It's the The 50th anniversary of James Bond. Just stick a fork in my eye, because I'm done. The Brit even made me watch the documentary about it. He recently just obsessed for an hour about which model Ferrari James is driving in Goldeneye. And Goldeneye is the name of Ian Fleming's Jamaican home. Whee, I know this! I'll sure be a hit on Jeopardy! in the 007 category.
Aside. I tried out for Jeopardy! once. I made the tests but my credit sucked at the time so they wouldn't accept me as a contestant. (Yeah, I thought it made a lot of sense, as well.)
If I used to be able to tolerate James Bond movies, I now loathe them to the marrow of my bones.
*****
Life advice of the day: Do you really think it's a good idea to tell the people you owe a whole lot of rent to that you used your disability payments for Fentanyl patches you buy from your neighbor who is terminally ill and broke, because while your neighbor is terminally ill you think Fentenyl is "fun" ? Paying your rent on time is really fun, give it a whirl sometime.
*****
So in another life scenario, I'd be a forensic psychologist. I had the D.C. snipers mostly nailed, got the race wrong but I don't really think of race. I think of "human race". We're all assholes.
My take on Boston. Fisrt, a moment of silence for the victims, you running geeks just wanted to blow your knees out and try not to poop yourselves while running umpteen miles. God bless you.
One brother, 26. One brother, 19. Been here a while, tried yet never felt part of the whole American Dream thing. Dad was still in Chechnya, don't seem to be terribly religious Muslims.
None of that is a factor. This is all about the brotherly bond and admiration and copycat psychopathic behavior. Infamy. Total mentally destroyed. I think in this case, the elder led the the younger and the elder was quietly crazy. I had a sense that the younger brother idolized the older brother and Older Brother was seriously mentally ill.
Not religious, not political, nothing other than the hope for infamy in a sick and twisted mind.
I think people are trying to read way more into this than there really is.
****
Speaking of crazy. Weather. No such thing as global warming? In the past two days, it has been:
80 degrees
Snowing
Sleeting
50 mph winds
Almost two inches of rain
Vast flooding, north of Indy, terrible flooding
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Thoughts At The Half
We saw a lot of colleges represented today at our weekly hunting/gathering expedition to the Land Of Evil, i.e., Wal-Mart. I had on Dexter's outgrown hoodie that has a small Sparty on it. Until you look closely, it appears that Sparty is flying the bird, but actually, he's pointing his index finger. I love that shirt. The frozen wing selection was quite depleted, I had to get store brand bleu cheese dressing (it was that or Kraft low fat and really what's the point then?) and too bad I don't own Anheuser Busch stock, because I'd be a rich girl. Add in the threat of the Great Blizzard Of 2013 and Wal-Mart was particularly annoying. Martin was thrilled to announce that he got the last multi-roll package of Angel Soft*.
I'm relieved to see that both Michigan State and Memphis are wearing normal uniforms, not ridiculous costumes. A couple of the coaches need to invest in some better suits. Seriously guys, I know you can't afford Tom Ford, but at least hit the Burlington Coat Factory or Men's Warehouse and skip JC Penney. Coach Izzo always looks nice, as if he puts some thought into it. Bob Crean has a nice sense of color and texture. Hey, what's the NCAA tournament without a little fashion commentary? The girls over at Fug could pick up a few straight guy readers if they'd just feature NCAA playoff uniforms.
The Memphis coach is like twelve. He's chewing gum and I have to wonder if its grape Bubbilicious and I keep expecting him to blow a huge bubble any time now.
Charles Barkely is adorable. I want to put him in my pocket and take him home. Except I bet he eats an incredible amount. He's just so huge and so adorable, like puppies and rainbows and unicorns adorable. I want to pinch his cheeks and I bet he gives wonderful hugs. He's wearing a vest, normally the kiss of death unless you're a four year old boy, but on him, it's adorable. Now I'm inspired to watch his episode of Saturday Night Live, where he was adorable. (Love you, Netflix. You give me old SNL and Frasier. That helps me overlook the endless Dr. Who, Top Gear and original Star Trek.)
The Adorable Charles sounds sick today. Allergies or a bad cold. Still such a gentleman/good sport, he is still there, commenting. (He just sang! Adorable.)
Who the hell ever heard of Florida Gulf Coast University? I sure haven't until today. They beat Georgetown. This is why I watch this tournament.
Mia's latest career path is a dog/cat vet and moving zoo animals. How thrilled do you think I would be if she went to State? I have two cousins and an aunt within 20 minutes of E.L. and I would certainly not hesitate to send her to visit on week-ends make them spy on her.
*Paper Products
The Brit has this obsession with paper products. I think he ran out of toilet paper once and now, every time he goes to a store, any store, even a gas station that has a grocery section, he buys the biggest package he can find. I have enough paper towels, toilet paper and Kleenex to soak up Lake Michigan. I will be wiping my butt in high style far into the Apocolypse.
Life Lesson Of March 23, 2013
If you have horribly bleached spaghetti texture hair with a huge pink (badly) dyed poof of pink at the front and no teeth (meth is a wonderful drug), no one is going to take you seriously. Ever. About anything. And calling me a stupid bitch whore? And asking why am I even there, why do I have that job? I have to keep my mouth shut but let me know when you have ever shifted your lumpy ass off the couch and did something so crazy as get a job. But you can't, since you're "disabled". It's obviously not physical, since you get around just fine, especially to smack your kids in public. If it's a mental issue, you can't possibly be on your meds and act the way you do, so maybe you should get a job and let someone who is truly disabled collect that exorbiant amount of money you get for sitting on your lumpy ass on the couch.
Oh wait. I've seen your mother. With whom you still live at the age of thirtysomething. Explains a lot. Starting with the importance of dental care.
Michigan State 70 Memphis 48.
Lucas Oil Friday. I should be there. I am off on Friday for the holiday. (Sound of wheels turning/grinding.)
Disabled
My mother-in-law has stage 7 Alzheimer's disease. It's a terrible disease. Her mind is somewhere to the southeast of Jupitar. She lived with us for a year. When we finally placed her in a nursing home, the doctor was amazed we had dealt with it that long. I was her primary caregiver. I am obviously an inherently evil person, because the pillow crossed my mind more that once.
I had a plate of Chinese food thrown at me.
We put combination locks on the front and back door to prevent unauthorized escape.
I could only leave my house when a nursing aide was here and that was chancy at best. Public comments included, while dining at IHOP and observing two late middle age woman who were obviously Indiana Farm Girls, "I wonder if they're lesbians?" and in Meijer, while sitting on the meat case while I park the cart near you, while you systematically remove my items and stick them in the meat case while I continue the shopping, "At least we're the right color."
Let me note, I am in no way built or inclined to deal with getting my ass kicked. I am forever grateful to those sweet fellow Hoosiers who could only say, "Oh honey. Bless your heart." And didn't kick my ass or take it personally.
Clothing was hidden so it was not worn all at the same time. It really is possible to put on three pair of pants at once, you know. Of course, one pair will be worn on the arms. In August. In Indiana. Where the tempertures this summer reached the Ninth Circle Of Hell ranges. As you do.
Sample conversation, taking place at 1:30 a.m.:
THAT WOMAN: Brit! Who is that woman in our bed? (hitting and slapping said woman)
BRIT: What the hell, Mum? Go back to bed.
TW: Get that slut out of our bed! (hitting and slapping said slut.)
BRIT: (big sigh) Come on, Mum, back to bed. She's my wife, you're my mother.
TW: (Hysterical laughter) I'm your mother! Ha!
Fists were thrown.
Hair was pulled.
Hot mugs of tea were hurled. Amazingly, not by me.
Depends were hidden. (Suprise Lisa! A smelly little treat for you!)
Bennie the Dog was tormented and nearly fretted himself to death.
We are assured that she will be granted Medicaid, since the $10,000 weeks at the locked Alzheimer's unit are ludicrous, but it's a fight. Even though the Brit's Dad worked for General Motors and has excellent Blue Cross, Alzheimer's is covered 50%.
It's the $10,000 a week place or a place that won't take care of her but will house her, shove serious tranks down her throat and let her play in her own shit.
Please explain to me again why national health care is a bad idea.
Privacy And My Sense of Cringe or Dubya Is An Artist
Was anyone really surpried when the head FBI dude pretty much admitted at some geek conference that they track everything?
Every time our doorbell rings unexpectedly, I assume the Eff Bee Eye has finally come to get me. After all, they see my Internet browsing history and know which books I have checked out of the library and who I call and what I text and obviously, I am a disturbed individual. Crime, and death, and 9/11 Truth (still don't wholly buy it, but it makes me ponder), and cooking and all those lefty books about minimum wage and hate crimes and the memoirs, oh the memoirs alone would send me away.
I love a good conspiracy theroy as much as the next girl, but I do always feel like I've got Big Brother right next to me. When I first heard that someone had hacked Dubya's email, after the inital shock of realizing he actually could figure out email wore off, I shuddered at the invasion of his privacy.
Then,those three little words popped into my mind.
War. In. Iraq.
And then, four more.
Weapons. Of. Mass. Destruction.
Yeah, sorry, Dubya. Your email got hacked. At least no one died in combat as a result of that, right?
Boo effing hoo.
You paint some weird shit. I think you need glasses because you're perspective is whack.
Side note: Best comment on Gawker is "Barbara is going to run out of room on the refrigerator."
We saw a lot of colleges represented today at our weekly hunting/gathering expedition to the Land Of Evil, i.e., Wal-Mart. I had on Dexter's outgrown hoodie that has a small Sparty on it. Until you look closely, it appears that Sparty is flying the bird, but actually, he's pointing his index finger. I love that shirt. The frozen wing selection was quite depleted, I had to get store brand bleu cheese dressing (it was that or Kraft low fat and really what's the point then?) and too bad I don't own Anheuser Busch stock, because I'd be a rich girl. Add in the threat of the Great Blizzard Of 2013 and Wal-Mart was particularly annoying. Martin was thrilled to announce that he got the last multi-roll package of Angel Soft*.
I'm relieved to see that both Michigan State and Memphis are wearing normal uniforms, not ridiculous costumes. A couple of the coaches need to invest in some better suits. Seriously guys, I know you can't afford Tom Ford, but at least hit the Burlington Coat Factory or Men's Warehouse and skip JC Penney. Coach Izzo always looks nice, as if he puts some thought into it. Bob Crean has a nice sense of color and texture. Hey, what's the NCAA tournament without a little fashion commentary? The girls over at Fug could pick up a few straight guy readers if they'd just feature NCAA playoff uniforms.
The Memphis coach is like twelve. He's chewing gum and I have to wonder if its grape Bubbilicious and I keep expecting him to blow a huge bubble any time now.
Charles Barkely is adorable. I want to put him in my pocket and take him home. Except I bet he eats an incredible amount. He's just so huge and so adorable, like puppies and rainbows and unicorns adorable. I want to pinch his cheeks and I bet he gives wonderful hugs. He's wearing a vest, normally the kiss of death unless you're a four year old boy, but on him, it's adorable. Now I'm inspired to watch his episode of Saturday Night Live, where he was adorable. (Love you, Netflix. You give me old SNL and Frasier. That helps me overlook the endless Dr. Who, Top Gear and original Star Trek.)
The Adorable Charles sounds sick today. Allergies or a bad cold. Still such a gentleman/good sport, he is still there, commenting. (He just sang! Adorable.)
Who the hell ever heard of Florida Gulf Coast University? I sure haven't until today. They beat Georgetown. This is why I watch this tournament.
Mia's latest career path is a dog/cat vet and moving zoo animals. How thrilled do you think I would be if she went to State? I have two cousins and an aunt within 20 minutes of E.L. and I would certainly not hesitate to
*Paper Products
The Brit has this obsession with paper products. I think he ran out of toilet paper once and now, every time he goes to a store, any store, even a gas station that has a grocery section, he buys the biggest package he can find. I have enough paper towels, toilet paper and Kleenex to soak up Lake Michigan. I will be wiping my butt in high style far into the Apocolypse.
Life Lesson Of March 23, 2013
If you have horribly bleached spaghetti texture hair with a huge pink (badly) dyed poof of pink at the front and no teeth (meth is a wonderful drug), no one is going to take you seriously. Ever. About anything. And calling me a stupid bitch whore? And asking why am I even there, why do I have that job? I have to keep my mouth shut but let me know when you have ever shifted your lumpy ass off the couch and did something so crazy as get a job. But you can't, since you're "disabled". It's obviously not physical, since you get around just fine, especially to smack your kids in public. If it's a mental issue, you can't possibly be on your meds and act the way you do, so maybe you should get a job and let someone who is truly disabled collect that exorbiant amount of money you get for sitting on your lumpy ass on the couch.
Oh wait. I've seen your mother. With whom you still live at the age of thirtysomething. Explains a lot. Starting with the importance of dental care.
Michigan State 70 Memphis 48.
Lucas Oil Friday. I should be there. I am off on Friday for the holiday. (Sound of wheels turning/grinding.)
Disabled
My mother-in-law has stage 7 Alzheimer's disease. It's a terrible disease. Her mind is somewhere to the southeast of Jupitar. She lived with us for a year. When we finally placed her in a nursing home, the doctor was amazed we had dealt with it that long. I was her primary caregiver. I am obviously an inherently evil person, because the pillow crossed my mind more that once.
I had a plate of Chinese food thrown at me.
We put combination locks on the front and back door to prevent unauthorized escape.
I could only leave my house when a nursing aide was here and that was chancy at best. Public comments included, while dining at IHOP and observing two late middle age woman who were obviously Indiana Farm Girls, "I wonder if they're lesbians?" and in Meijer, while sitting on the meat case while I park the cart near you, while you systematically remove my items and stick them in the meat case while I continue the shopping, "At least we're the right color."
Let me note, I am in no way built or inclined to deal with getting my ass kicked. I am forever grateful to those sweet fellow Hoosiers who could only say, "Oh honey. Bless your heart." And didn't kick my ass or take it personally.
Clothing was hidden so it was not worn all at the same time. It really is possible to put on three pair of pants at once, you know. Of course, one pair will be worn on the arms. In August. In Indiana. Where the tempertures this summer reached the Ninth Circle Of Hell ranges. As you do.
Sample conversation, taking place at 1:30 a.m.:
THAT WOMAN: Brit! Who is that woman in our bed? (hitting and slapping said woman)
BRIT: What the hell, Mum? Go back to bed.
TW: Get that slut out of our bed! (hitting and slapping said slut.)
BRIT: (big sigh) Come on, Mum, back to bed. She's my wife, you're my mother.
TW: (Hysterical laughter) I'm your mother! Ha!
Fists were thrown.
Hair was pulled.
Hot mugs of tea were hurled. Amazingly, not by me.
Depends were hidden. (Suprise Lisa! A smelly little treat for you!)
Bennie the Dog was tormented and nearly fretted himself to death.
We are assured that she will be granted Medicaid, since the $10,000 weeks at the locked Alzheimer's unit are ludicrous, but it's a fight. Even though the Brit's Dad worked for General Motors and has excellent Blue Cross, Alzheimer's is covered 50%.
It's the $10,000 a week place or a place that won't take care of her but will house her, shove serious tranks down her throat and let her play in her own shit.
Please explain to me again why national health care is a bad idea.
Privacy And My Sense of Cringe or Dubya Is An Artist
Was anyone really surpried when the head FBI dude pretty much admitted at some geek conference that they track everything?
Every time our doorbell rings unexpectedly, I assume the Eff Bee Eye has finally come to get me. After all, they see my Internet browsing history and know which books I have checked out of the library and who I call and what I text and obviously, I am a disturbed individual. Crime, and death, and 9/11 Truth (still don't wholly buy it, but it makes me ponder), and cooking and all those lefty books about minimum wage and hate crimes and the memoirs, oh the memoirs alone would send me away.
I love a good conspiracy theroy as much as the next girl, but I do always feel like I've got Big Brother right next to me. When I first heard that someone had hacked Dubya's email, after the inital shock of realizing he actually could figure out email wore off, I shuddered at the invasion of his privacy.
Then,those three little words popped into my mind.
War. In. Iraq.
And then, four more.
Weapons. Of. Mass. Destruction.
Yeah, sorry, Dubya. Your email got hacked. At least no one died in combat as a result of that, right?
Boo effing hoo.
You paint some weird shit. I think you need glasses because you're perspective is whack.
Side note: Best comment on Gawker is "Barbara is going to run out of room on the refrigerator."
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Unsportsmanlike or Celebrating 75 Years of March Madness
I know it's wrong to gloat but I'm insanely happy that the Hoosiers lost their playoff bid to Wisconsin. Those silly IU fans aren't nearly so smug now, are they?
As a side note, uniforms, NCAA. What. the. hell? Michigan looks ridiculous in those screaming yellow getups and since when did gold become one of State's colors? What I fear is gold lame no less. Ohio State has this weird breastplate sort of vee shaped insert at the neck that looks incredibly uncomfortable and scratchy. Did an angry drag queen design these or what? Karl Lagerfield perhaps?
I must say, though, that the long shorts these days are tres sexy compared to those man panties of the 70s and 80s.
And although I'm not an IU fan, I do quite like Butler and Valparaiso. Little schools that could. We went to a show at Butler's planetarium, which is strictly circa 1974 in paneling, but a nice show of the sky and cheap yet unique date, if you're of that mind.
You know you're getting old when the coaches are more attractive to you than the players. (Hello there, Coack K!)
Life Lesson For March 16, 2013
When highly irritated that the first whiff of spring brings you not the sweet smell of newly growing grass from your yard, but the pungent odor of your neighbor's big dog's feces, it is not acceptable to take a shovel and fling said dog feces into the middle of the street. When called on this, it also not acceptable to take a bag of your neighbor's big dog's feces and bring them into the office. For what? DNA testing?
Stickshifts and Safety Belts
I have a 2007 Volkswagen Jetta Wolfsburg edition. Sooner or later, it's going to start breaking down and costing a small ransom to fix. I've had an ancient boogar green Rabbit, a 1984 Jetta and a 1984 BMW 318i. German cars are wonderful enginereeing creations but crazy expensive to fix. One of the greatest memories of my Dad is when he did a tune-up of my BMW and was literally left slack jawed when he found out the plugs and wires were well over $100 back in 1990. He had encouraged me to buy a used Chevy Cavilier, but I bought the BMW instead and damn, I loved that car. And when I went on vacation, my Dad, who had badmouthed my BMW from the start, after driving me to airport in the BMW, drove my car the entire time I was gone, much to the amusement of many. When I look at cars now, though, there is nothing new I want to drive. I love driving a manual transmission and flappy paddle shifting? Uh no. Unless I could drive one of those bad ass Mercedes Kompressors, which are far off my price range. As a result, I will nurse the Wolfsburg though its daily drives over the Ronald and keep stepping on my clutch.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
I need to start writing again. I need some sort of outlet for all the craziness I deal with at work. I do not, however, intend to be Dooced, so identifying details and work talk in general may be scarce.
Bare facts. I have embarked upon a journey in the housing industry. I work in the office of a rather large community here in Indianapolis and I am trying not to lose my faith in the future of humanity. The general stupidity of some humans never ceases to both amaze and depress me. Chickens are not an inside pet, okay?
I do love my job, mostly. It's stressful, but also hilarious, like what I imagine certain reality tv shows that I've never watched (and never intend to watch) might be like. Shows like Honey Child Boo Boo Head (whateverhernameis) or Swamp People or the bounty hunter dude with the orange "tan", extensions that not even Lindsay Lohan would slap on her drug-addled head and the wife who obviously owns only an overworked make-up mirror. Dog! I can't believe I couldn't remember that, since I remain a crazy dog lady. And yes, I do expect to see the Intervention crew go rolling by any day now, but not for me as the subject. This is Indiana, why smoke demon weed or just drink a forty when you can mix up some meth in an off brand Mt. Dew bottle in a Wal-Mart bathroom? Off brand Mt. Dew you've shoplifted, I might add. From Wal-Mart. Anyone who sees your mugshot will know your entire life story just by looking at that side neck tattoo you so proudly sport.
The tangent. My ruling planet.
I'm still the true crime and news junkie I have always have been. I've been half ass watching the Jodi Arias trial but it's moving so slowly and she's such a garden variety narcissist/sociopath, she's practically boring. For those of you who haven't heard of Jodi Arias, she is on trial in Arizona for the particularly gruesome murder of her boyfriend, who had relegated her to a booty call and girl just lost it. She stabbed him twenty-seven times, slit his throat and shot him. After having sex with him, photographing said sex, and photographing him in the shower after sex. As you do. She's claiming she was abused and was scared of him, claims it was self-defense after she dropped his camera and he became "enraged" and it pisses me off on behalf of all the women who truly have been abused. She's told at least three different stories, passed a magazine in the jail visiting room with a message inside to a friend, warning the friend about what the friend said to police, she showed up at his house, several hours away, with a gun. A gun she stole from her grandparents. Pulease. My Pomeranian would look at her and say, "Really girl?"
I had occasion to be in Michigan for a week recently. I was a little surprised to find out, it's not home anymore. I had a wonderful time having dinner with two old friends, spent time with my father-in-law, visited my favorite hometown steakhouse, ran into a friend I've know since kindergarten but then I came home. To Indy.
Naptown rocks.
Bare facts. I have embarked upon a journey in the housing industry. I work in the office of a rather large community here in Indianapolis and I am trying not to lose my faith in the future of humanity. The general stupidity of some humans never ceases to both amaze and depress me. Chickens are not an inside pet, okay?
I do love my job, mostly. It's stressful, but also hilarious, like what I imagine certain reality tv shows that I've never watched (and never intend to watch) might be like. Shows like Honey Child Boo Boo Head (whateverhernameis) or Swamp People or the bounty hunter dude with the orange "tan", extensions that not even Lindsay Lohan would slap on her drug-addled head and the wife who obviously owns only an overworked make-up mirror. Dog! I can't believe I couldn't remember that, since I remain a crazy dog lady. And yes, I do expect to see the Intervention crew go rolling by any day now, but not for me as the subject. This is Indiana, why smoke demon weed or just drink a forty when you can mix up some meth in an off brand Mt. Dew bottle in a Wal-Mart bathroom? Off brand Mt. Dew you've shoplifted, I might add. From Wal-Mart. Anyone who sees your mugshot will know your entire life story just by looking at that side neck tattoo you so proudly sport.
The tangent. My ruling planet.
I'm still the true crime and news junkie I have always have been. I've been half ass watching the Jodi Arias trial but it's moving so slowly and she's such a garden variety narcissist/sociopath, she's practically boring. For those of you who haven't heard of Jodi Arias, she is on trial in Arizona for the particularly gruesome murder of her boyfriend, who had relegated her to a booty call and girl just lost it. She stabbed him twenty-seven times, slit his throat and shot him. After having sex with him, photographing said sex, and photographing him in the shower after sex. As you do. She's claiming she was abused and was scared of him, claims it was self-defense after she dropped his camera and he became "enraged" and it pisses me off on behalf of all the women who truly have been abused. She's told at least three different stories, passed a magazine in the jail visiting room with a message inside to a friend, warning the friend about what the friend said to police, she showed up at his house, several hours away, with a gun. A gun she stole from her grandparents. Pulease. My Pomeranian would look at her and say, "Really girl?"
I had occasion to be in Michigan for a week recently. I was a little surprised to find out, it's not home anymore. I had a wonderful time having dinner with two old friends, spent time with my father-in-law, visited my favorite hometown steakhouse, ran into a friend I've know since kindergarten but then I came home. To Indy.
Naptown rocks.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Ugh, Chris Brown is on the Today show. Why am I even watching this horrible misogynistic man boy?
Mia's ninth birthday was last week-end and her two BFFs, Onievea and Tajana spent the night. They had great fun, and this year, no one cried even once. Last year, we had six girls and everyone cried at least once. They are all three such great little girls. I'm glad Mia has such good friends. She's struggled a bit in this neighborhood, mostly because she goes to a different school, since she's in the Horizons program. She doesn't ride the bus with them, so she hasn't had much of a chance to get to know them. She plays with the girls that live behind us a bit, but they are strange, nearly feral children.
I'm a true crime buff and I just have to ask, What's up with the cannibalism lately? Disturbing trend, and unlike other psychological aspects of crime, that's one I just have zero interest in. I can no longer read crimes about children, haven't been able to for a while, and cannibalism is vying for the top of the list now.
Last summer, we adopted a shiz tsu. She was in bad shape when we got her; worms, fleas, obviously shaved with someone's beard trimmer. I'm pretty sure the young couple we adopted her from used that money to immediately go buy a bag of meth. Molly has progressed very well, though, and she's a sweet dog. She was supposed to be either mine or Mia's, but she's definitely Martin's dog. Who could have guessed, Martin has a shiz tsu.
Mia's ninth birthday was last week-end and her two BFFs, Onievea and Tajana spent the night. They had great fun, and this year, no one cried even once. Last year, we had six girls and everyone cried at least once. They are all three such great little girls. I'm glad Mia has such good friends. She's struggled a bit in this neighborhood, mostly because she goes to a different school, since she's in the Horizons program. She doesn't ride the bus with them, so she hasn't had much of a chance to get to know them. She plays with the girls that live behind us a bit, but they are strange, nearly feral children.
I'm a true crime buff and I just have to ask, What's up with the cannibalism lately? Disturbing trend, and unlike other psychological aspects of crime, that's one I just have zero interest in. I can no longer read crimes about children, haven't been able to for a while, and cannibalism is vying for the top of the list now.
Last summer, we adopted a shiz tsu. She was in bad shape when we got her; worms, fleas, obviously shaved with someone's beard trimmer. I'm pretty sure the young couple we adopted her from used that money to immediately go buy a bag of meth. Molly has progressed very well, though, and she's a sweet dog. She was supposed to be either mine or Mia's, but she's definitely Martin's dog. Who could have guessed, Martin has a shiz tsu.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Hey Kids
Nearly two years since I have written anything on this.
I'm still alive and kicking.
So much has changed and yet so much has remained the same.
We bought a house. We love it, but it needs cosmetic work. Lots of cosmetic work.
TW a.k.a. DC a.k.a. my MIL lives with us. Every day is a new adventure.
I got fired twice in a row. I apparently am no longer capable of holding a job.
I love Downton Abbey even though the Brits in my everyday life (I'm outnumbered these days) are annoying on purpose to which they would say, "Brilliant!" and view it as an achievment.
I love Mad Men. And yes, yes, yes I will be the green eggs in Jon Hamm's ham.
We adopted a wonderful little shih-tzhu named Molly. Total dog count: Three.
Me = Crazy Dog Lady
Mia is wonderful, Dexter is doing what he needs to be doing.
I just wrote an impassioned five paragraph op-ed (?) essay (?) regarding the tea party in Indiana and how kooky they are and I had to take it down.
I will, however, editorialize to say this:
Remember the Schoolhouse Rock short films? I'm just a bill/on capitol hill, etc. Remember those? The most simple components of democracy.
Watch those again. Think about them. You can do this because it appeals to your "intellect."
ohhh, sort of sorry.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Tales From My Crypt
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."
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."
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Growing Into The Bitch
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.
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.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Working For A Living
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.
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.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Little Miss Independent
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.
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.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Lemonade
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.
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.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Lunch At The Airport
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.
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.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Puppy Love
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.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Welcome To The Working Week
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.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Notes From The Bat Cave
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.
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.
Friday, March 19, 2010
How's That Working Out For You?
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.
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, March 13, 2010
Saturday, In The Park
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?
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?
Friday, March 12, 2010
Luddite
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.
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.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Romance Is Lost On Me
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
So Say We All *
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."
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."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)