. If you have health insurance through your employer, and your job is eliminated for whatever reason, you may be given the opportunity to purchase the health insurance for a limited time, usually 36 months. The only problem with that is the cost of the insurance. It's generally out of the reach of someone who just got dumped from their job. So what do you do? You don't qualify for any sort of state assisted insurance. If you have any sort of pre-existing condition, your premiums are even higher, if the insurer will cover you at all. Do you feed your family and pay your light bill, or pay for health insurance so you can afford your prescriptions so you don't die from complications from high blood pressure, diabetes or a myriad of other easily controlled conditions?

Three Examples

We are fortunate that the company Martin works for is huge and is able to offer their employees not only a very good health insurance plan, but several options in coverage. However, since Martin has chronic psoriasis and the only drug that has helped with it is Enbrel, we still pay a $100 co-pay every two weeks for his medication. The pharmacy techs at the drug store are always a little hesitant about telling me how much the co-pay is until I tell them, "Look how much it would be without insurance." Then, they gasp. It's $1600 for a two week supply without insurance. There is no way you can tell me that the drug company isn't making some sort of ridiculous 2000% profit. Enbrel is not made from the tears of butterflies as far as I know. Getting help with the co-pay for those who can't afford it? Yeah, good luck. Even when were destitute, after jumping through hoops and doing a mountain of paperwork, and communitcation from the doctor to the drug company, we didn't qualify for any assistance. I don't know what the magic formula was; obviously being destitute and sick wasn't it.

One of my oldest friend's husband has cancer. He beat it the first time, and now it's back. Because he had cancer, the insurance offered through his former employer, who declared him disabled and unable to work, even though Social Security didn't and denied all benefits, dropped them. Now, the cancer is back and unless the chemo and radiation fairy drops a huge chunk of money into their laps, he will have to stop the treatment because they have no insurance. There is no back story there; the fact is that he was handed the cancer card and there is no safety net, no alternative plan.

I have a friend who is a single mother. The company she works for has cut her hours, cut her pay, and raised her health insurance premiums making it incredibly expensive to cover her son. She makes too much money to qualify for Hoosier Kids, or whatever it's called, but a huge chunk of her paycheck goes to provide health insurance for her son. She has no option for a a basic preventative policy that would cover his routine doctor visits. Does she drop her son from her policy and hope he doesn't break his arm or something or does she feed him beans and Ramen to provide health insurance for him?

The health care system in this country is not working. It's time for a new approach.

Lots of things in this country aren't working and it's time for a new approach. We have an opportunity to get America back on track to being the great nation it once was. I don't think President Obama has all the answers but he's trying and he's actually adressing the problems. I think from a personal persepective, he has dealt with many of the problems the average family deals with. This is much more than Bush theorcracy of fear mongering has ever done. Domestic issues were ignored unless they benefited big business. I don't think Dubya gave a shit about the average family, because he never had to deal with the day-to-day reality most of us do. He always had his wealthy elite family to fall back on when he screwed up. He was never in the position of making a choice of paying the house payment or keeping the lights on and the twins fed.

Before some of my more conservative friends get all twisted, let me reiterate, these are my opinions. You don't have to agree.

Four Pounds

Of pissed off pocket Pomeranian. Luna is in heat again. I don't know how this snuck up on us. It seems like she was just in heat a minute ago and we need to schedule that appointment soon.

I have to admit, sometimes people think I'm weird about my dogs. I love them both so much. This is going to sound really bad, and please don't take it in the wrong context, but having dogs is like having retarded children who never grow up and are always happy.

Luna is the ultimate lap dog. She's cute, and affectionate, and loves nothing more than to sit with her Mumma. She gives kisses and has kitten breath. I let her drink out of my iced tea and my wine. She sleeps curled up next to me every night, sometimes in my hair.

Being in heat makes her head twist around. She's snappy and crabby. She had a go at me last night when I moved her. This might be alarming but she weighs four pounds. Not too scary. I scolded her and tapped my finger on her tiny kitten sized head. She weighs four pounds and three of that is hair and she's going to do what? Snip at one of my fingers and chip the nail polish?

I do feel badly for the Pocket Pom with PMS; she's obviously not her normal happy self. There is, however, something perversely funny about four pounds of pure canine PMS angst.

"JIFFY" Quality and Value Since 1930

The president of the Chelsea Milling Company in Chelsea, Michigan, where "JIFFY" mix is made, is named Howdy Holmes. Seriously.

I can't decide is that's an Evil Clown Name or a Porn Name. I'm sure Mr. Holmes is a wonderful guy. I bet he learned to kick some ass early.

The "JIFFY" mix field trip is very popular in grade school in Michigan. I remember we got got a box of one of their mixes; I think it was brownies but I can't be sure.

I wonder if that was the field trip I took in fourth grade; John Adams and I were riding in our teacher's car. Her name was Mrs. Watson (heh), she had a cool Tennielle haircut and wore a lot of earth tones. She drove us home from the field trip in her wood-paneled Pacer. We had stopped at a McDonald's at some point and John Adams threw up strawberry milkshake all over her car just as we were pulling into his driveway.

Good times.

We're having chili tonight, so we had to make some "JIFFY" mix corn muffins.

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Much to the relief of everyone who knows me, and everyone who calls me, I finally changed the ringtones of my cell phone. My ringer was Kid Rock, All Summer Long, and the incoming callers heard Bob Marley. I was sick of them, as well, but lazy. My ringtone now is The Cure, Friday I'm in Love and incoming callers will hear Jason Mraz, I'm Yours. There is only one problem; Whenever my phone rings now, I think, "Oh wow, that's the Cure. It's Friday I'm in Love. I love this song!" At that point, Martin or Dexter or Mia will tell me that my purse is ringing and I realize it's my phone and not the radio station in my head.

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I've suddenly become very fond of Rolling Rock beer. I've never been a big fan of beer but Rolling Rock lately tastes very good. You know,I have to work on that Indiana Ass, it just doesn't grow unassisted. Rolling Rock, no less.

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I really want pair of Rocket Buster Boots. Oh hell, if you're going to dream, dream big. I want a couple pair, at least. I love cowboy boots, I always have. Strange but true.

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My back went out again. This time, it was because I was laughing too hard and started to cough and twisted a muscle. Since I am allergic to Codeine, the doctor gave me muscle relaxants, and a Lidocaine patch to put on the pulled muscle. It was spasming right in front of her. She said, "I don't have to look to find this one!" I was dubious about the Lidocaine patch and was hoping for the heavy duty big guns of finer living through chemicals, but the Lidocaine patch was surprisingly helpful. I was rendered pain free, but not in a stupor.

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The weather couldn't be more beautiful. Sunny, warm, breezy, not a gale force wind. Indiana has perfect Indian summer.

The Price Of Fame

I used to read several blogs regularly, every day. A few of the bloggers have gone on to become quite successful, earning money from writing a blog. I tried that for a local newspaper, but it wasn't a good fit for me; I couldn't seem to write anything that related locally that didn't piss someone off. It was certainly not anything I could have earned more than a token amount from.

Some of the bloggers I used to read I've lost a lot of interest in. They've gotten too smug, too cute and they try too hard. They've lost their schtick.

I wonder if they enjoyed being recognized; the few times I was recognized from my old blog, it was weird and kind of invasive but a bit of a thrill, as well. Not something I would pursue on a regular basis, that's for sure.

It's been a bad year for celebrities, no matter how minor. This summer, especially, has been the summer of death for the famous and infamous. I just read that Mary of Peter Paul & Mary, has died. Puff the Magic Dragon, lives by the sea. Those guys.

Some of these celebs have been particularly young, or their death has been a complete surprise, or it's been paricularly painful or drawn out. I applaud Farrah for making that documentary. I don't think she did it for politcal reasons, or in a fame whore sort of way. I thought she did it more to show what it's like to go through something like that. An educational approach.

How does that tie into bloggers that become famous? Not at all, really. Tangent, Thy Name Is Lisa.

Long Time Gone

The only excuse I have for not updating more recently is one I'm not going to share.

I've got The President's speech on in the background. The talking heads are still blah-blahing.

We've gotta do something about the health care situation in this country. I don't know if this is the precise solution, but it's something. Just like I can't understand why people in our country go hungry every day, I can't understand why people in our country die because they can't afford to be sick.

The entire Jaycee Duggard saga is incredible. My heart goes out to her and her daughters. Now, if anyone else wonders if sex offenders "get better", the answer is obviously no. Ironic that the nutbag who kidnapped Elizabeth Smart was religious and got crazy and this Garrido or whateverhisnameis, was crazy and got religious.

I'm very saddened by the passing of Dominick Dunne. He is one of my all time favorite authors and people. I would have loved to have spent an evening with him, having dinner, talking. He had all the dirt, on all the old Hollywood. He was a gracious man who withstood terrible tragedy and personal loss, but used his pain to turn his life around. He has a new novel coming out in December, and I look forward to it. I will miss his Vanity Fair diaries and his TruTv show, Power, Privilege and Justice. R.I.P, Mr, Dunne, and give Lennie and Dominique a hug from me.

My friend Tiffany moved out of our complex. I miss her, but I'm happy for her. She had a really great opportunity to live with a relative in a situation that is good for everyone. But, I still miss her. Not like I don't talk to her anymore, but I don't see her nearly every day like I did. We had fun hanging out, doing our nails, drinking wine, going to the pool, letting our kids hang out.

I haven't written anything lately. Three books and I can't seem to get motivated on any of them. This depresses me, but I have not a creative thought in my mind. I haven't even been reading much lately.

I'm elated at Mad Men being back on. I love that show. I just watched Sons of Anarchy last night and enjoyed that very much, as well. Total fiction, I'm sure, but it was good. I'm going to watch Glee tonight as well, because at least one person from Christopher Guest's films is in it, and possibly two. Does anyone get that cable or HD or whatever commercial besides me?

Mia is a total suck up at school. Nature vs. nurture, you decide, because I was a suck up as well. I was all about the extra credit.

Dexter, on the other hand, had two days of detention because he called his Spanish teacher a bitch. In English, I presume.

I hate my hair. I got it cut and at least four inches are gone but it does nothing.

I have to go back to a podiatrist and get my stupid bunion redone. After my initial bunion surgery, I broke my toe and it's all messed up now. I can feel the screws in my toe. I dread this.

My knees are shot. I had an orthopedic surgeon tell me years ago, either quit the softball or get knee replacements at 40. I've made it to 43 and my knees, the originals, ache all the time, and creak, and swell. I haven't played softball in nearly ten years. This is not fair.

Getting older is definitely not for sissies. The outside of me looks fine. The inside is systematically falling apart.

All of a sudden again, I am getting collection calls for Martin's ex-wife, whom he has been divorced from for almost a decade. This is annoying, but since I've been in a bad mood lately, I take great pleasure in laughing at them. Like she has ever paid off a bill in her life and good luck finding her.

Did you miss me?

Listening To Someone Else's Mp3 Player

seems like either a gross invasion of privacy or a glimpse inside their soul.

Before Dexter got his iPod running, he was taking my Mp3 player to school and listening to it between classes.

I warned him. I said, "Dex, you know, you may not like anything on there." I was surprised when he told me, "You know, Mom, I like a lot of stuff on your Mp3. Lots is shit, but I like a lot, too."

Twenty Five Songs On My Mp3

1. My Mistake, The Kingbees
2. Add It Up, Violent Femmes
3. I'm Miss World, Hole
4. Been Caught Stealing, Jane's Addiction
5. Used To Love Her, GNR
6. Bob Roberts' Society Band, Jimmy Buffet
7. Theme Song From The Sopranos
8. Blood & Roses, The Smithereens
9. Five O'Clock Somewhere, Alan Jackson
10. Strong Enough, Sheryl Crow
11. Pretty In Pink, Echo & The Bunnymen
12. Only The Good Die Young, Billy Joel
13. All Summer Long, Kid Rock *
14. Brand New Cadillac, The Clash
15, Rudy Can't Fail, The Clash
16. Ripple, Grateful Dead
17. Dance, Dance, Dance, Steve Miller Band
18. Jump Around, House Of Pain
19. I Touch Myself, The Divinyls*
20. Katmandu, Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band
21. Friday I'm In Love, The Cure*
22. I'm Alive, Love N Rockets
23. Real Fine Love, John Hiatt *
24. Tennessee Plates, John Hiatt
25. Girlfriend, Avril Lavigne

All of the songs marked with an asterisk remind me of specific things that make me happy.

I Went To The Colts Game

Even though I've been sick as a dog, I rallied enough to attend the Colts exhibition game tonight against the Eagles. The Lucas Oil Stadium is pretty incredible. We only stayed until the second quarter. Martin's not a huge football fan, although I was enjoying it. Martin's company has a very nice suite. I could easily become a Colts fan. I think I already am. But sometimes, when you attend a company event, either your children sit like angels and watch the game, or you leave them with a babysitter.

Indiana really needs to enact and enforce hands free cell phone driving. I have seen so many people do so many really stupid things lately, all with a cell phone stuck up to their head. Don't many state already have this law? Isn't it like seat belts, common sense? If you get pulled over for not wearing your seat belt, you get a ticket and it's basically a Stupidity Fine. I think cell phones should be the same.

Sometimes I think I live in Boys Town. You know, like the place in Nebraska or whatever, the Mickey Rooney movies? He's still alive, by the way. You don't have to check Find A Death or google him. I checked. Yeah, I couldn't believe it, either. Anyway. Dexter is on a short leash. It's not just short, its teeny tiny, like the length of a toothpick. As a result, he sits on the couch a lot of the time with his buddies or up in his room, playing the Wii or the XBox 360 ( I think that's what it is, anyway.) I know why their parents kick them out of the house. Teen age boys are stinky, sloppy, surly, and they have insatiable appetites. They get loud. They cuss incredibly. I'm thinking about putting up the Swear Jar. Seriously, me, putting up a Swear Jar.

My theory is that I'd rather run Boys Town then have Dexter, or anyone else, as a matter of fact, running the mean streets of Southwest Indy.

I'm being sarcastic when I say "the mean streets of Southwest Indy". We live in a very middle class, diverse area. It's pretty quiet. Part of Indy's charm is that you can drive five, ten miles, in any direction, and find a cornfield. I know this because trying to take a short-cut back from Wal-Mart, I drove through several areas just like that.

The short cut didn't work.

My Notes Of Solitude

• SOS scouring pads are great to scrub our sinks and tub and shower that are made of what seems to be a strange distant cousin of the Formica/laminate family.
• I accomplished so much today; as much as it would normally take me three days to do.
• It is heaven having a huge washer and brand new dryer.
• Dryer balls are strange but magic.
• Mia got off the bus and we sat on our steps for a few minutes talking about school. We went inside to call her Daddy and Grandparents. She ate a PBNJ, turned on Sponge Bob and promptly went to sleep.
• The kids' new shower curtain is an Amazon scene (the jungle, not the bookseller) and it's very busy. They love it.
• Dexter came home from school, hung with his buddy Mike for a bit, went upstairs to play X Box 360 and promptly fell asleep
• I read about the fantastic case of Connie Converse and I'm hooked on the story and I like her music. I have a million questions.
• There was not one point today that I heard the line, "But what if Mom and Dad/Spence/Mr. Crabbs finds out?" during a television show. I didn't turn the tv on. I wanted to listen to music, but someone swiped my earbuds for his iPod.
• The inventor responsible for Legos needs one jammed in his bare foot. Of course, Legos have been around for quite a while, so there is good chance he or she is either a really old fart or dead.
• Luna is the sweetest little dog. She loves her mumma. She followed me everywhere. She's so mischievous. She was stealing the small cleaning tools I had within her reach. A scouring pad, a dirty rag, the thing I used to pull the hair out of drains. (Ew.)
• My sink was not full of dishes by 2 o'clock today. I used a paper plate for my lunch and used the same glass for both my water and my iced tea. I rinsed it between uses. Amazing idea, no? Perhaps I should share that with my family.
• Dexter hoards towels.
• I thought all day, about first days of school. How nerve wracking and exciting they were. How I could barely sleep the night before. What was I going to wear? I always wanted to wear a new sweater and jeans, even if it was in the 60s in Michigan. It would be ridiculous to send Mia or Dex to school like that in August in Indiana, they'd be prostrate with heat stroke. I didn't buy them new school pants, I bought them new school shorts that they will be in until at least late September.
• Both my kids looked super good and clean and well-pressed and were happy with their outfits.
• School rocks.

All Over Indy, Parents Are Rejoicing

Because it's the first day of school. I was surprised when I woke up to find that Dexter had already started his coffee and given Mia some breakfast. He was also dressed, groomed, and ready to go. I asked him if he was excited about going back to school and although he denied it, he did tell me he hadn't slept at all last night.

I, however, slept the sleep of the angels, knowing I would have the whole house to myself all day.

Note: Yes, these are crappy dark pictures because I took them with my phone. And yes, that is indeed a pile of crap in the corner. It was designated as Mia's spot in the living room, a.k.a The Home For Battered Barbies and miscellaneous junk.

It's 73 Degrees with 78% Humidity

so guess what I'll be doing today? Yes, the pool beckons, after I finish my Becky Home Ecky chores.

Although I missed my high school twenty-fifth reunion, I did get to go out to Ruth's Chris Steakhouse with my friend Tiffany for a birthday dinner. We got dressed up, and went downtown and had a fabulous time. Aren't Tiffany's shoes fabulous? And yes, I really am that plump. Anti-depressants keep me happy, but plump.

My children start school on August 12. Next Wednesday. I can not wait. Both of them will be out of the house for several hours each day. I will not spend my days making PBNJ, doing paint-by-numbers Disney Princess paintings, hearing Call of Duty or Wii sports or Sponge Bob in the background of the soundtrack of my life and saying, "I'm sorry you're bored. Go clean your room." My living room will cease being decorated in Legos and the big screen tv will be mine, all mine, again. At least until 3 o'clock.