Cacophony

Tales From My Crypt

2010-07-19T17:00:00.003-07:00

Blame The Damn Merry Munchkin, Mitch

We finally purchased a second vehicle. Namely, my vehicle. I started off interested in a Cadillac, was horrified by the annual license plate fee (in the neighborhood of $500) and quickly lost all interest in a Cadillac. Besides, am I that much of an old lady? I get my first Cadillac at 44? Such a cliche.

Instead, I got a kick ass VW Wolfsburg Edition Jetta. It's fast, it's nimble, it's sporty but high end and I fly completely under the radar. Of course, the first thing I did was ask Martin to put on my Death Hag sticker.

My car is a 2007; my plates still cost nearly $400, more than a monthly car payment. Apparently, The Damn Merry Munchkin did something to lower property taxes but raised plate fees. I didn't read the whole scenario, my eyes were rolling so much I was afraid they would roll right out of my noggin. I admit, I'm not as well-versed in Indiana politics as I should be. Maybe this wasn't even The Damn Merry Munchkin's idea, but everything I've read about his policies, I think exactly the opposite and I just dislike the guy so he makes an easy target. Besides, from what I've seen, it's just like something he would do.

I thought I was getting shoes for my birthday, but instead I'm getting license plates. Ain't that grand? I'm so responsible. Twenty years ago, I would have been artistic with the white-out and milked that temporary tag til the tape curled and it fell off the back window and just bought the damn shoes.

Conversations

We've been getting a lot of calls lately that show up on the caller I.D. as IN ST FOP which I can figure out is the Indiana State Fraternal Order of Police, looking for money. I'd already told them no a few months ago, I'm sketpical if this is the legitimate thing, but I guess they thought they'd try the pond again. Finally, I shoved the phone at Martin and told him to take care of it. I hear him telling the person on the other end that yes, his wife made a donation just last week, by golly!

When he hung up, I asked him, "Did you just lie to the state police?"

Martin said, "Yes, I did, I wanted to get him of the phone, I'm trying to watch Futurama and play Children of The Nile." (Geek.)

Mia: "You lied to the POLICE?!?", clearly agog with this news.

Me: "Your turn to explain."

Growing Into The Bitch

2010-06-15T19:22:00.007-07:00

I'm going to be 44 next month, as Martin keeps reminding me. He has been saying this since January, which, okay, but really, I don't need to hear it in the various versions of "Well, in seven months, you'll be 44!" I keep reminding him, it's not until July.

This has become my Year of the Bitch.

It's rather glorious.

I no longer have patience for bullshit in any of it's forms. You tell me I owe something, I know I've paid it, I'm not making one iota of effort to prove it; your dumb ass will figure it out sooner or later. If you can't smile at me or say hello when I come into your store or go through your check-out line, don't expect me to do anything other than roll my eyes and shake my head at you; if you didn't want to be a cashier at Kroger's, why didn't you get off your ass and reach for something else? And guess what? Lots of the cashiers who's lines I go through regularly, they like their jobs, they like the people, the regulars. It's a pleasant moment for me as well and that's why I go there. Dumb ass.

I'm not a Republican anymore and I haven't been for a long time. I do not intend to return to the tub of grape Flav-R-Ade anytime soon. If I was any more liberal, I'd cross into Granola Territory, and trust me, I'm not going there anytime soon; I enjoy shaving my legs and wearing cute leather shoes and steak is always on my menu, baby.

If you are conservative, well, if we like each other, we just won't talk politics because if we do, if you bring up Sarah Palin for any reason whatsoever, I will instantly dismiss and never take your intellect seriously anymore. That's okay, though; you will think the same of me. In that, we must agree to disagree. That doesn't mean I hate you; it just means we can respect each others choice to agree to disagree and that's part of what being a grown up is all about. Respect for those who are different from you, no matter the way.

My last ex was such a Rapid Republican; I can't help but laugh at myself in those days; I was brainwashed, stupid, trained to ignore hypocrisy, and just generally deluded. When I re-discovered my own opinion, it was rainbows and unicorns to my heart.

I was a Stepford Wife, but it helped me to grow into The Bitch.

This is what I am and what and who I suspect I will be forevermore. People tend to either love me to death or hate me and wish death upon me. I can respect that.

********
Just realized it's late on a school night for me. Remember when your mom made you go to bed at some ridiculously early hour when it was still daylight and other kids were still out riding their bikes? I do that to Mia now. Meanest Mommy on Earth; just ask her. I try to be the same way about work nights; i.e. those evenings before the days I work. A good nights sleep, which I rarely seem to achieve, and a good pair of shoes, is making a difference in my energy level.

I'm tired and we'll go with the next saga in my very lackluster but embracing the Bitch story of my life.

Not enough hours in the day today.

Working For A Living

2010-06-13T09:03:00.003-07:00

Sometimes, fate does smile on me. Not often, but enough to keep me hopeful.

I found a new job. I've been applying to everything I've been remotely qualified for, in addition to filling out online applications to every place I drive by. Nearly all of the Craigs List jobs seem to be scams, making you pull a recent credit report or background check for a job that doesn't exist. Because you know, there is nothing quite so noble as preying on the unemployed. I've applied to everything in the Indy Star, which uses Career Builder, and everyhing on the Indiana Career Connect site. Indiana Career Connect has commericals nearly as annoying as those for Don's Guns.

One of the places I applied to online was a chain of local smoke shops. Since I'd sent approximately 4392 resumes at that point, I was on auto-pilot and instead of clicking on my resume to send, I clicked on a picture of Martin and I that was saved under a title very close to my resume's. Instead of thinking I was a big dunderhead, the lady I sent it to thought it was funny and asked me to resend my resume.

When she finally got my resume, she sent me an email saying she was forwarding it onto the manager of their Indy distribution center. So, now I have a job.

We sell cigarettes, tobacco products, candy and novelties, in quantity. It's not open to the public. We have some real characters for customers and the neighborhood itself is sketchy, in an Indy sort of way, i.e. only Ypsilanti sketchy. Since my co-workers have been there for years and the customers have been coming there for years, a lot of trash talk fills the air. I can trash talk with the best, and when I told one customer who came in with a big bag of change that we didn't take change on Thursdays, he promptly told me, "I'll be back with green" and walked back out to his car. I had to chase him down and tell him I was only kidding.

Eventually, I will be handling the daily reports, payroll and other paperwork. Right now, I'm learning how it works by stocking, running orders and doing whatever needs to be done.

I like it. I feel like I'm a good fit with my co-workers. We close at 4 so I'm usually out no later than 4:30. It's not too far from home, although the transportation thing is a huge pain in my ass since Martin's job is in the other direction and I'm driving a good 40 minutes each way. We're trying to solve that problem with purchasing a second car. I've been exhausted every evening; I'm not used to being on my feet all day. That problem is hopefully solved with the new pair of kicks I got yesterday.

The in-laws came for a visit this week-end, but that's a blog for another day.

Little Miss Independent

2010-05-20T19:00:00.002-07:00

Pretty soon, my precocious daughter will be telling us that she's got a job and a car and her own place. It's very funny, though, to be getting your marching orders from a three foot tall, six-and-a-half year old who knows everything. She loves to boss people around. Martin and I often wonder how we've survived this long without Mia's guidance, because clearly, we are incompetent. Just ask her.

I pity the man who falls for our Mia because she's going to run him like well-oiled machine and he'd better hop to it.

She doesn't have to be on the school bus until 7:30 but she's still up at the butt crack of dawn. In fact, who needs an alarm clock, with Mia around? I'm often asked, at 6 a.m., "Mommy, do these earrings match my outfit?"

Lately, she's taken to preparing coffee for Martin and tea for me in the mornings. She loads up the coffee pot and microwaves water for my tea. I came downstairs one morning to find a hot cup of tea steeping on the counter and when I asked Martin, "Did you make me tea?!?" (he hasn't in years, other than when I've been deathly ill), Mia very firmly set me straight: "NO, Mommy, I did. The lemon kind, your favorite."

She loves to pick out clothes and shoes for both of us. If I dressed in what Mia picked out for me, I would look like an insane collage of every conceivable shade of pink or purple (or both!) of sequins, feathers, ruffles, and flowers. I would always look like I was on my way some sort of Pink and Purple Cosmic Disco, where no doubt unicorns jump over pink and purple rainbows. She is past the point of dressing herself like a blind bag lady and is now onto cute. Everything must be cute. If it's shiny and pouffy, it's that much cuter.

When she spots something she particularly likes, she almost squeals. "Oh Mommy! Loooook at these shoes!"

Atta girl.

If Mia weren't such a sweet little girl, I suspect she'd be a big pain in the ass. She never says anything in a mean way, she just knows that she knows better than you and is happy to pass her knowledge along. I worried about Mia going to school; I was afraid she'd end up being such a goody-goody, the other kids would give her a hard time. It can be tough living with Cindy Brady. Everyone loves Mia, though. She's always happy and truly just wants to be everyone's friend.

I'm so very proud of our girl.

Lemonade

2010-05-07T16:24:00.007-07:00

This new job I have, that I like so much? The hours are perfect, the pay is just right, my responsibility is at the level that justifies all this; I like the people I work with and it's a positive, relaxed atmosphere with the right attitude.

I got "Let Go" today. I haven't had that happen since I was working at O'Connors Deli, long since gone, in Brighton, MI. O'Connors had the bonus of a drive-thru window, although you did have to go inside to buy booze. When I worked at O'Connors, it was for a summer, their busiest season. Everyone hired knew that we were gone the first week of August. It was a job with a finite ending.

There's a sucker born every minute and if it seems to good to be true, it probably is.

Or, it could just be me.

Three people were hired when one job was advertised. I think the Boss Lady liked three applicants very much and made an impulsive decision to hire all three of us. I think, after three weeks, I was the most expendable. I'm fairly certain that financially, I cost as much as each of the other two did for full time work while I was working part-time.

I'm guessing she thought she could sit me in front of a computer with a minimum of training and I would just do it. It was as much as admitted in the bye-bye speech that she didn't have the time to sit down with me and train me and she had to go back and correct my mistakes.

I was also told to freely use them as a reference and that they liked having me there, but it just wasn't working. I was even given a couple leads.

To my mortification, I cried.
I didn't sob, or snivel, or anything like that. I just shed a few tears once I realized what was going on.

I sometimes feel like ">Kate Bush just running up that hill.

My paycheck was going to help us toward a big-ass down payment on a house and then, once we cut our housing costs by a couple, three hundred a month, mortgage vs. renting, it was time for a car for me.

And it probably was me. As my Gran used to say, I got too big for my britches. I was too happy. I still had my troubles, but I was dealing with them much better and I was proud to add to our family income. It boosted my always fragile ego tremendously and my self-confidence was higher than it's been in a decade. I had a light in my eyes and glowed, and it wasn't only the spray-tan.

I was told that it wasn't anything to do with me, not to take it personally; I was even given job suggestions with free use of their name.

It's hard not to take it personally.

I'm trying really hard to not let this be a spiral down into the deep depression. I don't like sleeping on the couch all day and on the verge of tears constantly. I know Martin is very worried about me because he keeps hugging me (I am NOT into hugs unless I am mucn more miserable and needy) and telling me to not worry about it til Monday.

Did I mention that I cried? And I am mortified that I did?

Maybe I'm just too far out of the game and too far out of touch. Maybe I'm too old. Maybe I'm just not meant to do this work thing anymore. The time I spent with Mia was diminished by more than half. The time I spent on my house was nearly non-existent. Both Bennie and Luna were quite put out with their Momma gone. If I'm not meant to earn a regular paycheck, I still need some sense of a worthwhile purpose which includes a paycheck.

I'm hurt. My ego and self-confidence are totally shot, again. Filled with doubt, and twitches, here I am.

I'm really tired of making lemonade.

Lunch At The Airport

2010-05-02T13:30:00.006-07:00

It's really not that strange that Martin chose to take Mia and I to lunch yesterday at the airport. He works for a company that is located on the campus. I make four round-trips to the airport every day now that I am working. (And yes, that is getting really old really fast, the driving part; I like the working part.)

The Indy Airport is really quite impressive. It's all shiny and new and features that cool moderne vibe that I love. The airport boasts some really interesting art (the breathing sculptures, which are red and look something like bellows) and some very la di da shops and restaurants. Did I mention it's all shiny and brand new?

We ate at the Indy 500 restaurant there. Unfortunately, they don't seem to have a website. The food is awesome, the Cosmos are to die for, although they should bloody well be, at ten bucks a pop in an over sized thimble of a glass. Mia had chicken tenders (I realize that this is a huge shock to everyone who knows Mia), Martin had a pork stacker sandwich and I had a wonderful tomato and bleu cheese salad with mustard vinaigrette dressing and homemade crostini.

The best part of lunch at the airport, of course, is the people-watching. At the same restaurant as we were, there was a girl who can best be descried as (to paraphrase a great Glee line) looking like she was taking her fashion tips from Lindsey Lohan, who looks like she belongs in The Hobbit. Said girl had on a tee-shirt dress, lavender tied died. I use the word "dress" optimistically; it was really a long tee shirt and all the world was her gynecologist. For footwear, she chose square-toed motorcycle boots. This spectacular display of Fug was topped with stringy, unwashed over dyed black hair and a John Deere trucker cap. I shit you not.

I really wanted to get a picture, but there was no way of doing so without being very obvious and she was kind of scary looking (or just really dangerously hungover) and I didn't think it would be good idea. I wasn't in the mood to be spat upon.

I finally bought a new bag this week-end. I originally wanted a shiny purple one, but I decided to be practical and buy a black one. It's HUGE and I love it. Where the rule used to be, "She who has the biggest earrings wins", the new mantra is "She who has the biggest, coolest bag, wins." I may not be the winner, but at least I'm in the running.

Puppy Love

2010-04-18T14:00:00.008-07:00

We made an incredibly quick trip to the Mitten yesterday. We had planned on going up for the week-end a few weeks back, but it didn't work out. Martin's dad was very disappointed, so he gave Martin a ticket on the Guilty Train and off we went.

They have a new Boxer puppy, nine weeks old. His name is Willem and he is adorable, as you can see. Willem is going to be a big boy. He already weighs twice as much as my pocket Pom and is twice her size.

I'm a dog magnet. Nearly every dog I meet loves me. Every dog Martin and I have ever owned has become my dog. I'm their mommy. Willem was no different. My dogs were pretty pissed when we got home and from my smell of puppy, it was obvious I'd been cheating on them.

*****

I'm reading Kitty Kelly's latest book, Oprah.
(Note: I got mine at Target for a lot less.) I've never watched a lot of Oprah's show, but of course, I'm familiar with her story and her works. The book is explosive. The best way I can describe the revelations in the book is that Oprah has distorted several facts of her life and is not the transparent person that she presents herself to be. Also, it is not a good idea to make the O mad; she went sixteen years without talking to David Letterman after he pissed her off on his show. That is just one example of her ability to neither forgive, nor forget, and her power. The sheer power of the woman is incredible. Sometimes, she does use that power for good.

*****
I quite like my new job. No one there is crazy. I've worked in some interesting places. One job, the boss was a complete paranoid loon; he kept a loaded gun in his desk and was just off

At another job at a car dealership, one of the salesmen was arrested in Detroit for soliciting a prostitute. His demo was impounded. When the demo was picked up, there was a very large woman's shoe (bronze leather mid-heel open toe pump, an 11 at least, which makes you wonder which waters the above mentioned salesman was trolling) under the seat, along with an empty bottle of vodka.

I worked for a company that scammed poor people out of their money under the guise of repairing their credit. We ran commercials about our "services" and people called an 800 number that directed them to a 900 number that charged $3.95 a minute to take a "credit app" from them then turned them over to "underwriting", which then directed them to a finance company in their area that might give them a loan. I have a feeling this is operating again, or at least a good imitation, since I've seen commercials that are eerily similar. That boss was fairly paranoid, as well.

Boss The Father at one place I worked was a nasty dry drunk, one of the worst I've ever seen. I'd worked there about a week when a delivery guy was dropping off a rebuilt engine that Boss The Father was overcharged for. He went berserk on the poor driver, who took off in a blaze of dust and called 911, which prompted the cops to come out, where BTF ranted at them as well.

It's nice to have a job, and it's nice that it's normal.

Welcome To The Working Week

2010-04-08T13:27:00.007-07:00

So I got a job. It's in an office setting, doing the type of work I've done in the past. I'm excited.

I will lose my daytime tv, though, which means I will miss such shows as Unsolved Mysteries, which I've been watching every morning on Spike. Its no surprise that I love that show; it's exactly the type of show my mom and I would have watched together. The host, Dennis Farina, is perfect; his voice always has that tinge of suspicion, like you know he doesn't really believe what this so-called witness is blathering about. I love it when it veers off into Fate magazine territory, as well. On those segments, he sounds completely convinced that the person relaying these incidences is absolutely credible, while whatever authorities involved are obviously part of a huge cover-up. My mom had a subscription to Fate for years and years, along with the National Enquirer. She called them her scandal sheets and hid them when people were coming over.

Yesterday was Martin's fortieth birthday. We went to dinner at the Macaroni Grill, Martin's choice, where Mia took our picture. (I photograph so badly; I always feel like I should say, "You know, I'm a lot cuter in real life.") Our waiter was a hoot but the food was pricey for what it was, which was ehhh. Nothing great, just okay. I'll take Buca di Beppo anyday.

Tomorrow, Martin has the day off and I had to coerce him into spending the day doing all our week-end running around. He wanted to go hide in the Train Cave and work on his choo-choo but I convinced him that he can do that all day Saturday and Sunday.

Only in the D.

Notes From The Bat Cave

2010-04-05T17:42:00.004-07:00

The Easter Bunny is the lesser of the childhood mythical deities. He's above the tooth fairy somewhat (after all, he does bring candy) but much farther down the rung than Santa, who is, you know, the Grand Poobah of all childhood mythical deities.

The Easter Bunny brings Barbies to my house. This year, Barbie almost smothered in her basket, wired tightly into her pink convertible, wrapped in 6000 yards of pink cellophane but thankfully none of that shredded grass. She was buried in various candy products, and it had been a rough hop in that basket. Mia had helpfully drawn a huge Easter Egg on our sidewalk that had an arrow pointing to our door, in case the Easter Bunny had been hitting the Bloody Marys, pregaming for Easter Lunch and might have missed us.

*****

I wasn't sad to see Michigan State lose to Butler; I was mad. The Spartans did not bring their best game to Indy. However, I was thrilled for Butler; that's what March Madness is all about. Who had ever hear of Gongaza before they suddenly showed up during Sweet Sixteen all those years ago? Lehigh made it to the dance, LEHIGH. There's always lots of nail biters, hearbreakers and big surprises.

*****

Martin's turning forty this week. He's already an avid model railroader and has asked me to start buying the "special" ice cream; next, he'll have to be careful not to poop his pants when he sneezes, since he's old now.

*****

I had a job interview last Thursday, my first in over three years. I had a second interview today, and start with an orientation next Monday.

How's That Working Out For You?

2010-03-19T19:23:00.003-07:00

I was going to make this big effort to crawl back into the land of technology and also try to write every day, starting with this, right? Yeah, well, we can tell how that worked out. Good intentions, blah blah blah.

I have, however, been making use of the lovely red leather Franklin Covey planner my father-in-law got me for Christmas. I have a big page for each day, so I write down things that I've done, things that I want to get done, the weather, what we had for dinner, what book I'm reading. And I write down various writing prompts as I think of them.

I just haven't actually used them to write anything yet.

I've had the windows open and to let the house air out. I've done the spring cleaning and it feels good to see the sunshine and smell the spring sneaking up.

Of course, there are other ways to welcome the Ides of March.

Saturday, In The Park

2010-03-13T18:14:00.004-08:00

Well, it is Saturday, although we didn't really get near a park, unless you count driving by a park. It's gloomy and gray outside, spitting rain, but fairly warm. It's spring in the Hoosier State.

Instead, we went to Michael's and Wal-Mart. Good times, good times, kids. Martin got lots of goodies for his train layout, which he is embarking on in earnest. This is on N scale, if that means anything to anyone (i.e. pretty small). You can watch his progress here. Some of the stuff on the end is screen shots from some game he plays but the video on there shows what he's up to now.

Model railroading is dorky yet strangely quaint and cute. Martin tips the scales considerably on the "normal" scale compared to some of his fellow model train enthusiasts who tip the scale on "pretty damn weird in more than one way."

I love my Crock Pot. I made a pork roast with potatoes today. It was totally lazy cooking. I bought the Hormel pork roast and Green Giant roasted potatoes with herb and garlic sauce. I put the roast in the Crock Pot with some Chop House flavored marinade, turned it on high for 3 hours, then added the frozen potatoes and a jar or Heinz pork gravy and some frozen green beans. I am so lazy. Who cares, though, it came out very tasty and Martin will have pork sandwiches for lunch this week.

That's the week-end so far. A glamorous middle age I am living, no?

Luddite

2010-03-12T09:55:00.004-08:00

Luddite: According to the Google online dictionary, to call someone a Luddite is to criticize them for opposing changes in industrial methods, especially the introduction of new machines and modern methods.

I've been acting like a Luddite lately, it's true. I've gone two and three days in a row without checking my email or even turning on my computer. I decided to avoid the lure of the mindless joy found on the Internet. I haven't been reading anything other than Vanity Fair, and even that with mild disinterest. Even though I had a very high score and 118 badges in Shape Shifter, I haven't written a word in months. I've barely even blogged. My house wasn't up to the standards I wanted it to be, but I spent plenty of time reading about dead celebrities, fooling around on Facebook, and in general, doing a whole lot of nothing.

I thought a lot about how much of ourselves is easily accessible online. How much of me is out there, because I've been around a long time online. It kind of creeped me out. I've been thinking about taking this thing private.

I made a conscious choice to to take a few steps away from the Internet.

When we got our income tax refund, I ordered a stack of books I've been wanting to read from Amazon and also had a brief spree in Half-Price Books. I've read:

In The Name of Love; Ann Rule
Pretty typical of her true crime files books; interesting cases; think I'm getting Ann Ruled out.

The Best American Crime Reporting 2009; edited by Jeffrey Toobin et al
These have come out every year for several years and are always a great read.

On Writing; Stephen King
My second copy of this book; I loaned the first to someone (I've forgotten who) and never gotten it back, which is quite all right. It's the Bible for Writing for me.

Too Much Money; Dominick Dunne
I didn't want it to end. I adored Mr. Dunne and savored everything he's ever written. Great dish; the characters are easily recognized as their true life counterparts; the ending, alas, isn't up to his usual.

Half Broke Horses; Jeannette Walls
Her second memoir, this one a "true life novel", whatever that means. She's a lively, wonderful storyteller. I look forward to more of her writing.

Methland; Nick Reading
About a small town in Iowa that is devastated by meth. Not a happy read but well written and topical.

The Innocent Man; John Grisham
His first non-fiction and it's full of Grisham-isms like heavy sarcasm done well and perfectly chosen adjectives and a conflict on every page. I'm in the middle and so far, it's really pissing me off. One of those cases of "You Are Just Plain Effed" justice, like the disappearance of Adrianna and Jennifer Wix or the case of David Camm.

I've also watched a few movies, some good, some awful. Stay away, in particular, from the snooze fest of Australia. I kept getting up throughout it, doing chores and coming back and asking, "Isn't this dirge over yet?" and no, no it wasn't because it's about 4 hours long and nothing at all happens. Even cute Hugh Jackman doesn't make it watchable and he's one of those guys that I generally want to see in anything, even a toothpaste commercial, and I'd still think he was handsome. Although I do fear he may be short.

Speaking of which, (handsome actors, not short ones) I can't wait to see Andy Garcia on the Martha Stewart show. I've actually watched Martha a couple times lately, and it's unintentionally hilarious. She's so snooty and superior and when she tries to be funny, she just sounds like some over bred WASP-y condensending type with a stick up her ass. She's not warm or maternal at all and let's be real, the only reason why she has time to do all those stupid crafts is because she obviously has live-in help. Can you seriously picture her loading her dishwasher and picking up dog poop? Well, she did start a trend by knitting ugly shawls in prison, so I guess it's possible. She was giving away some really "amazing", as she said, trips yesterday but she's just such a snot and so anal and perfect. She packs a lunch when she flies, a little insulated carry-on of potato/ bean salad and tabbouleh that she whips up the night before her trip and puts them in Chinese carry-out containers that fit so nicely in her insulated carry-on lunch bag for those 26 hour flights to Bangkok. Oh, and the bean/potato salad had tuna in it, which she assured her audience wouldn't smell and offend other passengers since it was Italian tuna. Who does that sort of shit? Seriously? If we take a road trip, my family is happy if I pack a couple sandwiches and some chips and remember some juice boxes; you can bet if we fly anywhere they will be happy to get plane pretzels and lukewarm 7 UP or maybe if Mom is really on the ball, a piece of fruit. Martha's guests all were yakking it up about their favorite places to travel to and it was Galapagos, climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro, some country in Asia that starts with a B I'd never even heard of, that sort of thing.

I guess I'm just not in her demographic because these days, I'm pretty happy to get back to the Mitten a couple times a year. And the night before my trip to anywhere, I certainly wouldn't be in the kitchen mucking around, except to finish off that bottle of wine before we leave. I'd be running around like a lunatic throwing crap in suitcases, like any normal person would be.

I finally broke down and went to get my eyes checked. I knew they'd gone way wrong recently because I was a having a really hard time seeing to read anything and it was damn annoying. Welcome to the wonderful world of bifocals. I have new glasses, no line bifocals, and while it's wonderful I can see so well, I'm not knocked out by the frames. Choices in frames tend to be limited when you want the ultra light lenses, and no line bifocals. Or you know, you can wear Coke bottles with huge magnified parts on the bottom that weigh about five pounds. I am so grateful glasses have come so far. I can even get contacts to fix this, which I'm just waiting for.

I think I'm out of my complete Luddite phase, which let's face it, wasn't a total cutoff, I snuck peeks of my email on my phone and read the news and kept up with a few blogs but I know I'm an addict and I accept that. Cutting down makes me feel like I got a lot accomplished. My house is looking much more like the way I want it to and I did a fierce de-clutter on our bedroom and got new linens. It was nice to take naps and watch Cold Case Files and bad On Demand movies. I've missed reading, getting lost in a book. It feels good writing this, I feel inspired after reading some fine writing.

I'm setting a certain goal for myself as far as writing and a part of that, is to start writing something here every day for at least a month. I need to get back in the habit of writing everyday and this is a good baby step to start with.

* You will note that I didn't link stuff in here I could have. I'm too lazy and I figure if you really want to find that stuff, you are perfectly capable of using Google all by yourself.

Romance Is Lost On Me

2010-02-13T15:07:00.003-08:00

I appreciate it in other's lives, but in my own? Not so much. My dear friend Tiffany's sister's birthday is this evening and in addition to celebrating that, her boyfriend will be proposing, and she has no idea. He went to Build-A-Bear and built one or got one or whatever you do at Build-A-Bear, the bear you can record something and press the bear's paw and it will replay. He's recorded his marriage proposal and after handing her the bear and getting down on one knee, will tell her to squeeze the paw.

The "Awwwww" factor is overwhelming and so so sweet.

If Martin, however, had proposed to me in such a manner, I would have had to decline based solely on the fact that he went to Build-A-Bear and imagined in some way that I would appreciate that. It would be a blatant sign that he didn't know me at all.

Instead, Martin has ordered me a pink Ed Gein tee-shirt for Valentine's Day. I'm pretty happy about that; my husband knows me well.

I've never embraced romantic gestures. My last ex, when we were financially comfortable, used to buy me a gift every Friday. He worked hard on it, probably to make up for the normal everyday shit he put me through. Ninety per cent of time, I'd look at the gift, say, "Thank you," and set it aside. Buying me slutty underwear, ugly jewelry and clothes I would never wear doesn't do it for me. Chocolate, particularly Godiva, is always a win-win situation, though.

One time, he got me an outfit. It was a pair of navy blue long Bermuda like shorts; wool; a blazer to match, with those stupid brass buttons and a navy blue and beige blouse. I actually wore this atrocity, with off white hose and navy blue flats, a couple of times, before "I lost it at the dry cleaner." I don't think I have ever in my life pretended to be Muffy Worthington. Whole outfit and gesture was so not me.

We were planning on going to our favorite Mexican joint tomorrow so Martin can take his girls out for Valentine's Day but instead, I think we will be staying home and having lasagna hopefully with Tiffany and Timothy. I may not be a huggy kissy type, except with my kids, but cooking,to me,is love.

So Say We All *

2010-02-03T10:37:00.009-08:00

I am not a big science fiction fan. Generally, whenever I realize that there is a spaceship involved, I instantly lose interest.

Martin, being the geek that he is, loves it. He started watching the revamped Battlestar Galactica when it first aired. Since it involved spaceships, I paid no attention. He recently decided to re watch the entire new series from beginning to end.

Some of it creeped in and I got interested. Not because it involves spaceships, but because it has an intricate, interesting story. It involves sociology, culture, politics, religion, courage, and tolerance.

The characters are well-developed and complex, with lots of back story. There's a bit of romance and lots of action and adventure thrown in. Good guys turn out to be villains and villains turn out to be good guys. When Martin started watching it, I declared it The Soap Opera On The Spaceship, but it's not at all. Any student of history will find it fascinating.

So yeah, that's where I've been.

* "So say we all" is the Battlestar Galactica catchphrase, much as Capatin Picard, aboard the Enterprise during the Next Generation, used "Make it so."

A Sea of Blue, An Ode to Indy

2010-01-17T17:16:00.004-08:00

Did you hear, the Colts won? Being as lame as I am, I fell asleep. Am I turning into a middle-aged fat guy? I didn't even have a beer.

The enthusiasm for the Colts is heartwarming, and contagious. I've resisted buying a jersey or hoodie because I'm cheap and they start at about 30 bucks. They do not go on sale, let alone clearance, ever. I'm just going to have to break down and fork it over. The Colts are not only a great team, they do a lot for Indy, in many positive ways. The least I can do is give them part of thirty bucks.

I'm really very happy in Indy; who could have predicted that one? Out of all the places on the map we stuck proverbial pins into, I would not have put Indy in the top five for I Can Tolerate Anything. It turns out that I really love it here. It's got that mixture of the blue and white collar vibe I fit into so well.

I like not knowing everyone and their brother here though, and the history behind every building. The only people who know I used to be a Republican here are the ones I tell. It's a shameful secret that I haven't always shared with everyone.

I like living in a city. I find it funny when people say parts of Indy are "bad". They are bad like Ypsilanti bad. Not very bad ass at all. Knock wood, I'm never fearful. That's not to say Indy is without violent crime; it just seems that the cops have a fair handle on it and it's not like a war zone.

There's so much to do, no matter what your age or background or interests. We've got art, we've got music, a zoo, sports, theatre, lots and lots of food. We Hoosiers like to eat out, and we've got every type of restuarant you can imagine. People are for the most part very nice and friendly and everyone really tries to get along. People don't think you're weird if you pass the time of day with them. It took me a while to get used to people I didn't know talking to me; I couldn't imagine why they would be.

Now, I sometimes talk to strangers. Me, socially awkward me.

Girly Stuff

2010-01-15T19:24:00.011-08:00

I love makeup. I like trying new things, but I'm also picky and I'm not willing to spend a lot on makeup unless I know it's something I will use. I wear a mismatch of department store and drugstore makeup. I'm the same way with hair products and skin care.

I'm not any sort of expert, but I thought from time to time I would write about beauty products that I use. I'm always curious to know what other people use, their never-fail stuff.

I'm sure if I have any male readers, they are dozing off by now; that's fine guys, see you in a couple days. Sometimes I feel badly that more people don't read my blog, like I'm not funny or interesting. Other times, I like it that I'm under the radar. I feel more comfortable, I guess.

Anyway.

Deeply Violet *

It's taken me a long time to get my nails in decent shape. I wore acrylics for at least ten years. If I take care of my nails, they can look nice. I use Sally Hansen Hard As Nails original formula or Opi Nail Envy. I like wearing color on my nails lately. This is Sally Hansen Diamond Strength in Deeply Violet. I've been wearing it pretty much since I got it. I love the color and it wears pretty well, touch up every other day or so. It is thick, though, and requires careful application. That's kind of a pain, but the color is really great.

A Brighter Me

I have dark circles under my eyes. They drive me crazy. I've used everything on them. Clinque All About Eyes worked for a long time. I tried Hydrozolyne, which I had high hopes for. They really sold me on that stuff. Not impressed.

I've been using the Physician's Formula for about a month now. It's heavy, you have to really blend, and it dries quickly. It does cover well, and it does seem like my dark circles are lessening.

I haven't tanned since laying out by the pool in mid-September. You can do that in Indiana in mid-September.

I think my tanning days may be over. Except for the spray-on or other sunless type.

Winter Splash

I went into Bath & Body Works to get a gift for a friend's birthday. They were having a huge clearance sale. Some stuff was even 90% off. I got this body splash, which is actually a spray. It's a huge bottle, ten ounces. I have a hard time with scents; florals smell terrible on me. I've worn Clinque Aromatic Elixir for years but I'm pretty tired of it. It's rare that I find anything I like enough to wear more than once other than the Aromatic Elixir.

This is light, yet not sweet or flowery at all. It's described as "A vibrant, winter-inspired blend of citrus, mint, iced pear sorbet and blonde woods." It smells citrusy and fresh and green to me. I quite like it. Original price? $19.50. My price? $2.90. I'm sure once this bottle is gone, it won't be around anymore, but I'll enjoy it while I can.

*I originally typed that as "Deeply Violent." That's kind of a Goth sort of nail polish name.

All The Little Chicks With Crimson Lips

2010-01-13T16:01:00.010-08:00

Indy needs to make a new tourism commercial. Instead of singing, "Cleveland Rocks," the lyrics change to "Indy Rocks" and it has "famous" Hoosiers featured. They could get Peyton Manning, that mysterious and spooky Greg Ballard, Not My Man Mitch, (wouldn't you pay to see those two act silly for the good of our fair state, and not in their political beliefs?), the Playboy chick and her cute Colts husband; some Colts fans all decked out at a game like the Indians fans in the video; Garfield, Bobby Knight (although I doubt he'd do it) and Larry Bird, John Mellencamp. They could film at Lucas Oil Stadium, the zoo, the Children's Museum and the Art Museum. Show the Pyramids and downtown, Mug & Bun, The Union Jack and the War Memorial, and of course, I hear there is a Speedway around here and why not get Sarah Fisher and Helio to jam out a little?

At the end, instead of shouting "OHIO!", obviously, "INDIANA" would be substituted.

I'm fairly sure I read that Indy is trying for an influx of dollars as a destination place. Other than the annual Future Farmers of America convention (get those kids in on the act as well!). Aren't they angling for some sort of soccer tournament? I think that commercial would make Indy look hip, which it is, in its quiet Midwestern sort of way.

Friday Fry Up

2010-01-08T07:39:00.010-08:00

The Brit is fond of fry ups; me, not so much. In fact, I won't eat it, and prefer he cooks them when I am not home. A fry up happens when you throw all your leftovers into a pan, usually with eggs, and fry it up. I am terrible with titles and since I'm goint to write about a mish-mash of things, I thought fry up worked well for the alliteration value at the least.

The Debate Begins

Martin and I came to the decision that Indianapolis will be our home unless something extremely dramatic happens, i.e., he gets a huge promotion to a tropical locale or we hit the Hoosier Lotto. Which, at the pinnacle of irony, if we ever do hit the Hoosier Lotto, the first thing we would do is move out of the Hoosier state to a tropical locale.

Part of setting down roots is buying a home. Our goal is loosely set within the next year. There are a lot of options we can use financially that make it silly not to buy, even though we don't have anything close to a good down payment. Good for us, and the overall resettling of the middle class.

Already, we are disagreeing on what we want. I hate the cookie cutter subdivisions, known as "additions" or "vinyl villages" here. I loathe them. The idea of living in one sometimes makes me want to cry. When Martin sent me a link to a robin's egg blue member of a vast vinyl village, I actually got tears. The decor on the inside, which I realize is easily remedied but still difficult to get past, looked like Laura Ashely threw up. Any kind of surface that could have had a big ass flower or a precious tiny flower print of some sort on it, did. Why, people, why???

I'm all about a house with some character and unique charm. I love the mid-century modern style, anything modern for that matter. There are very few modern style homes I've been able to find that weren't way out of our price range, certainly no additions or villages of them, and although I love the MCM, which are fairly readily available here, most of the houses are in the area of fifty years old. We just aren't going down that road. We remodeled the house I grew up in, $17,000 over the budget we planned, and then it started to fall apart. Including three incidents of flooding in our finished basement. Which as part of that $17,000 overage, included an $8,000 repair to fix the leaking basement. Nope, not buying something that requires walls torn out or a new roof. I can handle tearing down wallpaper, tearing up carpet and painting, but nothing that requires a sledgehammer.

I understand the appeal of a new house. All the upgrades, wired for anything, big rooms, enough bathrooms and generally good use of space. The roof isn't going to fall off, the furnace isn't from 1970 and neither are the kitchen cabinets and the 14 layers of wallpaper.

The trick is going to be finding something that will suit what both of us want. A newer home that has some unique features and style. I pity the agent who ends up with us. I talked to one yesterday, and explained the situation; she sounded confident and up for the challenge, so I'm willing to give her a shot when the time comes.

The Christmas Underoo Bomber

Maybe I'm missing something. I've been following this story, and I'm a little confused. Why is no one getting all pissed off at Nigeria or Amsterdam about this guy? To paraphrase some of what Jon Stewart had to say and throw in my own ideas, he was coming from Nigeria, going through Amsterdam, had only a shoulder carry on and no luggage or coat, and paid cash for his one way ticket to Detroit. What was he going to do in Detroit? Start a new life? Look for a job? Why is all the blame falling solely on us? Regardless of whatever intelligence the U.S. may have had on him, none of those other things raised any sort of alert anywhere down the line? REALLY?

I also find it funny, that a passenger of the flight, when he figured out what The Christmas Underoo Bomber was up to, allegedly knocked the shit out of him. Like it's not bad enough you're ending up in Detroit, you have to deal with this joker?

It's All About The Hair

I am failing an innate duty to my daughter. Her hair is not beautiful and it should be, because she is a beautiful little girl, inside and out. I've tried to do her hair myself. She's not had great experiences getting her hair professionally done. The last time, Martin actually took her instead of me, thinking it would go better, and the stylist had some pretty negative things to say. In front of my daughter. About me and my care of her hair. In her defense, it was the Saturday before Mother's Day and it was very busy. In my defense, I had let her hair go a couple days, knowing she was getting it done. That still really soured me, at least on that salon. If she would have been kind, she would have been getting fifty bucks without fail every two weeks and I would have kissed her ass six ways until Tuesday.

I've tried with Mia's hair. I really have. It's been an ordeal for both Mia and me, no matter if I do it or someone else does. But we're getting her hair done professionally from now on and that's it. She deserves to look better than what I can do.

I'll let you know how that goes tomorrow. Wish me luck, say a prayer, light a candle, please feel free to add whatever positive spirits you can send our way.

Shut Up And Drive

I got a flyer form our local State Rep, Kathy Kreag Richardson. I should preface this by saying, I know nothing about her, her voting record, her policies, nothing. There was an invitation to a survey in the flyer, so being an active citizen who never passes up a chance to voice my opinion, I dutifully filled it out.

One of the questions was regarding enacting laws about the use cell phones while driving. This, my friends, should be a no-brainer. Just like seat belts. I realize that people can see this as an intrusion into your rights, but sometimes, it is necessary to legislate common sense. This is a most basic safety element that most people would have no second thought about. I think motorcycles helmets should be required as well, because while it's up to the rider if they want get on a bike, I have no issues with that; I've ridden on the back of my share of bikes and Martin has toyed with getting one to drive to work; I do, however, have issues with the fact that if something happens, I don't want to see the remains of your head smeared all on I-465.

Anyway.

Part of the charm of Indiana is the friendly attitude of just about everyone you meet. I can't count the number of totally random conversations I've had with strangers in which we shared a laugh. It's nice. Aside from that hairdresser mentioned up there.

This outlook spills over into driving; they just don't think that person is going to pull right in front of them because people are nice and don't do stupid things to you on purpose.

I think the average Hoosier driver just lacks that sense of defense. I know that some of my fellow Hoosier drivers find me to be terribly aggressive and quick with the horn, or hand as the case may be since the Mini's horn is inconveniently located. Most find Martin just plain ass-puckering scary.

People, here is a hint: While you are leisurely rolling along, your fellow drivers are out to get you. Hang up the phone and pay attention. Although you may have learned to drive by running a combine in the middle of a field where the worst that can happen is you clip a few rows of crop you shouldn't have or run over a nest of unsuspecting bunnies, you aren't in the field now and there is danger and it surrounds you. Stop being so trusting and please don't try to talk on the phone unless it's hands free, or heaven forbid TEXT while you are behind the wheel. Must we waste time and money making this a law, when you should know better?

Cousins

I grew up an only child and that's hard in so many ways. I spent a lot of time with cousins from both sides of the family as a kid. Vacations, holidays, summers. I have a lot of (mostly) good memories of those times. I've reconnected with many of them, through Face Book of course, and although sometimes I feel like I have nothing in common with them, I'm still glad to reconnect. I'm sure to some, I'm completely bewildering but I hope there's still something to make me likable there.

The Magic of Motown

2010-01-06T11:11:00.002-08:00

Martin got me a new Mp3 player quite a while ago, since my previous one had moved back to Michigan with Dexter. I did nothing with it for a good two months. The new one is very high tech, but to put not too fine a point on it, I hate it. It has the capabilities to hold a huge amount of songs, and pictures and video (which I will never use) but nothing about it is straightforward. I'm sure I'll get accustomed to the necessary manipulations, but right now, it just pisses me off a lot.

I really need to work on the patience thing. Sometime.

I'm on a kick, lately, with Motown. Some of the songs I'm loving lately:

Martha Reeves & The Vandells, Nowhere To Run To
The Foundations, Buttercup
The Marvelettes, Too Many Fish In The Sea
Junior Walker, Shotgun
The Jackson 5, ABC
Stevie Wonder, Superstition
The Miracles, Shop Around

Part of this, I am sure, is because I have distinct memories of driving in the car with my mom and listening to CKLW and singing along. She also played it a lot at home, on this ancient radio we had on the counter in the kitchen.

I'd forgotten how much I love Motown music, and what sheer fun it is. Plus, it's got a good beat and it's easy to dance to.

Home Alone

2010-01-05T07:42:00.005-08:00

Martin went back to work yesterday, after being on call throughout the New Year Holiday, and actually working during a good portion of it. Mia is back to school today on her normal schedule and I am home alone.

I'm home alone and it feels so good. Just me and CNN in the background, with a dog sleeping on my feet. The dog on my feet is a good thing, though, because it's a balmy eight degrees outside. I'm a hearty Michigan gal originally, so eight degrees wouldn't bother me so much, except that the wind makes it bone chillingly cold, the type of cold that makes you want to make a pot of tea and lay on the couch with a quilt and a good book.

Our townhouse is terribly insulated. The upstairs is a sauna and the downstairs is a wind tunnel. I'm tempted to call maintenance and ask when they plan on coming over to cover the downstairs windows with plastic, since they obviously have the original poorly insulated windows from when the place was built, circa 1978 or so. It's a shame that the management company here is so cheap. The location is good, a bit off the beaten path; the townhouse itself is laid out nicely with a good use of space, the price is reasonable but there certainly isn't anything fancy about it and they aren't into upgrades or modernizations. You should see my kitchen cabinets; functional is the most complimentary thing I can come up with and it's a weak functional since all the drawers stick and the inside bottom of them sag precariously.

I've fallen in love with the Mid-Century Modern Style and Indy has a huge selection. I stumbled across Atomic Indy and I'm drooling. I love the use of the Indiana limestone, the wall of windows, the low profile fireplaces and the built-ins. Clean, sleek, utilitarian use of spaces, (built in planters, oh my!) yet timeless. As the Atomic Indy author points out, some of the remodeling is bewildering, but easily fixed. The nicest part is that we could easily afford many of the houses. Oh sure, there is a beautiful behemoth in Carmel for a half million, but I don't want to live in stinking Carmel. I'm an Indy girl, now.

I predict a busy spring of open houses.

Martin's New Year Message

2009-12-31T20:40:00.001-08:00

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

2009-12-31T09:54:00.003-08:00

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

2009-12-30T07:10:00.002-08:00

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

2009-12-27T20:11:00.003-08:00

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

2009-12-27T17:26:00.005-08:00

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

2009-12-23T16:13:00.006-08:00

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

2009-12-16T13:29:00.006-08:00

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

2009-12-08T17:19:00.004-08:00

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

2009-12-01T23:51:00.004-08:00

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

2009-11-27T16:35:00.002-08:00

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

2009-11-24T07:29:00.004-08:00

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

2009-11-19T13:58:00.006-08:00

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

2009-11-13T09:07:00.005-08:00

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

2009-11-06T14:50:00.002-08:00

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

2009-11-06T06:48:00.003-08:00

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

2009-10-25T20:29:00.002-07:00

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

2009-10-25T18:11:00.002-07:00

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

2009-10-22T06:20:00.002-07:00

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

2009-10-21T09:42:00.003-07:00

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

2009-10-20T09:37:00.003-07:00

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

2009-10-15T09:58:00.002-07:00

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

2009-10-14T07:15:00.002-07:00

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

2009-10-13T06:29:00.004-07:00

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

2009-10-02T20:58:00.003-07:00

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

2009-09-27T12:22:00.011-07:00

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?

2009-09-26T08:18:00.005-07:00

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

2009-09-25T06:53:00.003-07:00

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

2009-09-23T04:58:00.006-07:00

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

2009-09-20T20:16:00.002-07:00

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

2009-09-19T17:21:00.007-07:00

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.

*****************

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.

******************

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.

*******************

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.

*********************

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.

********************

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

The Price Of Fame

2009-09-16T18:48:00.002-07:00

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

2009-09-09T17:05:00.002-07:00

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

2009-08-22T17:18:00.005-07:00

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

2009-08-20T19:49:00.002-07:00

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

2009-08-12T17:40:00.004-07:00

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

2009-08-12T06:20:00.003-07:00

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

2009-08-05T08:56:00.003-07:00

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.

Thanksgiving in July

2009-07-26T07:56:00.003-07:00

Because I am a crazy housewife, I got a wild hair and decided to have Thanksgiving in July. I have no idea where the idea came from, as I am not a huge fan of turkey, but the idea came and I went with it. I have to take my excitement where I can.

As a side note, our local Wal*Mart is being remodeled and it's a mess. Nothing is anywhere that makes sense. I spent twenty minutes trying to find the turkey breasts and finally asked a guy stocking hot dogs. Turns out they have hidden the turkey in the back, so the nice gentleman went into the back and brought out two turkey breasts to choose from. Going to Wal*Mart is trippy these days; everyone has this stunned look on their face like they survived a nuclear strike or found out George Bush is back in office or something and, I stumble around muttering, "Wow, I can't find anything!"

I'm going to make a eight pound turkey breast with all the fixings including green bean casserole, which is a family joke. Doesn't matter what I make for any sort of holiday dinner, green bean casserole is on the menu. It goes pretty well with lasagne, just so you know.

If you're in Indy on the Southside, come by about 6 and have Thanksgiving dinner in July.

It's Going To Be Better Today

2009-07-22T05:57:00.002-07:00

I feel much better today. I haven't snapped at anyone or cried yet. Granted, all I did was shove Martin out the door for work and make Mia peanut butter toast, but I had no urges to drop kick a stuffed animal or slam anything.

I got a lot of love from my blog friends and my Facebook friends, and that helped so much. We all go through days like this at some point. That little pink pill, I'm sure, helped as well. Martin, bless his heart, knows to just steer clear when I get like this. Dexter is bewildered, I think, and waiting for my head to spin around. Mia is just her Mia-self, doing her own thing in Mia's World.

Today is going to be better. I have some Becky Home Ecky projects to tackle. It's raining, so we're stuck in the house, no pool temptation today. I can expel any lingering frustrations with the vacuum cleaner and Magic Clean eraser.

I also hid the Turtle Tracks ice cream in the back of the freezer from a certain teen-age boy who thinks a "snack" is half the container.

Ice cream can solve a lot of problems, at least on a short term basis.

This is a Pink Oblong Shaped Tablet

2009-07-21T13:50:00.002-07:00

imprinted with A59 on the front.

It's the generic for Paxil.

And I haven't been taking mine.

I didn't intend to stop. I forgot to renew my prescription, and when I did, it hadn't been thirty days, so my insurance wouldn't put it through. When it did go through, the next day, I forgot to pick it up.

Fast forward about ten days, I realized that I am a mess. Sad, mad, crying at the drop of a hat. I am not, for the most part, a crier.

Last night, Martin and I decided we can't attend my 25th high school reunion. It's just not financially a sound move. I was completely willing to forgo my privacy and stay with my in-laws and recycle my dress from the 20th reunion, but my Indiana ass wouldn't fit into the dress. We'd also have to pay a dog sitter, all the stupid costs involved with a week-end road trip. I have two kids who start school on August 12. Dexter's book fee will be at least $150 and Mia's will be around $50. Not to mention school clothes. I'm not too worried about Dexter, he spent the last three weeks of school here looking like a homeless person, but I would like Mia to look like she doesn't dress in the dark.

Normally, something like not attending my high school reunion would bum me out a bit, but I wouldn't have a total freaking breakdown.

Which I did. Today. I went upstairs, laid on the bed with both my dogs, big and small, and cried. I cried because I am a loser. I can not organize my own house. I can not seem to get my arms around the fact that HEY! I'm a housewife! This is all there is! I haven't written one single word lately on any of the things I've been working on. Why? Cause it's dreck. Pure unadulterated SHIT. Who the hell would want to read it, when I don't even want to write it?

While I was lying on the bed moping, Dex came into the room and asked me what I was doing. I told him I was plotting an overthrow. He just looked at me and asked if I would help him change his earrings.

Martin is picking up my pills on the way home from work.

How Much Do You Really Need To Know?

2009-07-20T07:41:00.002-07:00

I Twitter. I am on Facebook. I blog.

I don't, however, lead such an exciting life. How much do you really want to know about my rather mundane days?

I walked Bennie this morning. He tried to eat duck poop. Weather is hot and sticky. Martin works from noon until eight today, so I will drive him and hit the grocery store on the way home. (Meijer's has double coupons up to fifty cents in Indy.) Then, since it's hot and sticky, I think it's a pool day. I can log a few PTH. (Prime Tanning Hours.)

I'll make dinner (orange beef and rice, I think), pick up Martin at eight, and settle in for Intervention at nine. I may get all crazy and do my nails.

Are you asleep yet?

How To Tell When Your Child Is Watching Too Much "Clean House"

2009-07-18T09:06:00.005-07:00

Mia loves Clean House. That's okay, I like it a lot as well. Mia will happily sit and watch back-to-back episodes.

This morning, Mia kept prodding me and telling me I had to get up and saying something about Clean House. I was afraid, at first, that she'd called Miss Nicey on me, and I was going to stumble downstairs, half-asleep, to find the whole Clean House Crew here. I realized, however, that my clutter, mayhem and foolishness is nowhere near qualifying for an episode of Clean House.

Mia, however, had decided to skip right to the reveal day. I recently bought some new butter cream place mats with green vines and leaves; by happy coincidence, they match a butter cream tablecloth I just happen to have. Mia put the tablecloth on the table, put the place mats down, and finished with a purple vase of butter cream silk mums and Boston Ferns.

She had also decorated the living room in Moderne Barbie. One end table is covered with Barbies in various stages of amputation and undress, but they are all sitting up, nestled around the lamp. She's placed various other dolls and stuffed animals on the other furniture.

Never mind that the tablecloth is all sorts of crooked and I have no idea how the vase of silk mums actually made it into my house in the first place, as I hate mums, silk or real, but I thought it was the sweetest thing, ever.

As a side note: it was Sponge Bob's tenth birthday this week. Nickeloden is running a Sponge Bob marathon this week-end. All Sponge Bob, all week-end. Someone at Nick needs their head on a stake for that one.

The Look

2009-07-14T17:20:00.002-07:00

I used to be the type of girl that wouldn't go to the mailbox without at least mascara on.

Boy, those days have gone the way of the blue suede shoe.

These days, I'm grateful to brush my teeth and get the knots out of my hair.

A clean tee shirt is pretty good.

I've got to stop looking like I don't care. I do care, and it's worth making the little bit of effort I do.

These days, my nails are polished. They are either OPI Red or OPI Sweetheart. Once in a while I do a black or almost black-brown.

I don't wear nearly the amount of makeup I used to; I don't remember the last time I had eyeshadow on. I wear grey/green eyeliner on the bottom, covered with black eyeshadow, lots of Clinique Naturally Glossy Mascara and bright red or pale pink lipstick. That's it.

Of course, I still lavish the Clinique Aromatic Elixir lotion all over. I've worn the same perfume for at least fifteen years now. I still like it and still get compliments.

I'm not wearing Dexter's basketball shorts out in public anymore. If I wear a tee shirt, it's a nice tee shirt. (Oxymoron? Maybe.) I'm trying to stop the tee shirt thing, as I have at least a hundred. Everything I've ever been to; art fair, concert, radio station, I have a tee shirt. I also like raiding Dexter's because he has hundreds as well, including "DETROIT: Only the strong survive" and a really cool Velvet Revolver shirt.

Anyway.

I'm adopting all of my beloved friends' advice on The Reluctant Housewife post. Per Hollly, the hippy housewife. Yes, the family is happy if they have clean underwear and clothes, and I feed them.

I'm going to do things in ten minutes increments, per T-Shirt and Judy.

I'm really trying to make this housewife thing work for me.

Ready For The Morning

2009-07-13T20:55:00.002-07:00

I made Martin's lunch. He has to walk at least twenty minutes to get into the building from the car in his company's huge parking lot, so it makes going out to lunch a lost cause. Only when the entire department goes, and then it's a two to three hour endeavor.

Anyway.

The refrigerated parts of his lunch are sitting in the bottom right hand shelf of the fridge. Just like they have been for oh, nine years now. Two sandwiches; one turkey and Swiss, one ham and cheddar, both on rolls, not the silly bread slices. A salad, with roasted almond pieces and cheese and bacon bits. A Strawberry Cheesecake Yolpait, which if you haven't had one, I heartily recommend you try
.
The rest of his lunch is in his Super Duper Self Chilling Awesome Lunch Bag, including the Mike Sell's Salt and Ground Pepper Chips.

I prepped the coffee pot for the morning. I even set a mug out. All that's left to do is hit that button. Three minutes later, coffee appears.

I even set out clothes for him.

All of this is an effort to sleep in on my part. Will I be able to? No. My husband lives in the same house as I do. We've been together nine years. He is still convinced I get up in the middle of the night and hide things on him.

At least he's very sweet.

Neighborhood Nosy Rosy

2009-07-12T17:10:00.003-07:00

That's me.

We live in townhouses that back up to another townhouse community. A wooden fence separates the two, but there are parts of the fence missing, making for easy access between the two.

There is a river on the west side of both communities. Being Indiana, it's reaching to call it a river. In Michigan, it would be considered a big creek. It's not very deep, but the drop off to the bank is treacherous.

Not too long after we moved in, Mia met two little girls named J and A. (Side note: I first thought J was a little boy because she was dressed very boyish, had short hair, and her name could work for either sex. She's sort of a Pat-ish child.) J is five and A is seven. Mia is six. Perfect age for playmates, right?

Well, it seems that J and A live in the other community behind us and regularly visit ours. Alone. Just a five and seven year old girl.

I didn't think much of it at first; whenever they came to play with Mia, I walked them home. At one point, on a Saturday morning, Dex was up earlier and Mia wasn't installed on the couch watching Sponge Bob. He figured that Mia was up in her room playing. She's always the first person awake. Martin and I always sleep in on week-ends, at least til ten. Dexter is drinking his coffee and watching something on TV when there is a knock on the door, and it's Mia. She had invited herself over to J and A's house. Not good. Not good at all and Little Miss Independent got grounded for a week. I guess she thought that since J and A had free run of the area, so did she.

I do not let Mia out to play or ride her bike or draw on the sidewalk alone. I don't let her walk 100 feet to the mailbox with watching her.

These kids are all over, riding their bikes, and not just on the sidewalk. They're out when it's almost dark. They roam way down to the front of our community, which is certainly not within yelling distance of where they live.

They're nice little girls, but I'm not real comfortable with their freedom.

Dexter has a friend named Mike who lives three doors down. Mike has a brother named Ryan who is 11. This afternoon, we saw Mike outside and said we were going down to the pool and Mike said he'd see us there, that he was taking Ryan. Mike didn't know that Ryan had told J and A where he was going, so they ran home and got their suits on. Mike is 17. He was watching his brother and I mentioned that it worries me. Mike was a little freaked out because apparently, J and A had indicated that Mike was watching them. Mike wanted no part of it, and I don't blame him.

Who let's their kids go not only to the pool, but a pool farthest away, and swim with somebodies seventeen year old brother, whom they've never met? Seriously, WFT? Mike is perfectly harmless and a good kid, but what if was someone else?

I'm not going to confront their parents, but I will call their community office, and ours. It concerns me. Actually, it scares the everlovin' shit out of me. We don't live in a high crime area. It's pretty quiet, mostly families. It still worries me. And if I am the neighborhood nosy rosy, so be it.

I have one child who is sixteen and another is six; other than them trying to escape the Mumma, they are whole and healthy and unmolested and I intend to keep it that way.

The Reluctant Housewife

2009-07-12T09:51:00.005-07:00

Since we have moved to Indiana, my job has been to be a housewife. And I'm not doing such a good job with it.

I like my house to be company clean all the time. That involves a lot of what my mom used to call elbow grease. Cleaning bores me silly. Give me a choice of the vacuum and a good book, and the vacuum will stay in the closet.

I loathe laundry. The actual sorting and washing and drying doesn't bother me, it's the folding and putting away the clean laundry that stymies me. I miss the days when my mother-in-law did our laundry and folded it and even separated it by owner. Of course, Margaret has gotten a bit forgetful as she's gotten older, and we did have some mix ups. Most notable was the time we went over to their house for dinner and my father-in-law was sporting my Ramones tee shirt.

I've done a lot of reading lately on the Retro Housewife roles many women have decided to take. I do believe right now that it's important for me to be available for my children. I do believe that since Martin is working a high profile job, and working hard long hours at it, I should take care of the house and support his career. Since I'm not working, we have made financial sacrifices, and I'm pretty good about being frugal.

The feminist in me screams against this, but then quiets down and tells me that this is a choice I made; I have the choice to work or not. I think many women in my age group were raised to believe we had to have it all: the husband, the kids, the house, the career.

We all saw those Charlie perfume commercials.

I spent a good part of my life living to work. Now, I have a more important job; taking care of my family. As my wise friend Judy suggested, I need to take pride in the small jobs I accomplish around the house.

That probably means no more laundry baskets in the dining room.

Things I Have Been Asked Today

2009-07-07T16:47:00.002-07:00

1.) How long will a butt cramp last?

2.) I love macaroni and cheese, it's yummy.

3.) Can I have a pop? Just one? I won't tell Daddy.

4.) Why don't we have any chocolate ice cream? Who ate it all? Dexter did, I know he did. He always eats all the ice cream! (During a total diva tantrum including hands on hips and a fierce scowl.)

5.) You threw away her booooooot! ( I threw away a Halloween Barbie doll boot, which was half eaten by a certain little dog. The boot was a moot point since most of the Barbies are involuntary amputees anyway, including Halloween Barbie.)

6.) I'm going to make a PBNJ. Now, Mommy, can you hand me the peanut butter? (She's standing next to the pantry, I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing the bathroom floor.)

7) They got $2000 dollars for their yard sale! That's more than $1000 dollars! (during Clean House, which she is strangely addicted to.)

A Non-Celebrity Death

2009-07-02T08:35:00.002-07:00

My biological mother Connie died.

For those of you who don't know, I was adopted as an infant. As a side note, so was my husband, and we adopted our daughter Mia. Throw Dexter into the mix, and we could be a poster for the blended family.

I grew up always knowing I was adopted. My mom and dad made it a positive experience for me. I always wondered about where I came from, and my mom told me everything she knew, which wasn't much.

After I had Dexter, I became more curious. It took me a while to actually commit to doing something about it. My mom encouraged me, and helped me. Eventually, I ended up at the Oakland County Courthouse in Pontiac, and paid for a search. It worked like this: They did a search for the original records of the adoption and released the non-identifying information. Then, they tried to contact the biological family to see if they wanted to establish communication. Not all biological families do, and sometimes, the information just isn't available.

Connie and I exchanged letters and talked on the phone. About a month later, we met. I found out that we shared a birthday, July 28. She gave birth to me on her thirty-third birthday. She gave me pictures of herself in her younger days, and we looked very much alike. We also shared mannerisms. When I met my half-sister and brother, they were a little freaked out, I think, at the resemblance.

I never established a close bond with Connie. I suppose it is mostly my fault. I didn't know what to say or how to feel. I am close to my brother and sister and I cherish those relationships.

My sister took care of Connie these last years, when Connie's health had declined. She carried the burden of making the decisions, much as I did when I lost my mom. I know how difficult it is to see your mother dying slowly, before your eyes.

I'm only starting to be Gobsmacked by this.

RIP Connie, and thank you making the most difficult decision any mother can.

Kidnapped By Aliens

2009-06-24T18:31:00.002-07:00

I was sitting on my patio, near dusk. I saw a cigar-shaped light in the sky. It hovered over the river near us, then landed in the strip of lawn behind the townhouses.

They were sexless, faceless, ageless, a sort of aquamarine color, with great three-fingered hands and splayed feet. They came to my knees, but I'm a tall woman.

Their ship was cool and serene. They offered me sharp cheddar cheese, rosemary and olive oil Triscuits and a fine Chardonnay, as if they knew my favorite snack.

They gave me a marvelous mani-pedi, a massage, and trimmed my hair, cooing over the length and the curls. Their magic made all the split ends and grey disappear. It was better than a day at a spa.

When they released me, they embraced my knees with tender affection.

Not really, but hey, I'm BACK.

Tonight, 8 p.m.

2009-06-12T06:43:00.001-07:00

Crazy Dog Lady

2009-06-06T08:56:00.004-07:00

Anyone who knows me even a little knows that I am a Crazy Dog Lady. At one point, Martin and I had four dogs. We didn't plan it, they just sort of happened. Kind of like polygamist wives and babies.

There is little doubt that when I die, I will be found by a meter reader, the mailman, or a distant relative charged with looking in on Crazy Cousin Lisa (Hello Brian!) once in a while. I will be prostate on the kitchen floor, a shredded bag of Kibbles & Bits nearby, with all of my limbs ending in bloody stumps, after having been gnawed off by my 18 dogs.

I started today by washing the dingleberries off the Pomeranian's butt to prevent her from wiping her ass on the carpet. The result was five pounds of very pissed off Pom and one very disgusted Crazy Dog Lady. I wish our sink had a spray nozzle, it would have been so much easier.

In Which The Author Breaks Her Vow

2009-05-27T16:12:00.002-07:00

Had you going there, didn't I, dear and gentle readers? You thought I broke my marriage vows, right?

I actually broke my vow to my last doctor, who told me if I continued to tan, I would need to develop a close relationship with a good dermatologist.

I promised that doctor that all of my future tans would come from a Tan Can.

I lied.

I've been lying out in the sun, arguing with my son over the tube of Bain de Soliel. At the pool. I don't actually swim in the pool, it's far too cold this early in the year.

One of the most popular entries on my old blog was titled Lisa's Tanning Tips.

Old habits die hard, and I still vow not to look my Aunt Babbie, who resembled a Crocodile purse, but the sun is irresistible to me. It must be the Italian.

Indy 500 Fever and Death Hags

2009-05-26T05:41:00.005-07:00

In case you were living in a cave somewhere, or at least not in Indiana, this week-end was the Indy 500 race. It's the 100th celebration of the race, although a few years were skipped because of various wars.

Martin had the opportunity to take Dex and Mia to Pole Day; I chose to stay home and take a nap. Martin was disappointed he didn't plan for Community Day so he could take the Mini out for a spin on the track.

We had the opportunity to meet one of my Find A Death friends who was in town for the race. Amazingly, all the years I've been a Find A Death fan and participating on the forums, it was the first time I had met an actual live Death Hag like myself. My Death Hag friend has been attending the race for 28 years, and the other gentleman pictured with us was celebrating four decades of attendance. He and his other older buddy knew everything about Indy 500 history and had met many of the drivers and crew teams. We had a great time.

Since the race is blacked out in Indy, we had to wait until evening to watch it. We went to the pool to resist the temptation but Martin still cheated so we went into it knowing Helio won. We've already decided that next year we will plan ahead, get the tickets and actually go.

I can always bring earplugs and a book, in case I get bored with watching cars go in circles for 500 miles.

Absolutely Average, Chapter I

2009-05-14T07:06:00.001-07:00

This is some writing I've been working on for a while, on and off. It's semi-autobiographical, semi-fictionalized. Martin, the only one who has read it so far, thinks it's rather dull. I kind of like it. Let me know what you think.

The first time I saw the tiny blue and silver trailer, I thought it was adorable; it looked like
something my dolls would live in. Momma, I could tell, hated it. Being five at the time, I didn’t understand the connotations:. We were moving from a tidy brick house on a shaded street called Red Leaf Lane into a shabby mobile home in the middle of a field on a dirt road that led to nowhere.

Momma and I had driven the forty miles from our old house to the new-to-us trailer in her big old ’69 Cadillac Eldorado that we called the Silver Submarine. She always liked to joke that it was the Discount Elvis model. It’d rained the whole way, pounding cold rain, punctuated by thunder and the wind bending the trees nearly sideways.

Momma wasn’t a steady driver in any type of weather other than a perfectly still day. The huge car dwarfed her tiny four foot ten frame, and she had to sit on the Detroit Yellow Pages and with a cushion behind her back to see over the steering wheel and reach the pedals. I could tell she was nervous because she kept both hands clamped on the steering wheel and the pale freckled skin on her hands was even whiter than usual. The only time she took her hands off the wheel was to light another Pall Mall Gold.

When we finally got to the trailer, I still thought it looked cute, even through the rain, but Momma just sighed. She left the car on and the wipers going until the windows fogged up. Finally, she grabbed her purse and told me it was time to go in.

The trailer had a screened front porch. Already, some of our boxes were there, stacked in an enormous puddle of rain. Momma gave the soggy boxes a grim look as she unlocked the door.

The trailer smelled musty and looked even tinier than I remembered. I walked from one end to the other, inspecting. A living room, a kitchen with a built in table, a bedroom with built in shelves and dresser, a tiny bathroom and another bedroom, slightly larger than the first with a built in dresser and a tiny closet. The doors in between the rooms were wood, and slid back and forth, very clever to my five year old mind. The bathroom still had plastic curtains in the tiny window. The floors were all dingy yellow linoleum, worn black in spots. I wondered where Momma was going to put our big dining room table and her china hutch.

Momma was trying to turn on lights and muttering under her breath. I finally asked her what was wrong. The electric hadn’t been turned on and Momma complained about competency and utility companies and monopolies, all of which went right over my head. The only Monopoly I knew was a board game I was too young to play.

The rain stopped and the sky was a murky gray green color. I decided to go out into the overgrown yard and explore. I could tell Momma was going to have one of her fits and I knew it was best to make myself scarce.

Daddy and his buddy Junior were driving the moving van out. They left hours before Momma and I did, but they weren’t here yet. When we learned about opposites at school, I thought about Daddy and Junior. Daddy was tall and broad, with dark wavy hair and deep green eyes. He was always neat in appearance and careful with words. He was gentle and soft-spoken and still had that funny mixture of a hillbilly Italian accent, even though he’d lived up north for years. Junior was short and skinny, never shaved, and started drinking Carling Black Labels as soon as he woke up. He talked all the time, laughing at his own jokes. He was married to an incredibly fat woman named Peggy who bossed him like he was dog. Junior was from down south, too, Kentucky, and you could hear the holler in his voice. Daddy was a GM man, and Junior was a Ford man. It made for lively discussions between them.

I was peeking in the windows of a tiny building and trying to figure out what it was when Momma grabbed my shoulder.

“Come on baby, come on! Tornado!”

Having just watched The Wizard of Oz, I was eager to hang around and watch the tornado, half-hoping it would pick us up and toss us into Oz. No such luck, though, since Momma was tugging me toward a strange looking door in the ground.

One look at the rickety ladder disappearing into that foul-smelling place, and I was having none of it. I was pretty sure there were spiders in there, and who knows what else. When I stopped, and looked at Momma to protest, her bright red hair was whipping around her face, and she was pale as a sheet. Her freckles stood out like polka dots.

“Go, Lisa, now!” Her voice was lost in the wind, but I knew what she was saying. With a whimper, I started to go down the ladder. Momma was right behind me, her normally pristine white Keds soaked grey. As soon as her feet hit the dirt floor, she slammed the door shut on top of us. It wasn’t pitch black, but pretty close. I didn’t budge an inch; I was waiting for a shower of spiders. I just knew they were going to land in my hair.

When my eyes became adjusted to the gloom, I noticed the little underground room was lined with shelves covered in junk. One of them held an old-timey camping lantern amid a pile of rusty tools. Momma was fumbling in her jeans pocket and finally produced her Zippo and lit it.

We could still hear the wind outside, and the door banged over our heads. I was always a tentative child, scared by just about everything, and right then, I was terrified. Momma sat on the dirt floor and pulled me into her lap. She rocked me a little, even though I was too big for it, and said, “It’s only a storm, baby girl. That’s all. It’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

Nestled into her lap, smelling her Chanel No. 5, mixed with the dark Pall Mall tobacco scent, her arms around me, I was almost content, tornado and cellar notwithstanding. I even drifted off to sleep. I’ve always been able to sleep through the loudest noises, a habit that didn’t do me well in my grown years of missed alarms, late arrivals for classes and jobs and sprinting across airport parking lots.

When Momma shook me awake, I was startled by the quiet. No wind, no sound of rain, nothing. Momma was still dead pale, but she managed a little smile. “Well, Baby, welcome to country living. You just went through your first tornado.”

When we climbed out of the cellar, tree branches littered the yard. A piece of the aluminum siding from the trailer was caught up in a big oak tree near the end of the driveway. I must have been googly-eyed, because Momma laughed a little and said, “Too bad it didn’t knock that shitbox all the way over. Guess we better start unpacking. I can’t imagine where your Daddy and Junior are. Well, yes, I guess I can.”

Momma marched me back to the trailer and got me settled into unpacking my books. I liked to pretend I was a librarian, so I sorted my books and started arranging them in my new bedroom. Even though I was five, I was a first class reader and Momma and Daddy liked to brag on me. Momma was banging stuff around in the tiny kitchen and talking under her breath. Finally, she said, “How about some music? Let’s see what we can pull in out here in God’s Country.” She had her little transistor radio set on the kitchen table and started twiddling the dial. After lots of static and a Holy Roller preacher, she found CKLW. “Joy ToThe World” was playing and Momma and I both started singing. It was my favorite song.

Lost in bubblegum pop from the tinny radio and my books, it took me a while to notice it was getting dark. “Momma? What are we going to do when it’s night? And I know its past dinnertime.”

She stuck her head around the corner into my bedroom and said, “Well, let’s go eat.”
Both of us looked like rag dolls, mud caking our shoes, one of my braids half undone and dust on the seat of Momma’s pants. “We’ll fit right in with the hicks,” she said.

It was so out of character for my prissy Momma to go out in public like that, I was shocked into silence all the way into town. And then town shocked me, too. It was nothing; a bunch of fields, a couple worn down gas stations and a block of stores and restaurants. There was a big old-fashioned brick courthouse with an immense lawn and a D & C dime store. No J.L. Hudson’s, no A & P. There were a few people on the sidewalks, walking dogs or window shopping, but you still could have dropped a bomb and missed them all.

As soon as Momma parked, I knew where we were headed. There was a big neon martini glass, complete with a pimento-stuffed olive, which flashed above a door marked Duke’s. “Come on,” Momma said, “We’ll wash up in the ladies room and get you fed and me watered.”

Duke’s was dim inside, but cheerful. Pictures covered every inch of wall space. Momma paused at the bar and asked for the restroom. The restroom was the tiled in the same shade of pink as Pepto Bismal, which I refused to swallow no matter how upset my stomach was. Momma spread some paper towels from the dispenser on the counter before she put her purse down. She scrubbed my face with the nasty pink soap and a rough paper towel, made me wash my grubby hands and asked me if I had to go. I did, so I went into the tiny stall.
“Momma? There’s stuff written here. ‘Sueann likes cock’”, I started to read.

“Never mind that, just make sure you put paper on the seat.”

When I came out, Momma had brushed out her hair, put on pale pink lipstick and given herself a fresh spray of perfume. Her plain beige camp shirt was still wrinkled but she’d flipped up the collar and tucked it into her jeans. She fussed with my braid for bit and made me wash my hands again.

When we sat down in a booth across from the bar, I felt like everyone in the place was staring at us. Momma had that effect, sometimes, with her bright red hair and being so tiny. A hillbilly lady on the jukebox sang about D-I-V-O-R-C-E.

Our waitress was young, and had long dark hair. Momma would have called her a Hippie. She smiled as she handed us menus. Momma said, “Good evening! I would like a Tanqueray martini, just a tiny drop of vermouth; in fact, just think about the vermouth, wave the bottle around, don’t actually pour any in. Straight up, icy cold, with an olive. The young lady would like a root beer.” The waitress’ smile disappeared and her eyebrows went up. Momma’s charm didn’t work on everyone; people sometimes thought she was just being snooty. “Yes ma’am,” she said already walking away.

“Don’t look at me like that. They have a martini sign; they should know how to make a decent martini. What do you want to eat?” She opened her menu and started naming the different dishes. “Cheeseburger, how about a cheeseburger?”

When the waitress came back with our drinks, Momma ordered me a cheeseburger and got herself a bowl of French Onion soup. She sipped her martini and pronounced it divine. The waitress looked startled, like someone had poked her in the back.

“Momma,” I hissed. “Stop it! You’re scaring her.” I could feel my cheeks burn red. I loved my Momma; she was my Momma and my best friend and I dogged her every step, but sometimes, people just didn’t understand her and that made me embarrassed for her. Momma just rolled her eyes at me and continued tapping down her Pall Mall.

I surveyed the bar. There was a big table of young guys who had on baseball uniforms and hats. Their table was strewn with pitchers of beer and plates of French Fries. I figured their game must have been rained out; they were sullen and not talking much. An old man sat at the bar, clad in faded overalls and a John Deere gimme cap; he was hunched over a draft beer and folding and refolding a matchbook. The bartender was an enormous bald man, standing with his arms crossed, leaning on the back bar. He had the biggest moustache I’d ever seen.

“Momma. Look at that man’s moustache!”

“That, Baby, is a handlebar moustache. Sported by Spanish cavilers and out of style for at least a century.”

There was a table of four middle-aged women, playing cards and laughing. They each had a drink and a cigarette close at hand. They were dressed nothing like my Momma; they had on pantsuits and it looked like they got their hair done in a beauty shop. I was pretty sure the pantsuits were polyester, too, a fabric my Momma refused to buy, claiming it was akin to wearing plastic clothes.

Momma had three martinis and barely touched her soup. I gobbled the cheeseburger like it was my last meal. Now that it was full dark outside, I wasn’t too sure about going back to the trailer. None of our furniture was there, there were no lights and I didn’t fancy sleeping on the floor in the pitch black.

Momma finally crushed out her cigarette and settled up with the waitress. When we walked outside to the car, the night was darker than any I had ever seen. I was used to city darkness; even when it was dark, there were still streetlights and traffic and sirens. This was a big empty dark, no moon, no stars and very still.

Momma sensed my apprehension and said, “Don’t worry, I’m sure your Daddy and Junior will be there by now, even if they had to push the U-Haul from Southfield.”

Sure enough, when we pulled into the driveway, the U-Haul was backed in and the big doors were open. Inside, it was empty. Daddy and Junior were inside the trailer, sitting at the tiny kitchen table with a cooler half full of beer on the floor, and a bottle of whiskey in the middle of the table. Momma’s fancy candle holder that sat on the dining room table in our old house was on the table, all the candles burning and throwing light into the corners. They’d set up all the furniture that would fit in the small space and boxes were piled on the couch and every available inch of floor space.

“Hey,” Daddy said. “How’s my girls?” I hugged his neck and buried my face in the softness of his sweatshirt.

Momma just stared at Daddy and Junior and finally turned away to sort through the boxes. I settled into Daddy’s lap and Daddy and Junior picked up talking where they left off, about running coonhounds, the kennel Daddy planned on building, the fishing in the area.

Momma finally stood behind Daddy. She tapped his shoulder and in measured tones, said, “Where did you put the linens. Baby girl need to go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Daddy! We had a tornado!” I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten the most exciting thing that had happened.

“I heard, I heard. It was on WWJ. That’s why me and Junior stopped. We were afraid the truck would blow right over!”

Momma snorted. “More likely you were afraid you might miss Happy Hour somewhere along the way.”

Daddy ignored that and told her he’d tried to put all the boxes in the right rooms and set up the furniture. Momma, a meticulous housekeeper and organizer, had taped sheets of paper on the outside of each box, listing what the box contains and what room it was for. Sure enough, the box labeled “Lisa, linens” was sitting on top of my bed.

Daddy was like that; he’d do something he knew would irritate Momma, like showing up so late with the moving truck, then do something nice, like put all the boxes where they belonged. That way, she couldn’t stay riled up too long.

Momma fished out a pair of pajamas for me from the box labeled “Lisa, clothes” and instructed me to get changed. She made up my bed, snapping the sheets and tucking the corners in tight, just the way I liked them. “No story tonight, baby. It’s too late.”

She slid the wooden door between my bedroom and the kitchen closed.

I lay in the dark, listening to the murmurs of the adult’s voices. Momma was quiet at first, and then I heard a glass clinking and knew she’s found her bottle of gin and was going to sit at the candlelit table with Daddy and Junior. I heard their laughter, muted, because I was supposed to be asleep. I wondered about the friends I’d left behind I Southfield, if I would ever see them again. I thought about riding my bike; I’d just mastered my two wheeler and I couldn’t imagine Momma letting me ride up and down the narrow dirt road. She hadn’t let me leave our block at our old house.

I wondered about school and if I would make new friends. I had a whole summer ahead of me and I thought about where I would play, and what I could do. I didn’t think we’d be going on trips to the zoo, or swimming at the Metro Park; they were too far away.

The last thing I heard, before drifting off to sleep, was Momma and Daddy laughing at one of Junior’s jokes.

Suffer The Children

2009-05-09T18:20:00.004-07:00

Once in a while, I have to step away from the true crime. Normally, I can distance myself adequately to discuss crimes and research them. Death pictures generally don't bother me.

Lately, however, it seems that the murders of children have been all over the news.

In my world, you don't mess with children, the elderly or animals. They are all innocents. (Side note: yes, I realize some old people are cantankerous and hard to deal with, but they are generally not a threat.)

I've been following the Caylee Anthony case since I first heard she was missing. It's heartbreaking because I truly believe that Caylee's mother threw her away like so much garbage. The Sandra Cantu case is disturbing as well, since it's obvious that the murderer is batshit crazy and there were many red flags.

This one, though, goes beyond breaking my heart. **WARNING** The article contains information that will disturb you and make you want to punch walls.

What more, as a society, do we have to do, to protect our children from their own parents? There are safe haven laws. Adoption is always an option. Friends, family, churches, community organizations, fire departments and police stations, hospitals; any of these place will assist anyone who feels they can't care for their child.

I'm overwhelmed with this one. I don't even know how to articulate the rage and sadness I feel.

Little Bit Of This, Little Bit Of That

2009-05-08T08:27:00.003-07:00

Our move is completed. Of course, since I was involved and I am a supreme klutz who is also accident prone, is was not without danger and incident.

I burned my hand quite badly on the heating element of the oven in our old place. Mmmmm, what's for dinner? Lisa's burned flesh!

Unpacking in the new place, I discovered that one of my serving platters was broken in the move. Unwrapping it, a broken piece landed on my bare foot, embedding itself quite nicely. After I pulled it out, my foot then bled for a good hour. I left little trails of blood all over.

Much to my great dismay, three of my mother's dessert plates also shattered in the move. I cut my thumb on a shard of china and proceeded to bleed all over the rest of the dishes I was unpacking.

Both trails of blood probably could have been easily prevented had I been able to find the Band-Aids rather than using a piece of paper towel.

In other news, I very much like our new townhouse and the area we are living in. We are conviently located very close to the Indiana Juvenile Corrections Facility, which is a girl's juvenile unit. I tease Dexter and tell him he could probably troll for dates there. He doesn't find that prospect nearly as amusing as I do, since I bet a lot of those girls could easily beat his skinny ass.

There is also a Rally's very nearby and if you haven't had their Bacon Cheddar Ranch fries, I heartily recommend them. They are ooey gooey wonderful.

Dexter has enrolled in high school here. When I origanally contacted the school to enroll him, the guidance conselor was not encouraging since there were only about three weeks of school left. However, after meeting Dexter, who was itching to get back to school and not just sit on the couch, she decided he should attend and take finals. We have also sucessfully secured his Indiana Learning Permit for driving. It's rather a moot point right now, though, since the Mini is a stick and he doesn't know how to drive a manual transmission yet. So far our family decision is that Dexter and I will share a car, bigger than the Mini, and it will probably be an automatic. He likes to pick out hoopties and muscle cars and I like to pick out more practical things, like a BMW station wagon. It makes for interesting discussion.

This week-end will be spent finishing unpacking, making Good Will runs to drop off donations and hopefully, eating a steak and potato prepared by someone other than myself.

ETA: I am aware that the video and song has nothing to do with moving, but it does include the lines Little Bit Of This/Little Bit Of That and it's a really pretty song about love. And loving my family is what I do best.

Four Moves In Four Years

2009-04-25T06:14:00.003-07:00

Yes, Dear and Gentle Readers, the Watsons are once again moving house.

We're moving from Fishers to the other side of Indianapolis. We will be much closer to Martin's job. Martin's commute is often an hour and fifteen minutes each way. We share a car, and that means I am mostly without a car. I am okay with that, because I grew up as an only child and can easily amuse myself, but with kids, it's suffocating and impractical.

And yes, I did say "kids" as in plural; my son, Dexter, is living with us now. That's a whole other story that I'm not going into but I am thrilled to have him back with his Mumma. Since Dexter's move was, shall we say, sudden, packing for him will be a breeze; all his stuff is already in Hefty bags.

Our walk-in closet is still stuffed with Totes that I never unpacked when we moved here. Instead of just toting them across town, as we've toted them across town and state lines previously, I may actually go through them and get rid of the stuff.

Mia's room is, as always, a disaster. The genius who invented MoonSand needs their head on a stake. Her room is also littered with Barbies, mostly naked and mangled. Many are multiple amputees with unfortunate haircuts. She needs a sign on her door that says, "Mia's Home For Battered Barbies." I can only assume the Barbies are fighting among themselves since her sole Ken lost his hands and most of one arm long ago.

Martin has several boxes of abandoned computer parts and equipment. We also have two perfectly good LCD monitors we tried to unload on Craig's List, for free, but no takers. Four or five people have claimed they wanted the monitors, but never showed up. The last chance is today, or they are off to Good Will. The rest of the computer crap will get a lid on the Tote and we'll call it good. My first instict was to throw the lot out, and see if Martin notices.

My downfall, besides never purging my closet, is books and health and beauty aids. I already sorted my books, and packed those I am keeping. Today I am tackling the Beauty Products I Bought And Hated But Kept Anyway.

It's not that I am a packrat. It's more than I get lazy about going through things. It's much easier to stick it in a box and deal with it later. I've done that with the past three moves This time, I'm doing it differently. I'm actually getting rid of the stuff this time.

Wish me luck.

"You Will Entertain Angels Unaware"

2009-04-17T04:30:00.004-07:00

I've done a lot of highly self-destructive, dangerous, and downright stupid things in my life. Most occurred when I was in my twenties, when I thought I was immortal. When I think back on that time, I am sometimes amazed that I am still alive.

One time in particular sticks out to me. I lived in Eastern Pennsylvania and thought nothing of driving the twelve to fourteen hours back to Michigan. Alone. I traveled Interstate 80, which goes through the mountains of central PA. It's not as remote as driving through parts of Canada or the deserts in the American West, but the exits are few and far between.

This particular trip, I left Wednesday morning to arrive home in time for Thanksgiving. I was somewhere in the middle of the state when my car died. I was able to pull onto the shoulder and just sat there for a while. I had no idea how far the next exit was or how far back the last one I passed was. It was the dark ages, when cell phones were called car phones and came in bags and were a luxury for mere mortals like me.

I don't remember how long I sat there, trying to figure out what I should do. There weren't a lot of cars going by and none of them stopped.

Finally, a semi-truck slowed down, and pulled into the breakdown lane in front of me. The driver, a tall, skinny older gentleman, walked back to my car. Even then, I was a Death Hag and wondered if I was meeting my first serial killer.

His name was Floyd, and he offered to drive me to the next exit. I was hesitant, but then my sense of immortality kicked in and I figured I could outrun him after getting in a good punch, if need be. Floyd was no spring chicken.

When I climbed up into the cab of his truck, I saw he had a Bible and a statue of Jesus on the dashboard. That didn't soothe me much; lots of serial killers think they're getting directions from straight from the Big Guy.

Floyd wasn't like that, though. He said he had daughters and he would have worried sick if one of them broke down on Route 80 and no one stopped to help. We chatted while he drove me to the next exit, which was several miles away. He even offered to wait with me while my rescue ride came.

He wouldn't take any money, and refused to give me his address so I could send him a thank you note. Before he climbed back into his rig, he shook my hand and said, "God Bless, Lisa."

Barbie Goes To Riding Camp

2009-04-10T08:46:00.003-07:00

Mia recently got a new Wii game, The Barbie Horse Adventure.

One of the characters is Kyle, the stable owner's nephew. It's obvious that Kyle is a sex offender on parole to his aunt's ranch. He's got serious stalker tendencies, as well. Every time he sees Barbie, he says, "Hi Barbie!", or "Hey Barbie!" like he didn't just see her twelve seconds ago. He pops up no matter where she is. He is eager to point out the bunkhouse where she will be sleeping and you know she can expect some midnight visits from Kyle, to make sure she has enough blankets for her cot and that her pillow is fluffly enough. Or at least, that will be the excuse he gives his parole officer later.

Being Barbie, of course she has to shop for riding clothes. Instead of picking out the more practical jeans and boots, or even fancy jodhpurs and a hat, she goes for the hot pants, halter top and flip flops. As you do.

Barbie must be told that her horse needs to be fed and watered, which confirms my belief that it is a good thing that Ken is not anatomically correct and they are not able to reproduce.

The best part is finding out that Barbie is a "natural rider."

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

2009-04-01T16:00:00.003-07:00

I have a friend here at our apartment complex, let's call her Cee. We met on the playground, where both of us were watching our girls play. Cee has a three year old named Kay. Cee was the first person who actually approached me in Indiana for friendship; I had already known my friend, M, from blogging.

So Cee and I became good friends. We spent a lot of time together during the summer, doing things with the girls. Going to the park, the pool, the State Fair. She even visited Michigan with us.

Cee had a terrible childhood, about everything you can imagine happening to a little girl, she went through. Father unknown, mother an addict, in and out of jail. Cee was abused, neglected, molested, in foster care, back with her mom. She was eventually adopted by a distant relative and made it through high school.

As a result, she has some emotional problems. I've talked to her in depth, but I'm not a professional, only a friend. She is on some fairly heavy medication, but every doctor she has seen has recommended, strongly, that she seek therapy. She never has actually picked up the phone and done it, though, so the problems just get lost in a haze of anti-depressants, they don't actually get confronted and resolved.

She is a very sweet person, but she is very needy. She recently had a second child, and it's as if she never had a first. She calls me with questions about things that are just common sense, and always wants me to come over and just hang out. Which, I can't always do. I have a family and home of my own.

I also am starting to feel like I've been taken advantage of. When Cee decided to change jobs, I watched Kay for over a month, and Cee and I agreed that she would pay me $100 a week, when she could afford it. Kay, I should add, is a handful. I could list the ways, but she is a demon child, and when she bit Mia, I kind of lost it. I've never seen any of the money, needless to say. Not even a mention of it. Like that whole month of hell never happened. Even if she would have said thank you, or taken me out to lunch, I would feel better about it, that she appreciated it and didn't just take me for granted.

She also quit that job, which paid a lot more than her previous fast food career, about two months into it.

When we move next month, we will be on the other end of town. I'm going to quietly break up with Cee and not talk to her six times a day on the phone. I'll still talk to her once in a while, but this is becoming a toxic relationship for me. My life has not been a walk down the red carpet with a bowl of Maraschino cherries waiting at the end. I've finally gotten myself to a place where I am fairly happy. I feel like I can't support someone who does nothing to help themselves. I've always been the type of person that when something is broken, I fix it. I can't fix this one, though, and I can't be the support anymore.

Michigan State Spartans

2009-03-30T11:54:00.001-07:00

It's A Nice Day For A White Wedding

2009-03-25T06:04:00.003-07:00

Eight years ago, on March 28, 2001, it was a cold and snowy day in Livingston County, Michigan. There had been a snowstorm the night before and the roads out in the boonies where I lived still weren't cleared.

Martin and I left the house in plenty of time to get to the Law Center, but we encountered a problem. A neighbor's cows had run melancholy mad through their fence and were standing in the middle of our road and would not move. They looked at us with blank disregard and not even several blasts of the horn would budge them until they decided, in their tiny bovine brains, to get along, little doggie.

We eventually made it to the law center to get married. Weddings are performed first thing, so we went into the courtroom and took a seat amongst all the people waiting arraignments, dressed in their orange jail jumpsuits, accessorized with handcuffs.

After the brief ceremony, performed by Judge DelVero, who happened to be my country mile neighbor for years, we were legally wed. All of the jail guests in their orange jumpsuits gave us a hearty round of applause.

Three months later, we had our formal ceremony at the historic wedding chapel in downtown Howell and a dinner dance at the Lakelands Country Club. Many of our guests have told us that it was one of the nicest, most fun weddings they have ever been to.

So eight years later, this Saturday, we celebrate the occasion of our first wedding. ( Of course, I milk it and require two celebrations.) Happy anniversary, MG. Til death do us part, baby.

Don't think he doesn't sleep with one eye open.

Playing Cards With The Gang

2009-03-18T06:01:00.004-07:00

I think it's important to exercise your brain. Because I seem to have the attention span of a gnat, I do a variety of things to make my mind work. One of my favorites is playing cards.

I have a card game installed on my computer. Some of the cards games are rummy, cribbage, euchre, and the old standby, solitaire. I play rummy the most, after a long contentious relationship with euchre.

The game assigns names to your opponents and partners, rather than playing Robot I, Robot II, etc. The names are quaintly old-fashioned. Because I have a vivid imagination, I have assigned characteristics to each player, all of whom reside in the same Florida retirement home. At least in my head.

Horatio is a shy Cuban gentlemen, who quietly plays his hand, and doesn't gloat when he wins.
Hector is a Mexican American who smokes cigars, and has a great bluffing face.
Manny is Horatio's younger brother and likes to make me think I am winning, until he comes from behind and smacks my down my score, hard.
Mary is a sweet, tiny lady who originally hails from Brooklyn; she just likes to play for the social aspect and if she wins, she is truly delighted.
Hetty is a Holocaust survivor. She is a cut-throat player and plays to win. She also insists I bring pastries when I come to play.
Harrison is Harrison Ford, of course. He often wonders why he spends his time playing cards in the retirement home with these old farts, but figures he is giving back in some way and that is important to him. Besides, he likes to gamble and Horatio and Hector are always up for a five dollar hand. I never bet against Harrison, he always thrashes me soundly.

Maybe my father-in-law is right. Maybe I do need to get a job.

The House Of Plague And Other News

2009-03-05T06:23:00.003-08:00

Mia has been sick since Saturday evening. She woke up in the middle of SNL and told me, "Mommy, I don't feel good." She was drenched in sweat and had a fever of 104. I dosed her with children's Tylenol ™ and applied wet cool washcloths. Her fever came down but she was still not 100%. I should note, we have been very very lucky with Mia; she's been sick only a handful of times. She had chicken pox for about 24 hours, she's had a few bad colds and one ear infection, so for her to tell me she didn't feel well, I knew she was well and truly sick.

In the meantime, I haven't been feeling all that great, either, and although Mia no longer has any type of fever, she now sounds like a snot factory. Which is good, it's getting it out. Martin this morning also said he wasn't feeling well. I expect we will have a lovely week-end, since Martin's boss also has been out two days with the same plague and Boss is supposed to be on call, but I suspect Martin will take it.

In other news, I got my nose pierced. I quite like it, although it did hurt quite a bit, but only for a minute. I promise to post pictures soon.

Here, Smell This

2009-02-27T06:32:00.006-08:00

It's a rather charming human foible that we say that, and shove something, generally unpleasant in scent, under someones nose. *

Yesterday, I mopped my kitchen floor on my hands and knees. (Yep, get Guinness on the phone.) I was using Mr. Clean which is filled with Febreeze scent. I then scrubbed my kitchen counters, with Soft Scrub, which is lemon scented. I proceeded to the bathroom, where I cleaned the shower with the spray on Arm & Hammer stuff, which is "clean" scented. (Versus the "damp towel scent"?)

I also ran the dishwasher, using the Cascade Complete, no specific scent, and Lemi-shine, which is of course, lemon scented. What kind of freak sniffs their clean plates, anyway?

I did a load of laundry and used the All Spring Scent, and filled my Downy Dryer Ball with Gain Island Scent. I'm not sure exactly which island it's supposed to smell like. It wasn't Mackinaw, since it didn't smell like lilacs and fudge; it wasn't Manhattan since it didn't smell like urine and it didn't smell like Jamaica because it didn't smell like a blunt.

After vacuuming, I sprayed Febreeze air freshener, Winter Evening, throughout. I then lit a stick of lemongrass incense.

Since I then needed cleaning, I showered, using Dove Energize body wash, which is lemongrass and grapefruit scented. I washed my hair in shampoo that has a faint cherry smell, as does the conditioner. I moisturized after using Jergern's Age Defying Lotion on my legs, which smells like Jergen's, almond cherry, and used Clinique Aromatic Elixir on my arms, so I don't have to use perfume. I styled my hair with the stuff that means I can get a comb through my hair, which smells faintly nutty. I then used the gel that makes my curly hair somewhat less wild, which smells like cucumbers. I don't necessarily want my hair to smell like a vegetable, but it doesn't come in an unscented version.

Since my favorite tee shirt ("I'm Blogging This") was wrinkled, I sprayed some Downy Iron In The Bottle on it, which makes you smell like a dryer sheet.

The best part of this whole overwhelming scent thing, is that I have a horrible sense of smell, from years of smoking and other body abuses. I can barely smell anything.

*The best person to do this to is Mia. I make her smell something awful and she screws up her face and says, "Mommy, why did you make me smell that?"

That Song Stuck In My Head

2009-02-20T06:16:00.003-08:00

I've always been a music fan. I've always wandered through life with one song or another stuck in my head. Certain songs remind me of specific moments in the time capsule of my life. Tom Petty's Full Moon Fever album reminds me of cruising down I 78 in Pennsylvania, going to hike on Hawk Mountain, sunroof open, singing at the top of my lungs. John Hiatt reminds me of my failed romance with Dan, Dan, The Dancing G Man. The Grateful Dead's "Box Of Rain" reminds me of walking through the parking lot, pre-concert, and being a little (or more) stoned and hearing, among the vendors extolling their wares, "Hair beading!", "Tie dyes!", "Bongs!", "Veggie Burritos!", some guy yelling, "PB&J!", which cracked me up then and still does.

Martin and I danced to The Beatles, "When I'm Sixty-Four" for our wedding dance. I made him waltz. My husband, The Brit, not known for his dance moves, waltzed with me. I still make him waltz with me when we play that song. He still can't dance. And I still have to convince him that he doesn't need to wear dark socks with his sandals, but that's a whole other blog post.

These days, though, I am more likely to have the theme song from Sponge Bob, iCarly, or Drake and Josh stuck in my head. The sad part is, I know all the words. The theme song from Drake and Josh is actually kind of catchy.

If I decide to put it on my Mp3 player, please, just shoot me, now.

Fashion Faux Pas

2009-02-12T04:50:00.012-08:00

Subtitled: I Am A Ditz

Last night, Martin and I had to go to a viewing. Because of my Indiana Ass*, I no longer have many dress clothes that fit me. After trying on several pairs of slacks and my Funeral Dress, I was in despair. The Funeral Dress didn't even go over my hips. My tried and true favorite black slacks, of which I have three identical pair, weren't even close. Another pair was far too funky and casual. I finally stumbled across a pair of black tuxedo style pants, much too large when I bought them on clearance at Macy's years ago without trying them on, which were a little too dressy, but I figured pairing them with a long lab-coat style raw silk shirt would be presentable.

Since I was wearing something more form-fitting than yoga pants or jeans, I knew I should wear my Spanx ™ . Contrary to popular belief, Spanx ™ are not comfortable. They may make you look smooth and not bulgy, but they make me feel like my internal organs are being squeezed into my neck. So when I fished out my black Spanx ™ out of the back of my drawer and put them on, I was pleasantly surprised; they weren't constricting at all. They were actually pretty inoffensive.

It wasn't until I got home and changed back into my yoga pants and took off the alleged Spanx ™ that I found out why they were so comfortable; I actually had on my bathing suit bottoms.

*It's much easier to blame my weight gain, a.k.a Indiana Ass, on the state of Indiana and all the great restaurants around here rather than the fact that I am 42, have had the metabolism of a cockroach for years and refuse to believe it has slowed down, and I eat like fat grams, calories, carbs, and exercise are only a distant rumor, never proved.

The Children's Museum; P.F. Chang's; Your Mom Wears Combat Boots

2009-02-09T05:41:00.004-08:00

We took Mia to see the big Lego Castle exhibit at the Children's Museum this week-end. It was very cool and completely amazing to see a huge dragon, among other displays, made out of Legos.

My favorite exhibit remains the Dinosphere, though.

We went to dinner at P.F. Chang's. After hearing all the hype, and never having been to one, we were excited. And of course, disappointed. It's good. It's not great. It was also very crowded and noisy. I thought it was pricey for what it was.

I bought a new pair of boots. They're not Doc Martens but they look like Doc Martens and they are considerably more comfortable than the last pair of Docs I owned. No break in time, at all. So now, both my children can truthfully say, "My mom wears combat boots."

Write A Story That Begins With A 3 A.M. Phone Call

2009-02-05T09:41:00.004-08:00

An exercise from my writer's group meeting last night. Let me know what you think.

The blast of the phone at 3 a.m. annoyed Draven. She was busy, after all, her insomnia on high alert. She was busy pacing around her apartment, cigarette in one hand, vodka rocks in the other, busy obsessing about her insomnia.

Good news never came at 3 a.m.

She looked at the table that held the phone, eyeing it warily, but never getting close enough to look at the caller I.D.Finally, the phone stopped. Or at least, it stopped for a few seconds, then started blasting again.

Draven sighed. Her alcoholic mother, on the other end with ice cubes tinkling in the tumbler of cheap wine from a box?

Maybe her jailbird big brother, locked up yet again for some stupid bar fight and looking for bail money?

Certainly not her baby sister tucked snugly in her marital bed up in Tuxedo Park, with Frank,the Wonder Husband.

The phone stopped again.

Draven took a big swig of the vodka in celebration.
Then it rang again.

With a scream, she ripped the phone cord from the wall and stomped across the highly polished, hand made, bamboo floors and yanked open the garbage compactor and threw the entire phone,receiver, base, and tangled cord, into the gaping mouth of the disposal. She hit the "on" button and enjoyed hearing it crunch into pieces.

After the drinking the last dreg of vodka in her glass and crunching the ice furiously, she thought maybe, maybe, she could finally sleep.

New Writer's Group!

2009-02-04T19:57:00.002-08:00

I've helped start a new writing group and I'm all fired up.

So far, we have four members, and I think we could use another guy, but I'm inspired! To write! To share my writing! To read others writing!

My current writing prompt is: Write a story that begins with a phone call at 3 a.m.

You know someone is gonna turn up dead with that beginning, if I write it. I know my eyes lit up when Jackie read it from her tiny cute book of writing prompts that I must purchase, immediately.

The Workshop

2009-01-29T07:07:00.003-08:00

In the year we have lived in Indy in this apartment complex, we have gone through three sets of next door neighbors.

The first set was a slightly white-trashy family, who seemed to have far too many people living in a two bedroom apartment. They moved out shortly after a young girl, perhaps twenty, spent several hours banging on their door yelling, "I know you're in there!" She was holding an infant I can only presume was somehow connected to the young man who lived there with his mother and two younger siblings. Oh, and they had Yorkies. I love dogs, but these were Yorkies.

Next, an older gentleman, who was deaf, moved in. Since Indy has a big school for the deaf, there are a lot of hearing impaired people in the area. I love to watch them communicate. This gentleman came with two restored cars from the 50s, a daily driver, and three truckloads of furniture. About a week after he moved in, he disappeared. Didn't see him for two or three months, until he moved out. Again with three moving trucks full of furniture. For a two bedroom apartment that granted, is quite spacious, but he still had so much stuff, he must have had a tiny path through it.

Now, we live next to two young men. We think. We never see them. We know they are there, though. For the past two weeks, a pair of sneakers with socks have been sitting outside their door. Through the rain, sleet and snow. They have a rottweiler who occasionally visits, along with a shiz shu. The lights are never on in the evening. We never run into them coming or going, yet we know the place is inhabited by someone because not only do the leave sneakers outside, there have been several strange deposits on the doorstep. These items have included:

~ An upended love seat
~ A bench seat from a mini van
~ A coffee table
~ A lawn chair

And they bang stuff all night, generally starting about 10:30. It sounds like they are arranging furniture, hanging pictures, or building something.

I've finally figured it out. The strange stuff left on the doorstep that magically gets sucked into their apartment, they recycle into new things. They are actually Santa's Elves and that is their workshop.

Snow Day!

2009-01-28T07:18:00.003-08:00

One of the things I've missed about Michigan, that I never thought I would admit, is snow. We've had a few "weather" days here, when it was just too bloody cold to go out and school was cancelled, and some ice storms, but this is our first real snow storm.

Two views from our patio (yes those are the Christmas lights that Martin keeps "forgetting" to take down) and Luna, the Pocket Pom, in the snow.

I Saw History Being Made

2009-01-21T04:41:00.002-08:00

Yesterday, Mia and I watched the inauguration of Barack Obama as the forty-fourth president of the United States.

Even though Mia is only five, I thought it was important for her to watch. I don't think she understood the full impact, but I hope when she is older, she will remember it, and remember sharing that moment with her Mom. Yesterday, though, she was more interested in watching Malia and Sasha.

I teared up quite a bit; his speech was encouraging without blowing smoke up our asses. I have great hopes and even though I know it will be a long hard road, I'm up to the challenge. There seemed to be a lot of non-partisan involvement and I hope that continues. We are, after all, the United States of America.

And what the hell was up with Aretha Franklin's hat? Only Ms. Franklin could get away with a hat that has a bow so large it needs its own personal assistant.

A Completely Ridiculous Book

2009-01-20T05:32:00.002-08:00

Our local library is really very impressive. The children's section alone is about the same size as the entire library I used to frequent in Michigan. They also have a lot of books showcased, based on the season, current events, or genre.

While trolling last week, they had a display related to the recent downtown in the economy. One book caught my eye, Miserly Moms, by Jonni McCoy. It's subtitled Living on One Income in a Two Income Economy. That's my family, so I checked it out.

I probably should have looked at the copyright: 1996. And maybe flipped through a few pages, so I would know that if I read this book, it would two hours of my life I would never get back.

While I admire the author for actually putting her miserly ways into practice and words, some of those ideas were completely ridiculous. Apparently, her family does nothing for entertainment, her date night with her husband consists of such romantic ideas like miniature golfing, and she rarely uses coupons. She also suggests recipes like Tofu Nuggets. Yeah, that's going to work around here.

Becky Home Ecky

2009-01-13T07:14:00.002-08:00

I'm not Martha Stewart. I'm the first to admit it.

Right now, my job is being Becky Home Ecky and writing. I have the opportunity to be home with Mia, to put her on the bus in the morning, to pick her up after school. (The Hamilton SE School district only transports kindergartners one way, the most ridiculous thing I've come across in Indiana, other than not buying booze on Sundays.) I didn't get much of an opportunity to do that with my son; I was a single mother when he was born and went back to work when he was nine months old.

I do things like plan a week's worth of menus for dinner and organize my coupons. I use Real Simple's cleaning checklist to keep the house tidy. I do endless loads of laundry, which are the bane of my existence. I don't mind sorting the clothes, other than my husband's balled up socks, it's the folding and putting them away that stymies me. I loathe mopping floors.

Sometimes, I even bake. From scratch.

Twenty years ago, even ten, if you would have told me I'd be a housewife, I would have laughed myself silly. But here I am, and it's not so bad. I am glad to be able to do it. That also means living frugally, but I'm a pro at that. Will I be doing this ten years from now? That I don't know. Definitely not, if we could afford live in help at our oceanfront Bahamas home.

Hey, a girl can dream and if you're going to dream, dream big.

Saying Good-Bye To 2008

2009-01-01T17:18:00.003-08:00

I know I am not alone in being happy seeing the page change from 2008 to 2009. We didn't just say good-bye to 2008, we kicked it's ass out the door and told it never to come back.

We had a lovely dinner at The Old Towne Ale House with Marla and Mike and Sue, and came home for more drinks and chat. Our friends and neighbors Jodi and Paul came over with their nearly newborn. It was very nice and I can't recommend the Olde Towne more. Great food, (deep fried cheese like harvarti and cheddar and caramelized bacon), a great pour selection and great service.

I'm not one for making resolutions but I do think the New Year is a good time to start new things. Like a new exercise program and a more dedicated writing schedule and a spotless house.

I wish the best for 2009 for everyone.

Best Gift Ever

2008-12-30T13:14:00.002-08:00

My friend Marla got us one of these for Christmas. We've barely put it down since. Totally addicting.

I had to rush out and buy one for my son, the sports edition, and another for Mia, the zoo edition. My son looked dubious, at best, when he unwrapped it, but I told him, just you wait. You'll be hooked, too.

Really, a very simple concept that is so entertaining, appropriate for every age, and great for keeping kids or adults busy for hours.

Let Them Eat Pork

2008-12-30T13:07:00.002-08:00

So we had our family Christmas Sunday with Margaret and Peter, my loveable in-laws, and my son, Dexter.

Inspired by my friend Marla's creative use of her crock pot to make a delicious beef roast, I made pork tenderloin in my crock pot. Two pork tenderloins, because I am Italian and it seems like I never can make a holiday meal without overcooking.

I put the tenderloins in the crock pot with marmalade, soy sauce, garlic cloves and fresh ground pepper, cooked them over 12 hours and they fell apart into wonderful juicy aromatic hunks of flesh.

As a result, we now have enough pork left over for a week of meals. Last night: Pork Fried Rice. Tonight: Instead of beef stroganoff, pork stroganoff. There is really nothing that can't be improved with sour cream, except maybe a Bloody Mary, which is what I am enjoying right now.

Nothing Says "Merry Christmas" Like A Pot Of Chili And A New Tattoo

2008-12-23T19:05:00.007-08:00

Wow, does that ever sound white trashy.

Since Christmas falls on a Thursday this year, and Martin is the FNG at his job, he has to work on Friday. He is also on call, and believe it or not, some people are so dedicated that they actually work at home, over the holidays. I never did that, no siree Bob.

I'm making a big pot of chili for Christmas Day. Martin, Mia and I will celebrate in the morning and my friend Marla will be coming over in the late afternoon and we will hang out, eat chili, drink wine, and no doubt talk and laugh a lot. I haven't broken the news to Mia yet that Marla's 18 year old son Tyler isn't coming over. Mia, you see, has a crush on Tyler. That girl of mine, where does she get it from?

Martin got me a gift certificate and set up an appointment for a new tattoo. I've been talking about one for the longest time. I figure that since I no longer am any type of corporate drone, I should do what the hell what I want with my appearance, hence my big ass rock-n-roll hair with all the streaks. I want something small, quarter sized, on the inside of my right wrist. I already have ideas in mind.

That picture is The Brit and me at his boss's Christmas party.

Casey Anthony Case

2008-12-11T11:10:00.001-08:00

With two of my Death Hag friends, I will be blogging the Casey Anthony trial. You can find the blog here:

The Trial Of Casey Anthony