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.