Barely Contained

HEY!

2009-01-06T12:07:00.002-06:00

Just want to remind all readers that this blog has relocated!
We continue on at the "real" Barely Contained at www.barelycontained.blogspot.com , so, reset your bookmarks, etc., etc., etc...

We'll keep the catty archives right here at www.catsandyarn.blogspot.com, if you need to read up on my miserable past...
Here are a few archived posts to get you started!

Creativus Interruptus

Kryptonite

The Ring

Then I Moved To Alabama

Its About 9/11. Or My Mother. You Decide

Creep

REAL Road Trip Etiquette

Writing About Writing

Insert Appropriate Dylan Lyric Here

Its So Fine, Its Sunshine

2009-01-05T10:10:00.001-06:00

Everybody in the office just hates me on Mondays.

Happy to be here!

Wooooo-Hooooo!

Annoying, isn't it?

Waaaaaay Too Blonde For This Household...

2009-01-03T09:40:00.001-06:00

If everybody at Winn-Dixie could please calm the hell down, that would be great. Really, really great.

Jeeeeeez....make one smart-ass comment about Winn-Dixie and nipples, and they're all over you.,,,

Hi! How the hell are ya? Good, good...

Another amazing day in wonderland. Hope yours is good.

I have to dish on the grandma for a moment, cuz, its just too rich not to share. My children have a lovely grandmother (not my mother, not that my mother isn't a lovely grandmother...), very nice lady, never hurt a fly. And, she picked them up some Christmas gifts, which was quite nice.

I know how the weirdness I am about to reveal came to pass, and that is entirely because Grandma doesn't get a lot of time to spend with the grandchildren--she's very long-distance, which is a bummer, cuz, like I said, she is a nice lady. She was always very nice to me, anyway.

Sooooo....the Christmas gifts.

The gifts.

The gifts are, well...things designed for 8 year-olds. And, I no longer have 8 year olds. Ooops.

Punky and the Diva are 13 and 15. Not too hip on the stuff that 8 year-olds like. I would like to stress that they are incredibly gracious 13 and 15 year-olds--quite mature for their ages, a fact proven last night upon opening a gift from their paternal grandmother that was emblazoned with a picture of a particular Disney singing icon, who, for the moment, shall remain un-named.

To fully appreciate the hilarity of the event, let me describe The Diva to you in this way....pretend Johnny Ramone and Chrissie Hynde had a baby 15 years ago. Are you with me? I mean, not just looks, but total personalities, too--right down to the occasional snarl.

OK....and....I think we can all agree that the Prentenders/Ramones set is not the target market for the Hannah Montana stuff, right?

Right?

I had friends tell me that they would have PAID to see The Diva open this. PAID. Cash money. As it happens, I didn't see it either--I was in a different room and The Diva was alone at the time.

But I did hear the screaming.

(Ahem....its not that we don't think Miley has talent, its that we find over-marketing to be one of the most insidious evils known to man...The problem is that now, even though the girl CAN actually sing, she's completely screwed by her own marketing monster. Most unfortunate...I hope she is making enough money to retire.)

Luckily, we have little, little girls living next door--twins, about 6 years old. The re-gifting will be swift. And bless Grandma's heart for making the effort--it was sweet. Even though it was all pink and smiley and waaaaay too blonde for this household...

sigh

2009-01-02T16:30:00.001-06:00

I think I am almost ready to EXHALE....finally.

"Running at an insane pace" doesn't even begin to describe it. I think we were all around for the Holiday discussion, right? Where I told about how I got to see a bunch of family members by vitue of the fact that they got stuck at the airport, one by one, and I had to go pick them up, one by one? Meanwhile I was moving, and it was Christmas? Yeah, that was nuts...

Usually, for most people, after Christmas you can chill, a little--you glide into the New Year, and its pretty mellow. For me, working where I work, "gliding" is not an option, cuz thousands of pieces of paper have to leave my hands and go someplace else, BY MIDNIGHT, DAMN IT!, and everything has to be verified authentic, and, you know, date-stamped, stapled, paper clipped, whatever. If the insurance industry every REALLY went paperless, we'd really get fat and sassy, but for now, we just have this once-a-year full-on effing panic in which everyone is scrambling.

You might refer to it as "Open Enrollment".

Anyway, working my job the week between Christmas and New Year is like bartending last call in a crowded club for 10 hours a day, several days in a row. People wonder why I went home and collapsed on New Years' Eve instead of going out....I earned that nap, thank you...and now that I am 106 years old, I"m going to take those little sleeping opportunities when I can.

I have a feeling that sometime in the coming weeks I'm going to have that good cry--like, I'll be standing in line for a coffee and notice that what I thought was change in my pocket is actually paper clips, and I WILL melt right into the floor, weeping about the stupid job and the stupid apartment and the stupid ex-husband and how I dont' have anything planned for dinner, and I can't afford to eat, anyway, and I'm sleepin' alone and blah, blah, blah, and it will all just gush out of me while innocent bystanders stare, horrified, not knowing if they should offer me comfort or just call the nice people in the white van.

If you happen to witness this, just usher me out to the smoking lounge, and let me goob for a bit and I'll be fine.

Tuesday Of The Living Dead

2008-12-30T13:36:00.001-06:00

Thankfully, I was on my way BACK from the Coffee Trough when I ran into the VP in the hallway this morning.

If I had been on my way TO the Coffee Trough and run into him, that cheerful, positive and motivated "Good Morning!" might have been a barely audible grunt, instead.

Juuust a little tired...

But I think that it is important to greet the VP like you fully intend to take over his job one day. It's a personal motivation thing for me. I have no idea what this guy does for a living, and I don't actually want to be a VP at an insurance company, but I find that VP's, unlike Middle Management, appreciate people who driven--after all, that is how they got to be VP's in the first place.

And when they ask how you are, always say, "Great!" Like I did this morning...even though I'm actually the walking dead.

He'll never know the difference.

A little about the tired--we went out last night. A Monday. Please shoot me....

...just kidding...its fine.

Barb and I have come to the conclusion that we attract wacky people. Well, maybe it is BARB that attracts the wacky people, and, I'm just here to make commentary. Tell me, does this qualify as wacky? We're at First Avenue, having a beer, hanging out, etc., and the BoDeans take the stage and I hear this voice from behind me say, "Oh thank God, Sam got a haircut!" and I turn around to see a totally non-gay, non-metrosexual dude, who apparently has great interest in the length of Sam's hair.

A Little Wacky. Right? (I cannot lie, I'm always highly entertained by the deep discussion among BoDeans fans regarding this man's hair...its just hair. It grows, it gets cut, it grows again...*yawn* Reminds me of that old joke--"If you don't like the weather........wait.")

We did have a great time except for the Everybody Who Needs A Beer, Be Sure To Walk In Front Of Those Two Women thing that was going on all night. Oh, and the chick in front of me who kept changing her shoes.

Changing her shoes.

Like, bending over and changing her shoes...

I didn't even bring a wallet, she's got three pairs of shoes.

Sure, I could have asked, "Why?", but what fun is that?

Meanwhile, BarbKissy-KissyNoah (but only with her eyes...), and, Non-Gay, Non-Metrosexual Dude insisted that Bob was much more fun, but, we like Eric.

And, that's about all the stuff I can write about.

Back to the coffee trough...

A Moving Experience (AKA Grand Nirvana)

2008-12-27T08:35:00.001-06:00

On the couch, feet up, a cup of pressed coffee within reach, laptop at the ready, cat curled up nearby, nobody is awake but you. These are the blissful moments that you get to have that somehow make all of other insanities worth going through.

Strange how, since most of my life and career has involved me putting myself "out there" in front of people, waving and smiling and saying "HI! Its me! Shelly! Yay!" and maintaining some level of pretend social-ness, the reality is that Alone suits me just fine. I can take Alone in long stretches and it doesn't bother me one bit. I'm a rechargeable battery, I guess.

So now that I finally have some time, let me tell you about the last two weeks, in which I didn't. Have time, that is.

I had a few major things bearing down upon me for the end of December--one was the holiday, and the other was moving to my apartment.

As far as the holiday was concerned, because I was moving, I was ready to call it a wash--I mean, really? What am I gonna do? Work triple time to get my apartment ready to house a pine tree for one week? Nah... So, there was that. I didn't even think about it, at all. Ended up wrapping some gifts late into the night on Christmas Eve-Eve, when I should have been sleeping.

The moving was not horrendous, a fact about which I am truly grateful. I've had horrendous moving experiences, and they are awful, though you do recover. The thing was, though, starting around the 10th, PAPERWORKPAPERWORKPAPERWORK ("In order to approve you for the apartment, we do require a blood sample, your tax forms for the past 12 years, 18 bars of silver and a lock of Johnny Depp's hair. How soon can you get us those things?"). A gigantic pain. But I got through that. Johnny Depp was super-cooperative, by the way--apparently he gets this kind of thing all the time. Then, of course, you have to call all the utilities, all of whom I EXPECTED to ask for a blood sample, tax forms, 18 bars of silver and a lock of Johnny Depp's hair, but all of whom just said, "OK! You're set!" Thank you! I thank you, my accountant thanks you, my cat thanks you, and I'm sure Johnny Depp thanks you, too.

We got the keys to the apartment on the 13th and starting moving things in, here and there, a car-load at a time. Meanwhile, I was working and the kids are going to school, so, the shuffling of boxes happens in the evening hours after work, when I was all tired and delirious because work has been insanely busy lately. The days went like this: Get up, hustle out the door, kick ass at work all day, drive home, pick up kids and stuff, drive to apartment, drop off stuff, drive to fast food place, eat, drive home, collapse, and get ready to do it all again the next day. That was five slammin' days in a row. Woot! Then, we got a Saturday, which was to be the final day of moving stuff, and a snow storm hit....You have to laugh about these things.

With a snow storm in full effect, we loaded a small moving van with the last of the stuff and crawled it over to the apartment, where the Moving Karma Gods smiled upon us and said, "Here! There is a parking spot directly in FRONT of the building!" That was nice.

About 4 in the afternoon, at the exact moment we finally had all of our possessions moved from Point A to Point B, my brother called me to say that he and his fiance were stuck at the airport because of the snow storm. They were on their way from North Dakota to Oklahoma, and they had been on and off planes and on and off the tarmac for about 12 hours, just getting from Minot to Minneapolis. Of course, they missed their connection, and, had no guarantee of getting to Oklahoma any time soon, but they were provided with a lovely ticket to Dallas the following day. Never mind the fact that Dallas is hundreds of miles away from where they were headed. They would worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, they needed food and a place to crash. I wasn't sure that I actually had either of those things to offer, but, ever up for the challenge, I advised, "I'm on my way..." and set out to pick them up.

You could tell that their day had been hellish up to that point because when I told them all I had was a spot on the floor to sleep and a Subway near my house, they fell all over themselves in gratitude.

Wow....that was easy.

Of course, finding the spot on the floor was not as easy, considering that the entire apartment was filled with boxes, but, we made do.

The next day, we had a leisurely breakfast at a restaurant and dropped R&B (Randy and Bethany) back at the airport, then returned to the sea of boxes, which I just stared at for most of the day because I was suddenly gripped with a complete blank as to where to put anything.

As the work week started the next day, with nothing put away, I struggled to find acceptable office-type clothing and the required hair products to make my presence at the work place less frightening for my co-workers.

Three days of that.

Christmas Eve, I was at the office when my sister called to advise that she was on her way from New Jersey to North Dakota, but, surprise, surprise, was now stuck in Minneapolis.

Leave work, pick up sister.

The traffic between Minnetonka (where I work) and the airport will forever be known as The Christmas Miracle and I was there in very short order.

That was easy.

Getting back to the apartment from the airport was also easy. Christmas Miracle Number 2.

We hung out with my sister for a few hours, then dropped her back at the airport.

Christmas day, my teen-aged daughters acted like they were teeny kids again and woke up before the sun, ready to open presents. They loved everything they got. Christmas Miracle Number 3. We went to our dear friends house for a dinner of lasagna and a spirited game of Balderdash, then, gifts in tow, went home to rest.

Finally home, even with boxes still strewn about the place, I felt at ease. I had a few days off ahead of me, my kids and I were at Our Place, which was so significant because we hadn't had a place of our own for so long, the cupboards and fridge were full, the lights and heat worked, and we could finally relax.

I crawled into a hot bath and scrubbed away all of the insanity of the past week--no, the past YEAR, and started feeling like myself again, for the first time in a very, very long time. I remember thinking, as I scrubbed, how weirdly symbolic it was to be stripping away the filth and dead off of me, all the way down to the new skin, after a long and hard-fought battle to do exactly that. Even a rank amateur psychologist wouldn't have missed that metaphor. It felt so good. Best Christmas, ever.

We still have plenty to do around here--there are still boxes everywhere and the household projects will have us busy for a long time, but we finally have it--sanctuary. Sanctuary, where you can sit on the comfy couch with your laptop and write, or, go to the other corner of the room and paint something, or hang out and watch a movie, or chat with your friends on the phone or online, or hang out in your room and learn a new piano/guitar part to some song you like...whatever. (One of the better parts of my long soak in the tub was listening to my children working out a song together in the next room. I was so delighted, I can't even describe it.) And there is nobody there to make you feel guilty about just doing the things that make you happy, as long as you're not hurting anybody else. Its nirvana on Grand Avenue. Welcome home...

I Jus' Wanna Say....

2008-12-24T09:06:00.001-06:00

Merry Christmas, Baby!

I dunno....I heard that song on my way into work today, and that pretty much sums it up for me...

Happy Tuesday!

2008-12-23T09:45:00.001-06:00

You know how, when, you move to a new place, and everything you own is still in a box somewhere, so you're flopped on a floor, sleeping, shivering under mismatched blankies, and the alarm goes off and all you can think about is how all alarm clocks must be destroyed, and you're hitting the snooze and hitting the snooze and hitting the snooze until you finally look at the clock and see that you're about to be seriously late, so you rush to a mirror and discover that your hair is quite unsaveable, but you are just going to have to suck it up and look silly, cuz you're late, and the best you can do for coffee is some re-heated java from the day before, which you heat in a pan on the stove cuz your microwave isn't set up yet, THEN, you find some clothes to wear and they look like hell, but it's all the clothes you can find, so screw it, and then you go outside to discover that your car is covered in snow and you have to stand knee-deep in plow wake to clear it off?

And you take off for work, but the roads are crappy?

Anyone?

Just me?

Tool Belt

2008-12-20T08:49:00.001-06:00

I work in an office, and though one doesn't normally think about office employees running around with big tool belts on, the way they might for other, more useful, jobs, I believe that a tool belt would be an incredibly practical thing, and, I might just create one to make my life easier.

Just picture the fab chick in the never-fail black pants (in which I always look good), cute top, and a low-slung tool belt containing the following items:

1. Date stamper. I work in the insurance industry, and everything that we do is time sensitive. Some of it is a flat-out race against time. Some of it is just Cover Your Ass, so when you want to know why we didn't pay for something, we can look at some document that we got, note the date stamp on it and say, "Oops, you were too late in getting us that document, so, you're screwed..." Of course, that also works in the reverse, since we immediately date-stamp every piece of mail and every fax we get, our anal habit might one day prove that you were on time, and we were the ones dragging our feet, in which case we would have to come up with some other reason not to pay your claim. Just kidding. Sort of.

2. Staple puller. I can't count the number of times I have put the manicure at risk and yanked a staple with my fingernails. OK, I don't actually have a "manicure"...and this is because of the countless times I have yanked a staple out with my fingernails. The right thumb-nail has a semi-permanent gouge in the middle. Very attractive.

3. Tub-O-Paper Clips. Because I spend half of my life standing in front of a fax machine (and, it should be noted that I have a long history of not getting along with fax machines), a lot of the documents I work with have to be ready to fax at a moment's notice, hence the staple-puller. Those documents get paper-clipped and walked over to the fax machine, cuz you don't want to take the chance of anything getting separated between your desk and the fax machine. Remember, CYA. Then they are faxed. Then immediately stapled. CYA. Then filed. And then, if some body says, "oh, I didn't get that thing that you sent," you gotta pull the doc, pull the staple, re-paper clip, take it to the fax machine, re-fax, and re-file. It's fun! The only annoying part is when you are at the convenience store on your way home and you reach into your pocket for change, you discover that you don't actually have change in your pocket, it was just 37 paper clips. OK, I made that last part up--the never-fail black pants do not have pockets. I might look less fabulous in them if there were any kind of paper-clip bulges.

4. Stapler. See Item number 3.

5. Letter opener. I wouldn't dare estimate the amount of mail I open every day., but, for fun, lets just say eleventy kajjillion pieces of mail. Most of it is opened at my desk, where I keep the letter opener, which, by the way, is not nearly sharp enough to offer me the kind of speed I desire when faced with a pile of eleventy kajillion pieces of mail. Sometimes, you get handed a giant stack of mail to deal with you're stuck someplace other than your desk. Lets just say, for example, that you are stuck at the fax machine for the next 6 hours. And you're bored, and want to open the mail. Wouldn't it be great to have a handy weapon at your disposal?

6. Loaded coffee cup. Self explanatory.

7. Assortment of functional black pens. Why do insurance company pens never work? Why is that? I mean...its a running joke around the office--if you have a pen with the company logo on it, it is probably a crappy pen. Anyway...because I am superstitious about using only black ink, and, the office pens are notoriously unreliable, I tend to carry my pen with me. Of late, I have been hooking it on the Geek Tag (that's a DVM-quality photo security tag/key) and walking around the office with it. Then I forget that I hooked it on the Geek Tag and end up scrambling around looking for a functional pen--its kinda like when you can't find your glasses and they are on top of you head the whole time. Then, when I'm doing something that does not require a functional pen (like, pulling staples, for example), the pen invariable falls OFF the Geek Tag and I have to stop what I'm doing and pick it up off the floor. Which is a pain in the butt when you have your hands full of paper clips.

While I am certain that there is no real way to make this tool best in any way "stylish", the good news it that getting into my office requires the aforementioned Geek Tag, so, no random people I might want to date would ever see me wearing it. I'll forgo style for functionality in this case. And who knows? Maybe it will become a part of the standard office uniform. With the no-fail black pants.

Why This Will Be The Best Christmas, Ever

2008-12-17T17:13:00.001-06:00

My Aunt Darlene used to send my brothers, sister and I, giant candy canes every year at Christmas. We would set our calendars by it--6 giant peppermint sticks, in our hands, by Christmas Eve, whether we went to Grandma's house or stayed home. It wasn't Christmas until we got them.

She continued this into our young adult-hoods, as one by one, we all left my parent's house and went out into the world.

When Darlene died of breast cancer some time ago, was a huge blow to the family--not only was she quite young at the time, but also, she was a hell of a woman...vibrant, boisterous, busy, smart, caring, classy. I liked her a lot. She was beautiful the way her mother, my mother, and all of her sisters are, or were--dark hair, high and defined cheekbones, strong faces framed by expressive eyebrows.

Darlene never knew my daughters, but, in her honor, my sister sends my children giant candy canes at Christmas, just like Darlene used to do for us. It is one of my favorite parts of the holiday, and I enjoy telling the story every year, of why it is so cool to get those candy canes from your Auntie, like I got them from mine.

The last time I saw my aunt was at my Grandfather's funeral, when she herself was quite ill. Her doctors had actually recommended that she not attend the service, as she was hospitalized at the time, and chemotherapy had devastated her immune system. She couldn't hug any of us or grip a hand, lest she might catch some virus and become sick. It was incredibly sad, and looking at her I knew that her life would soon be over. She died a short time later.

It was fitting, I think, that the very first piece of mail that I got at my new apartment was a tell-tale long and skinny box from New Jersey, which was waiting at for us at the door last night. While I have always found the fact that Donna picked up that tradition to be particularly touching, this year, the thought of it moves me to tears. It has been such an insane year--nothing is as it was, except, candy canes in the mail at Christmas--something I have lived with for some 40 years.

I'm not a "traditions" person. Its not that I don't like the holiday food or Christmas trees, its that I feel that any "must have", really isn't, and there is no such thing as "have to". The fact that I am in the middle of moving to a new apartment, and an entirely new life, has provided me with the option (excuse) of skipping all of that this year--no tree, no decoration, no large gathering of people for a meal, no specific foods to prepare or consume. Too busy. Can't really afford it, anyway.

In fact, those candy canes might be the only thing that looks like Christmas in my house.

It will be just us three. We'll be sitting around in our jammies, watching movies, unpacking--whatever we feel like doing. And we could very well be eating frozen pizza or something, I don't know.

Still, it may be the Best Christmas, Ever.

2008 has been particularly crazy for me. So much has happened. I started the year living in Duluth, MN, working, being married, and doing all the working/married stuff. I end it living and working in Minneapolis, having left virtually everything behind. "Everything," meaning, everything I was ever fooled into believing really mattered, that really didn't. The emotional upheaval that has occurred between the beginning and the end of this year has been, at times, gut-wrenchingly awful. It has been nine months of "Are you strong enough?" time, coupled with, "God is testing you!" time and joined by "Are you really the person you think you are?" time.

But, having a vision--just a little kernel of a dream of how things are supposed to be, and what life is supposed to feel like, has made it worth it--every minute. And after all that has happened, I know, for a fact, that there is nothing I can't handle. As gifts go, you couldn't ask for a better, more useful one.

And as feelings go, you couldn't ask for a better one than the one you get seeing a box of giant candy canes, when you know EXACTLY where they came from.

Last night, Punky told me that when she grows up, she would like to send her nieces and nephews giant candy canes at Christmas. We laughed when we both realized that her lone sibling, aged 15, had long since declared that she "hates" children and will NEVER have any. It was a good thought, though. Punky is definitely Candy Cane Aunt material...

T-T-Talk-About-The-Weather-Yeah-Hey

2008-12-15T08:08:00.001-06:00

Isn't it amazing that every year, when the weather comes, we talk about it as if this sort of thing never happens?

I'm just sayin'.

Oh, and I would like to personally thank each and every person on the roads between my house and my office this morning, for behaving themselves and driving perfectly.

No, I'm not being sarcastic! :-)

Relax! Its The Weekend!

2008-12-12T10:59:00.001-06:00

All week long, I have been thinking about the weekend--not in the "relaxation" vein, but rather, the "OMG I'm going to be running my a$$ off all weekend" thought process.

Short list: Moving! Yes, moving. Well, starting to move, I mean. This would constitute random trips to the new place with car-loads of stuff that I don't need for the next week. I'll figure a few trips. I think.

Then, since we are moving, and oh, by the way, we actually don't own anything like plates and bowls and such, we have to find time to get out and buy plates and bowls and such. And toilet paper. Real exciting shopping trip, there.

Sandwiched in between all of that excitement, I have to buy bread. Bread. Sandwiched. Get it? Yeah, yeah...anyway...I need to take a trip to the bread store to help with the lunch-packing extravaganza that we have every morning at our house, and I want to go to a particular bread store, which is sort of out of the way. Like, Eagan, out of the way. Cuz I like that one, and I'm a dope and won't settle for the one just a half mile from my new place. I'm not sure how this errand was raised to any level of importance on a weekend in which I should be concentrating entirely on the logistics of getting all of my possessions from Point A to Point B, but, it was. And I refuse to let it go, for some reason. What the hell is wrong with me?

Meanwhile, storms are brewing all over the place. Full moon, you know...I found out from a friend that there were massive lay-off's at her job yesterday--she survived. Of a staff of 200, 40 people were let go. Oh, and TODAY is the company Christmas party. Merry Effing Christmas. Hope that Christmas party comes with an open bar. There are a lot of overwhelmingly sad and ridiculous details, but in the interest of confidentiality, I'll just say that it's a disaster--an absolute disaster.

Then, I had a friend ask to borrow money. And some clouds rolled in.

I have a thing about that...a gigantic thing. Ask me for money, and automatically, I start to twitch. It is easily the most uncomfortable thing in the whole wide world, for me, anyway. I hate it. HATE. It.

Now, I'll buy you lunch, I'll put gas in your car, pick you up a pack of smokes (or a concert ticket! Guess who we're going to see? HA!) if I'm going--any of that kind of stuff. I'm good like that. This morning, I scooped up one of my friend's bills off the dining room table and paid it. He didn't ask, I just did it--he needed it, so, I did it. So, I'm not an evil penny-pinching witch or anything. I just have a thing about people asking me for money. I can't help it. My mind automatically flies into the "What did you do with YOUR money that makes you now want some of mine?" mode and I shift into overdrive trying to be as nice as humanly possible to avoid being as bitchy on the outside as I feel on the inside. In fact, perhaps the only occasion in which I feel OK about blatantly lying to someone is when they have asked me for money, cuz I wanna be nice and tell you I'm hurting for cash right now, rather than say what I'm thinking, which is more along the lines of "Are you fucking kidding me? What did you do with YOUR money that makes you now want some of mine?"

The thing is, I don't want to know what they did with their money. Not really. I don't care. People can do whatever the hell they want with their money. Until the very second when they ask me for some of mine. What if the thing I want to do with my money is not the same thing as what you want to do with your money? Does that mean we can't be friends?

Here is the thing...I have found, in this life, that there is virtually nothing that I can't live without, except air, for a period of time. Most people in this country have way more than they need, myself included--roof, food, job, car, easy life--I want for nothing. When I tell you that I never borrow money from people you can believe it, because if I can't afford something, I do without, period. Sometimes, its tough. Sometimes, it is extremely tough. But, you survive. Sometimes, people (including this particular friend) are extremely kind and give me things at a time of need, but I would never ask. Not ever. I just don't. I believe that if I can't obtain something through my own hard work and resourcefulness, then I don't really need it. It's one of my very core values. In fact, it might be THE core value in my life. I don't "get" borrowing money. I can't grasp why a person would do that--I just can't wrap my head around it, at all.

I have accepted a million (billion?) kindnesses in my life--people have been very, very good to me. Extremely good. In return, I have offered many kindnesses--some accepted, some not. I don't recall any one of them in particular, but I do remember the nice things that people have done for me--or at least I remember the feeling of it. I think that ultimately, humans are programmed to share--its just something that we do. You have space on your couch, so you invite someone to sleep over if they've had a few, or, you have a gigantic turkey to cook, so you have people over for a meal, or, you have a bunch of extra widgets that you will never use, so you give them to someone that you know will use them. We're like that--all of us. When life is bountiful, we share. Unless we are complete assholes.

In my blissful brain, I don't keep track and I don't apply a value to any act of kindness. They are all priceless. A little thing that was easy for you to do might mean the world to somebody else. There is no way to measure it. I suppose that is my problem when it comes to money--It can be counted--in fact, it begs to be counted. When you start to place a value on things, rather than considering all kindness precious, well, then you start to keep track, and it all goes downhill from there, doesn't it?

Hey Moon

2008-12-08T19:44:00.002-06:00

Teetering on the edge of a serious political discussion (Still waiting! Bring it! I wrote my amazingly brilliant response while soaking in the tub, so you know it's a killer. Remember, Karma is a bitch, and so am I.)...

...she instead opts to post a music video.

15 years old in real life, thank you.

Let me tell you a little story. Saturday, I was at the mall with The Diva. THE freaking mall, in December, at the height of holiday shopping, when the kindly traffic officer directs you to your parking spot IN ALASKA (top floor, West side, for the uninitiated). You'd think it would have been a miserable experience. Not so bad!

Why?

Well, we were in a particular loud clothing store, and I looked up at a billboard advertising Panic at the Disco Live In Chicago!

Woot! Mood boost.

I bought one....and a bunch of other stuff.

After shopping, we hoofed it back to the car (IN ALASKA), and popped in the CD for the ride home. We hadn't really looked at the cover of the CD, or read the liner notes, which is a Pretty. Odd. odd for us, cuz we generally have those things memorized by the time we ever listen to anything. Not this time...we were too bleary-eyed from shopping.

I made the Ultimate Boo-Boo on the drive home and landed on the 494 West parking lot. DOH! It would take a while to get back.

Luckily....new CD.

And here are the kind of geeks my daughter and I are about Panic at the Disco: Listening to this live CD, not knowing what songs were even on it, what order the songs would be in, or what any of it was going to sound like...

...we both found ourselves making little "Yay!" noises every time we heard something remotely familiar. Like we were actually in the audience. Clapping and Woooo-Hooo-ing and showing our glowing approval from the freeway. Like they could hear us.

That was fun.

And, about two seconds later, we were home.

Anyway...the story is just an excuse to post the video. I like the video, but I've listened to this song about 27 million times without "seeing" it, and, I won't mind if you just close your eyes and listen. That's what I do.

Some Light Reading For A Sunday Morning

2008-12-07T11:25:00.001-06:00

Senator John Marty, author of the Marriage and Family Protection Act, has written an article about the case for action on marriage equality in Minnesota. Check it out!

Wait! Wait!!

2008-12-05T08:26:00.001-06:00

There is MORE!

I couldn't resist sharing this, cuz.....well....it's the Wisconsin Cheese Cupid.

Yes. I said, "Wisconsin Cheese Cupid".

Go There. Find Love....in the curds.

And You Can Tell She's Hungover...

2008-12-05T08:21:00.001-06:00

By the bottle(s) of Vitamin Water on her desk.

I wonder how long it will take my co-workers to figure that out.

Torrontes. That's a good grape. We love you, Argentina.

(Hey, at least I didn't call in sick...Happy Weekend, Everybody!)

C'mon Get Happy

2008-12-04T08:21:00.001-06:00

Someone said--OK, we'll just name names, even though I'm the AntiNameDropper. It was my buddy over at Awkwardly Social (White Trash since 1976, baby! And, she's kinda from North Dakota, like me), AND, in the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that I think she stole the quote from Ideals For Living., though...I don't really know.

ANYWAY...

The quote was, "Happiness writes white (…it doesn't show up on the page)". I read her post about that very thing, and, got to thinking about how fecking boring I am now that I'm not miserable.

Whooo-Hoooo!

Happy, yes, but, such a yawner.

In her case, she's all blissy and eating right, and quit smoking and hardly gets massively fucked up any more (Kidding! Juuuusst Kidding...) or writes about super-crazy nights and inner turmoil cuz she's all boyfriended and getting regular and spectacular sex and lovin' and stuff.

I do want to CLARIFY that, while I'm plenty happy...I'm not THAT freaking happy, OK?

I mean, I'm willin' to GET that happy, but I'm not freaking out about it. Eventually, I'll be ridiculously, retardedly, stupid-ass happy. This I know. I think I've known it my whole life, which is why a lot of the times, I'm so miserable.

We humans are drawn toward the bliss (forgive me while I get all metaphysical on ya). We want to be happy. Most people, sadly, have ideas about how to be happy that are not their own--somebody told them HOW to be happy, and, like morons, they believed it. Maybe they thought that they needed a particular "thing" (whatever that thing might be) to be happy, and they got that thing and surprise, surprise, not only are they still NOT happy, but now they are also disappointed and feel a bit stupid. But for some reason, now they are on the lookout for the next "thing". Which also won't work.

In the mean time, the total confusion of The World telling you what should make you happy and your inner voice continuously telling you "Meh, that's not it," makes you all jumbled in the head, so, you suffer.

Most people suffer. The good news is, most people don't even realize that they are suffering. Oh, some do--some realize that life isn't working the way they want it to.

We call those people "writers".

Before The Food

2008-11-27T09:01:00.001-06:00

I discovered this song some time ago--love it. And I wanted to share a video of it this morning, but couldn't find one of the quality I wanted to share, so, you get a lyric instead.

(If you check out the Amazon widget on the right side of the screen, you can hear a bit of it, then go buy your own.)

Back in June, I was fortunate to see Jonny Lang in Mobile, Alabama. Dude played Stevie Wonder's Ribbon In The Sky, OK? Ribbon In The Sky...one of the greatest things EVER written. Ever. I've seen Jonny play, several times--I saw him when he was a little kid, saw him opening for people, saw people opening for him. His latest stuff is so rich and incredible. I do recommend picking it up, or seeing him if you get the chance. The standout track, in my opinion, is the one called Thankful:

Someones standing in a welfare line
Or off the freeway with a hungry sign
Someones stressing bout to lose their mind
I gotta be thankful, thankful

Someone just became a single mother
Someone just lost a sister or brother
Its so important that we love each other
And be

Thankful, thankful
I've gotta take the time to say, that I'm
Thankful, thankful
For every single breath that I take
I've gotta be thankful, thankful

Someones sitting in a prison cell
Wasting away in their own personal hell
Everybody's got their own story to tell
I've gotta be thankful, thankful

Man, I used to think I didn't have a lot
Now I realize just how much Ive got
Now every day I'm gonna take the time and stop to be

Thankful, thankful
I've gotta take the time to say, that I'm
Thankful, thankful
For every single breath that I take
I've gotta be thankful, thankful

Any one of these so easily could have been me
But if it had not been for grace and mercy who knows where I'd be

I've been riding on this roller coaster ride
Round and round Ive seen the up and downside
And I'm here to tell you that the secret of life is being

Thankful, thankful
I've gotta take the time to say, that I'm
Thankful, thankful
For every single breath that I take
I've gotta be thankful, thankful

Hope you and yours are safe and cozy over the long weekend and beyond. Do youself a favor and don't go out shopping in the morning, OK? :-)

Some Of It Was True

2008-11-25T15:20:00.001-06:00

I hereby ban people from saying "Old School". No particular reason other than, I'm so done hearing it. I came to this conclusion today after hearing someone actually say it. Out loud. Like they thought it was still sorta cool.
Listening to The Clash on your headphones while doing mundane stuff at the office? Recommended. Steel yourself, if you can, however, against thrashing around like you're enjoying it. People look at you funny.
Ahem...that didn't happen, though, because I have nerves of steel.
The girls were dying to have PIZZA for Thanksgiving dinner, and I really wanted them to have exactly that. Alas, we were invited over for more traditional fare. Next year, my pretties...next year...I don't mind whipping up the traditional thing, but to be honest....its a yawner. I'm a bit more off the beaten path.
I'm contributing mashed potatoes to the dinner this year, and you know, I'm so non-traditional that I had to get CLEARANCE from the host for my mashed potatoes! MASHED EFFING POTATOES. Like, I'm gonna fuck those up...
OK, let me tell you how I'm going to fuck up the mashed potatoes...old trick I learned from a friend of mine when we worked together at a school. Mrs. Jablonski, the coolest....ANYWAY, the night before the meal, or, early in the day, boil yer taters the way you normally do, then put them in a crock pot with massive quantities of BUTTER, CREAM CHEESE AND SOUR CREAM, preferrably the sour cream with the chives and stuff in it. Use an entire container of sour cream. Seriously, just do it. And at least one stick of butter, maybe more. And a whole block of cream cheese. Then whip them up with your mixer, so they are mashed, set them on low on the crock pot and....walk away....no need to mess with them while you're trying to make gravy and such. They are ridiculously good potatoes....thank me later. And, since they aren't boring and sucky potatoes, probably the host won't be having any, which means more for me.
Don't forget! The web address is www.barelycontained.blogspot.com ! If you are reading this on www.catsandyarn.blogspot.com, just be aware that VERY soon, CatsAndYarn will be an archive, and the new stuff will only be posted on Barely Contained. Got it? Good. So change your bookmark, or reader, or whatever you do...

You May Have Noticed, I'm Not A Joiner

2008-11-23T09:26:00.001-06:00

How about a little less of the meme-ing meme's and the meme-ing meme-ness?

I don't feel particularly guilty for not joining in on the November blog-o-rama, what with life being what it has been for the month (read: I'm busy as hell), though I have enjoyed reading the abundance of material in my reader. Thank you, people who write!

Here is a summary of the last several weeks, to bring this blog thing up to date.

I work for an insurance company, which, is a rather focused kind of hell--a test that I feel that God has personally issued to me, because I have hated insurance companies for a very long time. This is Insurance Company Number 2 on my resume, though, by chance, the two companies are kind of connected, so its basically like working for the same place I did before.

Let me sum up my feelings about insurance for you: Insurance = you pay them a crap-load of money on the off chance that something bad is going to happen, and, when something bad happens, you contact them for help and they say things like, "well....I dunno...I don't think we agreed to help you in this specific situation. Now, if you had this other thing happen to you, we'd be happy to pay, but, not today."

Or, at least that has been my experience.

And, if you are the insured, you end up wondering what the f*ck they are doing with all of your money to make it so they can't chip in on your eyeglasses or your dental work, or whatever. It pisses you off. It should. I am of the mind that insurance, specifically health insurance, is broken. Just my opinion. But I work for an insurance company, so I get out of bed every morning and hustle off to work, believing that my goal here is to make positive changes from within. If I didn't believe that, I'd lose my damn mind.

The one cool thing that insurance companies do, although their reasons for doing it are strictly bottom-line oriented, is that they want you to not go to doctors. Sounds funny when you say that, but, there are people who run to doctors for every little sniffle, get an antibiotic, etc, and, they don't need to do that--they are sucking up the money that people on chemo should be getting, and I would like to take this opportunity to tell the hypochondriacs to knock it off and count their blessings that they don't have cancer. I have found that chicken soup laced with cayenne goes a long way toward killing a cold, so, try that first, before you go to the doctor.

Oh, and also, just because "we have a drug for that" doesn't mean you need to take one. Try changing your habits, first, and see if that solves your problem--maybe quit smoking, or drinking, or maybe try eating some decent food once in a while, or shut the damn TV off and get up off the couch. You'd be amazed at what health concerns you can solve all by yourself. (We'll bitch about the pharmaceutical companies on another day. Those rat-bastards...)

Anyway...insurance. They have a busy season, insurance companies, and, we're in it. Busy season at an insurance company, for me, anyway, means that I get to work at 7:50, immediately begin processing mountains of information (all of which is time-sensitive), eat lunch at my desk while continuing to process information, take a 10 minute break, then go back to processing information for the rest of the day. When it is time to leave, I am torn and feel guilty because there is still plenty to do that would help make that positive change from within, but I gotta get home and feed my children, so, I leave. I'm just one person, after all.

By pure luck, there was some desk re-arranging, and the annoying (horrifically bad) "customer service" person got relocated (sadly, not fired) and I can no longer hear her inflicting her nastiness on unsuspecting premium-payers. That has been nice. Meanwhile, one of my other co-workers, who is charge of a lot of the information that I process, calls in sick a lot, leaving me to do all of her work, along with my own. Because it's the insurance industry, stuff has to be completed before the sun goes down or my company won't be able to deny your claim in a timely fashion--none of it can wait until she is feeling better. Don't worry, we'd denied her f*cking claim, too, and she works here. Anyway, my co-worker likes to party, and, that's fine, but when you get "sick" enough Fridays in a row (just 2 will do it), you're going to piss me off.

So, that's work.

At home, my car died. Yay. Luckily, it was on a Friday, and I wasn't at all busy doing both mine and my co-worker's job or anything, and could devote the entire day to getting that taken care of.

Yeah...

OK, the real luck was that I have friends with tools who know stuff about cars. The battery cracked open. No big deal. We fixed it. Or rather, they did most of it and I stood around holding the tools and the flashlight and stuff, after buying the new battery. And I would like to take this opportunity to personally thank General Motors for making the battery in my car so damned inaccessible. C'mon, GM! You know that repairs of this nature only need to be done when its F*CKING cold outside!! Do you really need to put the battery in, screw it down with a big clip, cover it with a plastic cover held down by two screws and a plastic clip, then hold down that cover with a metal bar, also held on by two screws? Really? Cuz this "minor" repair took FOREVER. And my toes froze. And it did not make me feel good about any bail-outs, if you know what I mean...if you just fired all the guys who work in the Battery Security department, I'm sure you'd be fine, and, I could find work for them in the insurance industry.

I don't particularly like my car--I sort of acquired it in the separation from my husband. I'm a sedan sort of person, and that is what I usually stick to--I don't have the Hockey Mom gene, and, this car is an SUV. It feels like driving a bus, to me, although, it is actually a relatively small SUV. The husband and I have been discussing the possibility of meeting up in Illinois somewhere and initiating a prisoner exchange, since, he has my little hot-rod (which was NOT made by GM, by the way...) and I have been driving the "luxury" wheels. When I moved here from Alabama, the SUV seemed like a good idea, and we were all agreeable to it. It is still a good idea to keep it, considering that I now live in the land of ice and snow, but I'm not in love with it, so, when it didn't start, I was grouchy, and I may have called the car a couple of bad names which I will not repeat here. When my handy friends diagnosed and fixed it, I got less grouchy, though I have yet to apologize to the car.

Yesterday, I drove it, it worked perfectly fine, and I didn't run over any curbs (cuz its some kind of giant car and I have zero skill in negotiating it, what with my not having the Hockey Mom gene), so, I'm thinking maybe the SUV and I might start being friends. Maybe.

Meanwhile, I've been looking at apartments. There are many. I love them all. Well, most of them. Give me a cheap, funky brownstone in a hippy neighborhood and I'm gonna be all curled-toes happy. Set me free to decorate it as I choose, and I am one blissed out freak. Of course, you need the $$ to actually move into one, and, though I am very close to having the gigantic lump sum required to relocate, I'm just shy. Delayed gratification. Shit. But no worries...its going to be good when it finally happens. Curled-toes good. Soon. Very soon.

So, like I said, I've been waist-deep in stuff lately. I don't mean to make it sound like busy is bad, because it is the opposite of that! There is so much happening right now, and it is all good--feels like a giant wave of good, actually, and, I'm one incredibly happy, grateful person. One incredibly happy, grateful person who neglects her blog. Whatever.

Another Round--Fully Loaded

2008-11-22T21:31:00.002-06:00

Just a meme, stupid meme...

I haven't done this in a while, so, with the usual apologies regarding heavy rotation of certain artists (like, I have about 100 Indigo Girls songs, for example...) its time to do The Shuffle!

1. Put your mp3 player on shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!

IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
Steady As She Goes--The Raconteurs

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
When The Day Met The Night--Panic At The Disco

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Crazy Love--Van Morrison

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Chocolate Cake--Crowded House

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
A-Punk--Vampire Weekend

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Try It Again--The Hives

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Psycho--Puddle Of Mudd

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Add It Up--Violent Femmes (HA! Yeah, well...)

WHAT IS 2+2?
We're Having A Party--Sam Cooke

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Hand In Hand--BoDeans

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Getting Closer--Paul McCartney (Game will pause momentarily while I listen to Getting Closer in its entirety. Little side note: When I was in high school, I bought Back To The Egg and wore it out--in particular, there was a spot in the beginning of Getting Closer where the record always skipped, but I still listened to it relentlessly, cuz it was my favorite song. When I got all grown up and bought the CD, it took me forever to get used to hearing the song without the skip at the beginning...)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
I Want You--Elvis Costello

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Lost In The Supermarket--The Clash

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Mystery--Indigo Girls

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Long Black Veil--(this is a Johnny Cash song done by Dave Matthews and Emmylou Harris--quite lovely, and has nothing to do with my parents except for that Johnny Cash story I already told here once...)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Baby Workout--Jackie Wilson (Ahem...no more weddings...oh, and the game will pause momentarily while we listen to Baby Workout in its entirety...and dance around the living room....)

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Maneater--Nelly Furtado (BAH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA....Oh, that kills me...)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Paralyzer--Finger Eleven

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Go Slow Down--BoDeans (HA! That's only a secret to some of you...Game will pause momentarily while we listen to Go Slow Down in its entirety...)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Little Perennials--Indigo Girls

WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
Too Little Too Late--Bare Naked Ladies

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
Naive--The Kooks

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Cleveland Rocks--Weezer (Almost moved to Cleveland once...hmmm...)

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
Delayed Devotion--Duffy

WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
Yield--Indigo Girls (Ya think???)

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
Where Did I Go--Justin Currie

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
Walking Contradiction--Green Day

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Four Horsemen--The Clash (Game will pause momentarily while we, uh, you know....)

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
Soon Be To Nothing--Indigo Girls

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Another Round--Enter The Haggis

Of Course You're In Love With A Vampire...

2008-11-19T15:34:00.001-06:00

Who wouldn't be?

Never mind the fact that in Twilight, Edward is just the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life and you can practically see the steam rising from the screen during all of that mega-hot kissing.

Dreamy.

No, I mean it--totally dreamy.

Why are the books (and now the movie) so damn hot?

Because every girl wants a bad boy who is actually good.

Say it again--you know it is true! Every girl wants a bad boy who is actually good.

We want them to be dangerous to everybody but us. Even though we would never admit it, we'd like a guy to hang out in a freaky stalker fashion. watching us, and not be a total creeper, but, a hero who is protecting us.

We WANT a guy who lives for us--and, NEVER SLEEPS! Just, hangs out, protecting and serving.

They may have created the perfect man...

Something...Something...A Cowboy?

2008-11-18T23:58:00.003-06:00

You know how, when you're all, at work and stuff, and you're thinking about how you haven't written much in the blog lately, but you don't want to say "sorry I haven't written lately" cuz that is sooooo effing lame?

Yeah.....that.

Anyway--pretend I never said that, cuz it's so effing lame...

With any luck, we'll be checking out a sneak peak of a certain vampire movie tonight.

With any luck.

It's one of those Get There Real Early Or You Might Not Get A Seat" things, and, I'm not entirely sure I have a "Real Early" in me at the moment.

Its also one of those annoying sneak peak things where you have to leave your phone and stuff in the car, and you will be there Real Early and standing in line with nothing to do, and you'll really REALLY want to do the thing you do when you are waiting around with nothing to do, which is.....? Call people. *sigh*

Don't laugh--my sister and I built our entire relationship on phone calls we made to each other while stuck in traffic (she's in New Jersey--happens a lot) or waiting for a table (I apparently only eat at lame restaurants where you have to wait around for a table). One time, I was on 494 at 5 in the afternoon, and was kind of excited to be stuck in traffic, so I could call my sister.

Anyway--Hopefully I will make it through without wanting to kill anyone. Wish me luck. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow........PSYCH! No I won't...

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

Well, maybe a little... :-)

Awesome movie, and, I didn't kill anyone. Yay!

More Something/Nothing

2008-11-14T13:29:00.001-06:00

Why are memes so much fun? Curse you Cursing Mama! And your super-fun Meme-ness!

OK, not really...

1. Do you like blue cheese? I have some rather specific conditions regarding the blue cheese, but I will eat it if certain parameters are in place. LIke, its on one of those salads with walnuts and roasted grapes, for example...

2. Have you ever drank alcohol? Uh, no....never... (insert desk-pounding guffaw...)

3. Do you own a gun? I don't particularly like them, so, no.

4. What flavor Kool Aid was your favorite? Tropical Punch!

5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointment? No--I've been to so many doctor appointments that its kinda like going to work at this point.

6. What do you think of hot dogs? Um...don't love them. Brats are better. No Polish, though...

7. Favorite Christmas movie? Scrooged

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Ahem...there is only one thing to drink in the morning, and that would be black coffee, preferably in bed.

9. Can you do push ups? Maybe one or two

10. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? I don't wear a lot of jewelry, though I did buy myself a neat ring for Mother's Day, and I wear that every day.

11. Favorite hobby? Deep thinking

12. Do you have A.D.D.? Decidedly not, although it may appear so...

13. What's your weight? HA! You're very funny...

14. Middle name? My middle name is my maiden name, legally, and, I'm just going to leave it as-is, cuz I like it.

15. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment? 1) Its so cool that work is so slow today! 2) But I'm sure there is something I could be doing, other than this stupid meme! and 3) How come every time I put my mp3 player on random, it plays Willin'? 500 songs, and that one comes on within the first 5 every time? This is the kind of shit that keeps me up at night...

16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink? Coffee, diet soda of some variety, and whatever grown-up thing is handy.

17. Briefs or Boxers? On who? Me?

18. Current hate right now? The weird thing at my work where 6 people tell me to do a thing a certain way and it turns out to be the wrong way and the 7th person yells at me. Nice.

19. Favorite place to be? I'm looking forward to the Alone and Quiet aspect of my own place, which will be happening soon--doesn't matter where it is, as long as I can shut a door behind me and it's not noisy and full of people all the time.

20. How did you bring in the New Year? I'm sure I was at the Duhblinn. I think. Was I?

21. Where would you like to go? See item number 19.

22. Name three people who will complete this? Not a clue!

23. Do you own slippers? Barb just bought me some slippers! They are giant and pink and fuzzy. Hilarious!!!

24. What color shirt are you wearing right now? Would you believe multi-colored stripes? Blue, green, burgundy and a kind of a mustard-yellow, and white.

25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? Not a big fan

26. Can you whistle? Yes!

27. Favorite color? Red

28. Would you be a pirate? I have a feeling they don't bathe much, do they? Hmmm...

29. What songs do you sing in the shower? I do not sing in the shower. As far as you know.

30. Favorite Girls name? I like my daughter's names a lot, but of course, we just call them Sis and Mads, so their real names are seldom used. How that ended up happening, I may never know.

31. Favorite boys name? I was going to name one of my daughters Mason if they were boys, but, instead I got to use the super-awesome girl names I picked out.

32. What's in your pocket? Paper clips. Don't ask. Oh, and two dollars bills and 63 cents in change. I'm RICH, Bee-Yatch!

33. Last thing that made you laugh? That picture of Barack Obama in the FDR pose, with the hat and the cigarette-holder bit. VERY well done, whoever did that!

35. Worst injury you've ever had as a child? I had no physical injuries as a child, that I recall.

36. Do you love where you live? No...do not love. I'm living with friends, and we're all underfoot, and it's a pain for everyone.

37. How many TVs are in your house? 2 functioning TV's and one in the garage.

38. Who is your loudest friend? Well...we are friends because we are equally loud, but, I'll have to say Barb.

39. How many dogs do you have? I have no dogs of my own, but currently live with one.

40. Does someone have a crush on you? Wouldn't that be great? ;-)

41. What is your favorite book? Life 101 by Peter McWilliams.

42. What is your favorite candy? Oh Dear God...I like it all. Resers soft chews are like crack, though.

43. Favorite Sports Team? Don't really have one.

44. What song do you want played at your funeral? I don't really want songs played at my funeral--I know I am about to step on some toes, here, but, I think it is kinda lame, EXCEPT, one time, on an episode of Six Feet Under, a lady had 'And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going' (from Dreamgirls) and I thought that was pretty funny. I haven't really found THE song that says it all--thank God they are still people writing them...

Concerned About Sin

2008-11-11T18:32:00.001-06:00

My employer sends out lots of mail of the promotional variety. Some of you might refer to it as "junk" mail. We're just trying to help. You need us.

Anyway, since a lot of promotional mailers go out with pre-paid reply envelopes (See? Helping!) we get a lot of them back.

Some people send them back, saying, "Hey! That thing you're selling! Love it! I want me some of that!" Of course, we love those people right back.

Some people send them back with a little note saying, "Thanks, but no thanks...take me off your mailing list." I appreciate those people. One less thing to mail, right?

Some people were taught that the best way to deal with junk mail that includes a postage paid envelope is to mess with the sender, because something in their sh*t-free day tells them that we should know better than to try to talk to them about anything they don't already know about.

Once, many years ago, I was watching the Oprah show, and they advised, on Oprah, that when you get "junk" mail with a postage paid return envelope that you should stuff that postage paid envelope with a bunch of crap you have sitting around the house (specifically other "junk" mail) and send it back.

After all, how dare they interrupt your sh*t-free day?

And if you stuff the envelope to capacity and send it back, the sender has to pay for it, and gosh, isn't that funny? Won't that teach 'em?

Funny, yes.

Doesn't teach us anything, though. You'd think it would, but, alas, it does not. Sales departments are notoriously thick...skinned.

Enjoying the contents of the pre-paid mailers that come back to my department is one of the highlights of my job. Seriously! This is some funny stuff!

Once, somebody sent back a picture of Al Franken with a caption about a lobotomy. That was funny! Way to go, bored-person-freaked-out-by-junk-mail! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha....OK, it's no longer funny. But you had me for a second, there!

I got a copy of somebody's death certificate the other day. They had been dead for a couple of years. Nice mailing list. Anyway, a simple, "He's dead" scribbled on the reply would have generated the appropriate action on my part--I'm a quick study--but the point was made. Strongly. So strongly, in fact, that If I could, I would take that person off of every mailing list, ever. Alas, that is not my job. I'm just some schmoh working for a company that sent the dead guy some stuff. I mean, we're not bright enough to know where to buy mailing lists without dead people, what makes you think we can solve your junk mail problem?

Come to think of it, there are a fair amount of dead people on our mailing list. Every once in a while, you get a note from a grieving widower--"My dear wife passed in February of 2007. We raised four wonderful children. I miss her every day. I hope you rot in hell for sending this."

Or some variation thereof.

I got some of my favorite stuff today--soul-savin' stuff! Lord knows I need it! I got an envelope stuffed to the brim with pamphlets about how I needed God. I'm not sure if the Jo-Ho's left these at the guy's house, or if I was really worried about my immortal soul, but the one that caught my eye was simply titled, "Concerned About Sin?"

Why, yes....yes I am.

I'm concerned that there isn't nearly enough sin in my evening routine. I'm just sayin'. If you could please send booze and sex slaves, I'm sure I would have less to worry about. Or, I'd be too busy having fun to be concerned. Either/Or

If you are bothered by junk mail--perhaps you are one of the dead people on our mailing list--feel free to have your survivors make the necesarry arrangements to stop that mail from coming. Here's an eHow about it. You can also go the Mail Preference Service method. Or, one of my personal faves, 41pounds.org.

But I'll miss you. You wacky, amusing, bored, paranoid freaks....I'll miss you...

But I'm Not The Only One

2008-11-10T19:47:00.001-06:00

I called my husband to ask him a question about some mundane thing (like, "What year was this car made? I can never remember...") and one of the first things he said to me (after answering the question) was how hard things were now that we weren't together anymore.

I didn't disagree. It is hard. It has been difficult. I miss my friend, which is very much what he was--a good friend.

But it was a guilt trip, pure and simple. He wanted me to feel bad, like he feels bad. Well, I felt bad for a long time--then I left, and now, I don't feel like it anymore. Screw feeling bad...I don't want to.

To snap myself out of it, I rationalized that he couldn't have been that good of a friend, considering I never felt like he "got" me and a lot of the time, I felt like he didn't care about me or my feelings, which is one of the main reasons I left in the first place. I mean...I think if you make your girl cry, often, you should say you're sorry, often. But that's just me.

But let's be honest: I don't think I actually know anybody who truly "gets" me, the way I would like them to "get" me. Jim is just one in a long line. I actually have fantasies about having someone in my life who "gets" me--friends, co-workers, and especially, lovers. Fantasies. Little, hopeful dreams of understanding. Is that wrong? And every once in a while, like today, I get bummed out, when it feels as if they will never come true. *sigh* Like, being treated like crap by someone who doesn't get me will be the best I can do. Pretty pathetic...

The whole "somebody has to 'get' me" fantasy--we're just going to go right ahead and call it a fantasy--seems selfish in the telling. I don't feel like it is. I spend an extra-ordinary amount of my waking hours kicking ass for others, and sometimes, the doing for others is a bit of a hassle for me, but, I do it anyway, because I can--I'm physically able, so, I feel like I should. And I don't do things just to stand around and wait for applause, but I can't help but wonder...when is somebody going stand up and kick some ass for ME? Cuz I could use that about now. And I'd totally applaud.

Sometimes, the people you do stuff for are neutral, sometimes grateful, and sometimes, they're just downright UN-grateful...at which time I really want to stick a fork in their eye. Of course, I don't actually stick a fork in their eye, cuz, I'm a nice person. But I do allow myself to engage in the fantasy--you know, the fantasy that, if people paid attention, they would know that there are times in life where you should be saying "thank you" and if they don't say "thank you," it should be punishable by, say, a fork in the eye?

If I had to describe my personality in any particular way, I would say that I am a chronic and pathological "thank you" sayer. And when I'm not saying it, I'm thinking it. I'm just a damned grateful person. One who thinks that ungrateful people need a fork in the eye, especially when they try to make you feel guilty for leaving, when staying was killing you. And I'm looking for some other chronic and pathological "thank you" sayers to hang out with. Other people, like me, who are nice and, as a result, maybe end up being taken for granted because of it. Yeah...where are my people?

And, if you're hot and charming and killer good in bed, you get to go to the front of the line.

(Did I just say that? Better go read it again...)

I didn't say the words to my husband...I didn't say, "Well, if you'd just been nicer to me, I wouldn't have left." I thought about it, but I didn't say it. See, I'm a nice person. And, I have this fantasy...

You Have Been Granted A Third Date. Do Not Screw It Up.

2008-11-08T10:27:00.001-06:00

I would classify myself as an intolerable bum in the blogging world so far this month, and wouldn't be wrong, but that's only because I've been Queen of Productivity in every other department.

There is one sure tactic in being the Queen of Productivity, and that is the dreaded "avoid the television". That, and being left with a stack of stuff that has to get done, plus the incredible freedom to tackle it in my own way, for approximately 9 truly focused hours every day.

You'd be a productive freak, too, if it was you.

I remember back in the olden times...the ancient days, when I was a youngster in my 20's, the thought of turning off the television seemed absurd to me. WHY would I do such a thing? I mean, didn't these people dishing advice on my viewing habits realize that I had SHOWS to watch? IMPORTANT shows?

I no longer have shows. I haven't had shows in a long time. Sure, there are programs that I like to watch on occasion, but for the life of me, I couldn't tell you when they come on, or what day they air. I watch them only if I happen to turn on the TV and they are on. You know...geek stuff like Modern Marvels, or any of those "This freak thing will cause the complete destruction of the planet" shows on the Weather Channel. That's right...talk to me about tectonic plates and volcanoes under a particular national park and how not a one of us will survive the shit--that is the kind of perspective a person needs, lest they start thinking they are important in some way.

Speaking of people feeling important, let me explain the main reason I've been avoiding the television for the last several days. Can you guess?

If you said, "The Election", treat yourself to your choice of a hunk of fabulous chocolate or...I dunno, whatever it is that guys like--the chocolate is for the girls.

It isn't a case of sour grapes keeping me from watching the Woot! Woot! Obama! coverage--I voted for him, after all. I wanted him to win, am glad he did, and knew, weeks ago, that he would. But watching election night coverage, the media started to bother me for real. All the days leading up to the election, they were there with their barely contained candidate lust, which was kind of annoying, but when he won the thing, the top popped on the champagne and the gushing commenced.

Since I like to (obviously vainly) imagine that I might have something to offer, perspective-wise, to this situation, I'm gonna say something that I think needs to be said, so, here we go:

"Elected" does not mean the same thing as "crowned". "Elected" means that the American people are giving a person a shot--giving him a chance. It means that a majority of people who voted thought one might do a better job than the other, and please never, ever forget that the presidency is just that--a job.

Now, sadly, this particular job doesn't have the standard 90 day probational period. Barring extraordinary circumstance, the presidential probational period is a long-ass four years--a hell of a long time to be stuck with someone if you happen to find out within the first several months that they suck at their job.

That is part of the reason why electing a president is so hard...they are notoriously difficult to ditch after the second date, if you find out that they still live with their mother/chew with their mouth open/etc. (Cuz nobody ever talks about that stuff while they are campaigning....) No, the just keep showing up. You're kinda stuck with them. *sigh*

I suppose my avoiding the TV this week is about the same as me plugging my ears and doing the "La-La-La-not listening!" thing. It's not that I don't want to know, I just don't want to know EVERYTHING. And also--I don't really care. There are a dozen networks that do nothing 24 hours a day except dig out minutia and obscure facts and try to make them significant--significant to a campaign, or to a presidency. They are not.

What matters? How about, what kinds of thing does a guy do when he actually starts DOING THE JOB?

Cuz that's all I really care about.

I don't care what color he is, if he likes pancakes, once disobeyed his 4th grade teacher, needs a haircut, grabs his wife's ass in public, picks his toenails in bed, doesn't rinse his milk glass--none of that. Doesn't matter one iota. My judgement will be based entirely on if he does, or does not, royally suck at his job.

Is that strange of me?

Anyway...if you should happen to ask, "hey, did you watch that thing about Obama last night?", understand that if it isn't yet mid-January 2009, the answer will likely be "No, I was busy". (Bummer that we can't get things rolling with the two-week notice like in the real world, but, oh well...)

Invent Your Own Title Post! Wooot!!

2008-11-06T12:19:00.001-06:00

From Irb at Click... Click... Click... BANG!!!

(There are reasons why I have declared him one of the most funny people on the internet...this post was one of them, and here is a sample:)

Obama's speech was far more unifying than anything I've heard from Democrats or Republicans in the last 30 years. Seriously, it was stirring and moving and eloquent. If you managed to sit through it without getting just a little choked up and hopeful for the future, then all I can say is thanks for reading my blog, Vice President Cheney.

Hey! I just realized! We can make Irb the "Most Envied Person Of The Week," thereby making it look as I'm actually planning to continue the Most Envied Person of the Week thing! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha....Aaaah, never mind...if I declare him, he'll be wondering why there are no cash or prized to go with that...I love you, Irb, but I don't Love-Love you...

Oh, And That, Too.

2008-11-05T11:09:00.001-06:00

I think I will be dropping in occasionally when I find good stuff to read today....Linky McLink Link....sure beats "writing", huh?

Smiles

Yep

2008-11-05T06:56:00.001-06:00

It feels pretty damn good to be an American this morning.

Release From Bummer-ness

2008-11-04T12:48:00.001-06:00

At the start of the day, I sat down to work, hit "Shuffle" on the mp3 player...

And was drenched in a succession of really depressing songs.

What the hell? Where were the uptempo songs? Just sad, slow, acoustic songs today?

By the time Hope Alone came on, I was ready to ditch the whole "Random" mode entirely. After all, it is difficult to explain open weeping at your desk..

I have to have headphones on at work. I must. Why? Well, you know how when you call customer service and the person you end up talking to is a complete ass and they treat you like you are retarded? I sit within earshot of the person who answers those calls. I don't do customer service myself, and, I dont need to call customer service at this particular company, but I must tell you--every time this person answers the phone, I cringe...like they're talking to me, personally.

So, headphones.

But then, lunch came. I went outside. It was 70 degrees....gorgeous.

And all around this country today, people are doing it...finally.

No, not doing THAT! I mean voting.

Doesn't it feel good today? Really good? Like you just know something WILD is going to happen? I love that.

(Besides, if I had to see another political ad, I was going to strangle someone.)

So, here's to a Sure-Thing Crazy Tuesday, everybody--it you haven't already, get out and join the fun. Then we'll all sit around our TV's tonight as a nation, watching things unfold, getting ready for a whole new tomorrow. What's not to love about that?

Gentlemen Prefer...

2008-11-03T18:18:00.001-06:00

I just read an interesting article about how, when it comes to girlfriends and fun, a guy would rather have a blonde woman, but when it is time to get married, he's all about the brunettes.

Read it for yourself, here.

My favorite part of the article was when they pointed out that around 50% of men surveyed (a group of 3000) stated that they thought that brunettes made better home organizers, mothers, and cooks! They also think that brunettes are "more reliable" and "most loving". The survey goes on to say that only 18% of men think that blondes make good wives.

Hmmm....where, oh where, shall I begin?

I was born a blonde. In fact, I had the lightest hair of anybody in my family. Still do. My father and two of my brothers have jet-black hair. Um...jet black, and grey, I mean. (We're all old and sh*t.) My mother, and two of my other brothers, have brown hair--actually, the boys' hair is more brown-leaning-red. My sister's hair is light brown.

I was the weird one in my family with the shockingly blonde hair--until my teen years, I was VERY blonde, then, I faded to something a bit less mega-watt. I like to avoid terms like "dishwater blonde", so, we'll stick with "Less Shockingly Bright Blonde" for the moment.

And "Dirty Blonde" just means something entirely different to me, so don't even bring it up.

I don't recall thinking of myself as different from anybody in my family growing up, and nobody really told any blonde jokes at our house, and they barely acknowledged my hair color. Amazing. The fact that I was a middle child, AND had the only shockingly blonde head in the household makes it seem incredible that I didn't stand up in the middle of every meal and declare that the family must now Pay. Attention. To. Me.

I guess I knew I was outnumbered--it would have been futile.

So, maybe I'm an unusual blonde. I'm incredibly organized, reliable, loving, a great cook and a pretty damn good mom. I'm also here to tell you that those things don't necessarily qualify me as good "wife" material. I've been a wife before, and I kinda think I suck at it, even though I kick ass in all the brunette categories.

These 3000 men and their "wife" qualities....Cook? Really? Why don't you go live with your mama? I'm just sayin'...who feeds you when there isn't a woman around? Specifically, a brunette woman?

Yay Me!

2008-11-01T09:38:00.000-05:00

Cursing Mama always pulls me in with these quizzes, and she had such a lovely result--her's was "Humility". Well, you can see by my result that I have none.

I mean....No humility.

How can you have NO humility? That's just so weird! But I suppose if anyone were to be afflicted with such a deficiency, it would be me. If you take this quiz and have the same problem, please drop me a line and let me know, so I don't feel like such an ass...

Your result for The Best Thing About You Test...

Passion

Hot! Passion is your greatest virtue

Passion is an intense emotion that compels feeling, enthusiasm, or desire for anything, and that often requires action. Get that? Requires action. It's very likely you submit to your deepest needs and live life with a flair few others achieve, but many envy. All 7 virtues are a part of you, but your passion runs deepest.

Passionate types: artists, writers, composers, athletes, and heroine addicts.

Your raw relative scores follow. 0% is low, and 100% is perfect, nearly impossible. Note that I pitted the virtues against each other, so in some way these are relative scores. It's impossible to score high on all of them, and a low score on one is just relatively low compared to the other virtues.

YOUR VIRTUES

30% Compassion

56% Intelligence

0% Humility

56% Honesty

50% Discipline

29% Courage

58% Passion

Take The Best Thing About You Test at HelloQuizzy

Wouldn't You Like To Be A Pepper, Too?

2008-10-30T20:41:00.001-05:00

She might be just a little bit spoiled.

Just a little.

And....what the hell, right? If you can do a little something for your kid once in a while, you should.

So tomorrow, Halloween, I am taking my kid to a show--specifically, The Academy Is, The Diva's all-time favorite band.

At a bar.

On Halloween.

I'm sure I've mentioned before that I'm not a big fan of going out to a bar on Halloween night. It's one of those "Amateur Nights" out on the town. Mostly just assholes go out on Halloween night. The rest of us either stay home or go to a party at the home of someone else who is staying home.

So, I expect to be surrounded by assholes.

Well, either assholes, or other parents, like me.

Parents who might also be assholes.

Hell, I might be an asshole, too, now that I think about it.

Anyway--it should be fun. The Diva gets a good close look at Mr. Beckett, and I get to...uh...stand around and be the old person at the show. It's a parent thing...please come, so I'll have someone to co-miz with, and drink grown up drinks, and hang out in the smoking section...with all the other people trying not to be assholes at a bar on Halloween.

Teenage Runaway

2008-10-28T18:16:00.002-05:00

This little darling likes to make me cry about once every year and a half. He has a bit of the wanderlust...

So, Sunday morning, despite his life of leisurely indoor-ness, he decided it would be fun to have a little field trip. He just got home today, with the help of some wonderful fellow animal owners.

I hope you had fun, Bailey, because you are soooooo GROUNDED!

Much, MUCH thanks to our neighbors who found him and caught him and called! We love you!

Most Envied Person of the Week...

2008-10-28T05:51:00.002-05:00

Isn't it funny how I declare a most envied person of the week, implying that I will be declaring one EVERY week?

I think we all know that I'm not that ambitious...

I might as well tell you that next week, there probably won't be a most envied person. Or I might declare myself the most envied person. Either/Or.

ANYWAY!

I'm calling it for this week--Brian Oake...he's all calm and relaxed on the radio in the afternoon while a lot of us are out there, examining close up, the social experiment that we call the afternoon commute.

(I'm actually much more calm driving home than I am in the morning...I guess I don't care what time I get there. So, I'm fairly relaxed. Except for swearing at people who don't know how to merge. You are now free to picture me driving in a leisurely fashion at 4:55PM on a weekday, angering every other person on the highway. Enjoy.)

Brian, I'd like to say that I would love to have your job, and I would, but you definitely out-geek me in the artist info department, so you just keep doing what you're doing--and I'll be over here, trying not to incite any road rage.

Just A Number

2008-10-27T12:42:00.001-05:00

I'm so old where I work.

Actually, I'm about average, age-wise, in the building, but, it's a damn big building. It's one of those big buildings with lots of granite and marble and thoughtful hotel-like touches, so, it was pretty much designed with "old" people in mind, cuz we're all about granite and marble and thoughtful hotel-like touches. We've earned that shit, haven't we?

I'm not old in real life, I'm just old around some 5 or 6 of the dozen or so people that I work with directly--those 5 or 6 are the ones who party and go to clubs on the weekends. Good for them. But...I'm old.

Not that I don't party on the weekends. When you reach a certain age, you just do it differently. For example, this Saturday night, while my younger co-workers were paying way too much for some weak, foo-foo drinky-poo, I was relaxing with a bourbon and water (cough-cough) that only a bonafide drinker would enjoy (read: strong), and, I didn't have to tip anybody or dress up to get it. Somehow, I worked it into my regular errands. Cool.

I also ate "good" food--some semi-incredible ribs with amazing sauce, that some lovely person (me) prepared just for me. Also Cool.

The best thing was that there was some semi-intelligent conversation to go with that drink and food, and very little drama. Cuz when you're old, you don't "do" drama.

Let's re-cap...granite and marble, thoughtful hotel-like touches, strong drinks, good food, delightful conversation, no drama. Hmmm....with that added perspective, I think I will agree to be old, just for the time being.

If You're Not Pissed Off

2008-10-22T10:33:00.001-05:00

You're not paying attention.

Wall Street Bank Execs Pocket $70 BILLION of your tax payer bailout money.

No You Don't, But That's OK

2008-10-22T09:14:00.001-05:00

We haven't visited our musical My Space friends in a while....wanna go?

Hoarsebox--these little cuties from Dublin sent me an email saying that they noticed I liked The Police and that surely I would like them, too, because they sound like that. Um...no, they don't. But they do sound cool. Kind of a Squeeze thing, not that I'm a sucker for English Pop or anything.

Speaking of Squeeze...

Chris Difford--this is his solo work page. Let's face it--pretty much anything associated with Squeeze, I'll enjoy.

Fall Out Boy--I unabashedly adore Fall Out Boy. I wouldn't recognize any of them if I ran into them anywhere, or, even if they walked up to me and said, "Hi, I'm ________ from Fall Out Boy"--well, maybe Pete, but probably only if he had his wife in tow. What can I say--I'm not 15 anymore. HOWEVER, I've loved pretty much every song of theirs I've ever heard. And I've been waiting for a crappy one--cuz I'm not 15 anymore. Nope. No crappy ones. Yay!

The Ting Tings--When is the last time you felt like dancing around the living room? Need a soundtrack for that? The Ting Tings. I'm just sayin'.

And it's not as if I've never mentioned Justin Currie here, and, I wasn't going to, BUT...the other night, I was tooling around in the car, flipped the channel on the radio, and what should I hear? A very funny man with a Scottish accent...A Justin interview from when he was in town this Spring.

*sigh*

I was in Alabama when he was in Minneapolis, and MISSED that show at the Fine Line...the only show I gave a shit about seeing before I died a sad, lonely death (surrounded by 23 cats) and returned in spirit form to haunt anyone unfortunate enough to occupy my last known residence.

No drama.

But hearing the radio interview did remind me of how pissed I was to miss that show.

OK...

...I've recovered.

Mostly.

Simple Minds--the other day, somebody asked me one of those "whatever happened to" questions about Simple Minds, because their song "Don't You Forget About Me" was Number One on some list of memorable movie songs from the 80's. I'm just going to come right out and say it--I hated that fucking song. Oh, I might have liked it for the first 10 listens, or so, but, working in Top 40 radio has a way of taking all the joy out of hearing a hit song. Anyway---for those who know just that one song, you will find it on their My Space page. For those of us who liked the way they sound in general, and are willing to overlook that most unfortunate "hit song" thing, there are other songs to listen to, as well.

Get to click'n!

Diva Is....A Punk Rocker

2008-10-21T09:34:00.004-05:00

Diva got a new hair cut and color...

...and for some reason, did not fully appreciate it when
I referred to her as "The Late, Great, Johnny Ramone".

Ahem....am I right? Or am I right?

Interesting...

2008-10-19T09:56:00.000-05:00

What if things were switched around?

You're Almost As Paranoid As I Am

2008-10-19T05:03:00.000-05:00

Almost

It's gettin' so a girl doesn't want to talk about things anymore. I talked about Michaels, then discovered Michaels checked up on me to make sure I didn't say anything bad about them...

Seriously?

What are they going to do when I show up at the door waving money?

The presidential election conversations have been similarly observed. Only, the fabulous tracking devices used by those who's job it is to secure the safety of high-level political candidates can't be seen by my lowly stats counter.

But I know you are out there, Secret Service Agent Whomever. Don't worry, I'm probably not going to do anything rebellious.

Except vote.

I know that may be frightening for some candidates. Good luck with that.

Mostly, I say nice things around the blog-o-rama. I'm not a meanie. If I feel like telling someone off, I contact them directly, whenever possible.

Besides, like Olympia Dukakis said in Steel Magnolias--if you can't find something good to say about anyone, come and sit by me. We'll talk privately. Catty bitch conversations are for enjoying with your girlfriends, not sharing with the world...

Mmmm.....Pretty...

2008-10-18T15:30:00.003-05:00

This is nice. (But you knew I was going to say that.)

Click the pic if you want your own copy...

At Least The Coffee Is Cheap

2008-10-18T10:19:00.001-05:00

From our friends in Duluth...

...yeah, it was a boo-boo.

Luckily, it didn't cause any traffic accidents.

Blog Action Day

2008-10-15T11:35:00.001-05:00

Today is Blog Action Day, with this year's focus on poverty. Check out 88 Ways To Do Something About Poverty Right Now on the Blog Action Day site.

And note the recurrence, throughout the list, of the one most important thing...Don't Be Lazy!

We tend to be complacent here in the United States, because many of us have more we need. The very fact that you can read this web site at all is a clear indicator that you have more than most people on the planet. You have access to a computer, and presumably, electricity, and a roof of some structure covering you. Kind of a big deal, when placed in proper perspective. Large population groups on this planet don't have that.

The thought of having all that we need, and having it without having to buy stuff has come up in several amazing ways this week. For example, while I've always been a bit of a freak about frugality, having my soon-to-be ex husband tell me, over the phone, that I was "right" about not needing so much stuff in our lives was not necessarily gratifying to hear, but gave me some hope that when the going gets tough, even the avid shoppers can get by with less.

(Ahem...it might get tough here in the U.S. Some would say it's tough already. Don't be scared. You can handle it.)

Later in the week, while watching a PBS program about life on a Minnesota farm in the early part of the 20th century, my friend and I reflected upon those "olden days"--how they survived with "nothing", and how it was incredibly difficult sometimes, but they did it anyway. They heated their homes with corn cobs and cow pies, had to preserve most of their food because there were no freezers, and had to deal with incredible weather conditions, but when they interviewed the people who lived through it, what they remembered was not burning cow pies, but the good food, visiting friends and neighbors, and family gathering around the piano. Nobody complained.

Lastly, at a get-together, Barb and I discovered that when we were kids, we both had to "make the milk"....what a strange childhood recollection to have in common! My father drove a truck, and there wasn't much money, but there were six of us kids. My mom would buy a half-gallon of whole milk, and mix it with a half-gallon of powdered milk.

Barb's dad sold insurance, and when it came to milk, her mom went "full powder".

Somehow, we both managed to survive this indignity and become productive members of society...(sarcasm intended)

It seems fitting, thinking about the economy in the US, and the poverty situation worldwide, that we should come together today and discuss this issue. Some will take the information they receive today and use it to shrink their personal economic and ecological footprint. Others will use it to help those in desperate need. Either of those things will help, so go for it.

My best recommendation to you regarding poverty is simply to use less. There are only a billion ways to do that, so to keep you from losing your mind and being overwhelmed with choices, I'll just give you my NUMBER ONE thing, the most important thing in my life, that I do in order to be happy and save money....ready? Here it is...

Get a useful hobby.

Seriously--that's it. Get a useful hobby.

My hobbies tend to be utilitarian, and all involve making stuff, like painting, knitting, gardening, etc.

I can buy a packet of tomato seeds, for example, and have a kajillion tomatoes for less than the price of one little bunch of tomatoes at the grocery store. More importantly, however, it brings me great joy and a sense of accomplishment to do this. I'm contributing something, even in my relaxation. And usually, there are more than I can use, so I give a lot away.

I can also take a pretty cool photograph, blow it up and frame it for less than I could buy a similar item, and it will ultimately mean more to me and my family than something I just bought.

Knitting, of course, always creates something of use.

Very often, I look at a clever idea and think, "That is so cool! I would like to have that!" Even more often, however, I think, "That is so cool! I should MAKE that!"

So, that's my secret....do something you love, that produces a usable result or item. Use just what you need, and give the rest away.

About a million years ago, I wrote about all of this stuff, and you can read all about it here, but if you don't mind, I'll just pull some of the good bits for you:

I'm stuck hard in the notion that buying something that you could easily (or even not so easily) make yourself is practically sinful and definitely wasteful. I'm tired of looking like the weirdo because I'm not a big "shopper".

Doesn't everybody know how to make their own soap? Can't ANYONE grow tomato plants and everything else under the sun from seeds you stashed safely away last fall (or bought from a catalog)? Or spend the winter enjoying all of the food that you put up from the garden? Isn't knitting a normal thing that people do just for the hell of it because they CAN? Don't "normal" people wear clothes that somebody MADE for them by hand and then just gave it to them to wear? Are we not supposed to cover ourselves with all of those quilts and afghans?

But, most importantly, aren't all of these things useful? Or do they only become useful when there is a crisis?

So, why the hell do I do this, even though nobody around me really appears to care one way or the other? (Gedney pickles sure are WAY better than mine, I can tell you that...) I don't know. I guess it is the feeling of knowing that no little kid in a far-off country had to have a shitty day because I wanted, no, NEEDED to have something that they could produce for pennies and I am too lazy to make myself, or hunt for something that is already made but just harder to find. That would be a good start.

And I suppose that we could spend some time in deep thought about our environmental footprint--you know what I am talking about!

But really, I think that I am into it for a lot of reasons:

) The giving. Making a gift of something that you made yourself is awesome, and usually very appreciated. ( Every year at Christmas, two or three ladies from my office give everybody a jar of jam that they made. It is my favorite gift, every year, and so clever! They are able to have enough of a thing on hand to give a nice gift to LOTS of people, and it costs them practically nothing...) You feel so much abundance when you can make a thing that is really special and then you give it away.

) Politically, well, the politics of being a massive consumer SUCK. Please make the effort to watch "When Walmart Comes To Town" or order a tape of it from PBS--go here for the broadcast schedule in your part of the world--you will never want to buy a thing that you don't ab-so-freaking-lute-ly NEED ever again, especially anything made in China.

) To be my own person and not blindly follow trends like some f*cking drone, and to be a good example for my children. This is probably the biggest one of all.

) To be able to have a good laugh at all the people who ARE f*cking drones...

) And, finally, though I have not really made much use of this one, to join a community of others like me, who think that all of these same things are important--to gather ideas, enjoy creativity at it's finest, and reap the benefits of just being around all of this--where people are creating and producing and giving and giving and giving...it is a beautiful thing.

Thanks, all, for your contributions to Blog Action Day!

Just Write Something, Boogerhead!

2008-10-14T14:28:00.001-05:00

I've got the "house crowded" syndrome--nobody's fault, just no down/alone time for writing. (Lucky you! No way-too-deep reflections on way-too-deep topics! Wooo-Hoo!)

I wonder what I'm going to be like when I actually AM alone all the time...Hmmm. I'll probably be spending a ridiculous hours at Michael's, Williams Sonoma, and the various yarny-type shops all over this town. Then hustling home to work on projects and food.

Mmmm....projects...food...

A couple of light items in lieu of actual content:

Speaking of Williams Sonoma, here is a little bird starter for ya--I usually concoct my own turkey brine from, uh, stuff I have around the house. I usually have stuff like onions and oranges and apples and seasonings and sea salt around the house, so its OK... However! As you can see here, brining has been compacted into this neat and tidy little bottle of stuff, with most of what I would normally pull in a brine, and a few other things.

Cool...

See? I need to go there. Brine and $6000 worth of cook wear. I NEED IT!

I thought it would be fair to also visit Michael's online, but was so distracted by that thing they have there call The Knack that I couldn't do any actual shopping. Everybody knows that The Knack has little to do with arts and crafts and everything to do with pop music. I'm just sayin'. Take your Service Mark and go home....but please don't stop selling me paint and stuff...

Looking for some other merch this week? BoDeans, Live Acoustic, is available on their website, here. And people are drooooooooling over this thing.

Of course, now that I have actually ordered something from somewhere, this would be the perfect time for my mailman to take a vacation or retire. Oh yes, he did. The old mailman wore a cool hat and shorts, and parked on the street behind my car (in front of the hydrant) while he ran around our neighborhood. The new guy (who I'm sure will be up to speed in no time) is quite a bit slower and larger, not inclined to park in front of fire hydrants, wears a baseball cap and was bundled up like February when he finally found us at about 1:30 this afternoon. I know, I know...he's new. But dude, don't lose my CD...Necesito eso. Thank you.

Finally, I do have some stuff on the needles. A few projects, actually--all Things Made With Cotton. Here is the deal...I live in my friend's house. My worldly possessions, save my children and my French Press, are in boxes in the garage. Remember the box marked "Bedroom Misc" that contained a guitar amp and yarn? Yeah, I still have that. Tons of yarn, stashed in boxes in the garage. It makes a lovely padding for the amp. Of which there are now two. ANYWAY...I got bored being project free and did a little digging--found my Denises and a couple of SPOOLS of cotton, so, I'm making kitchen cotton stuff for my soon-to-be kitchen--dishclothes, bag-bag, etc.. Thrifty, right? Of course, I'll move in and the colors will be distractingly off, but, that's when I get to buy more yarn, right? Cuz I'll need it...

The Citadel Of Our Power

2008-10-13T09:35:00.000-05:00

This is a link to our friends at Perfect Duluth Day, with a couple of cool old photos, but I was mostly interested in the quote on education from President McKinley. Check it out!

Cool archival shot from 1899

If You Care

2008-10-12T09:46:00.001-05:00

American Politics can melt your brain.

If you are not a hard-line Republican or Democrat, and if you actually care enough to listen to ALL of it, and try to make a decision on what to do with your precious vote based on the information provided to you, information overload will follow, all of the months leading up to an election.

In the end, you have to go with your gut.

If you care, it's not about one guy's ability to make the other guy look bad, it's about whether that one guy actually looks good. Because, personally, I don't want to vote for A because B appears to be an asshole and A is my only other option.

If you care, you try to look past finger-pointing, eye rolling, name-calling and the like. If you care, you watch it all go down and realize that one side is doing a lot more finger-pointing, eye rolling, name-calling and the like, and that disturbs you greatly.

If you care, it scares the living hell out of you to watch video footage of political rallies in which your fellow citizens suggest killing a political candidate with whom they disagree. If you care, it also bothers you that "their" candidate has NOT made an extremely strong effort to dissuade them from making such suggestions.

C'mon, John....aren't you going to say something? I mean, out loud? To the entire nation? Not just in a Lakeview High School gym? I'm sure Obama's Secret Service detail would appreciate the support.

I started off this election season with an open mind, watched and listened to everything I could, and have come to my decision. I knew that eventually I would. I knew that sometime before November, the glaring spotlight would reveal some things that were an insult to my personal sensibilities, and it would make my decision an easy one.

Because in the end, you have to go with your gut.

Senator McCain, or at least his campaign, is starting to remind me an awful lot of someone that I used to know...a real-live scary person that I wrote about here. She is the mother to my stepchildren, and is a narcissist. I don't mean she's a bitch, I mean, she has an actual personality disorder that causes her to do unspeakable things because she is incapable of taking other people's feelings or experiences into account.

I suppose one could say that I have become hyper-vigilant to narcissists after my experiences with my stepchildren's mother. They would not be wrong. That doesn't make the signs any less obvious in the case of this particular candidate. Narcissists like to re-write history in their favor, lie a lot, and are rather consistent with their "pot calling the kettle black" ways. They abuse you and label YOU the abuser. They are so fearful of being revealed as less than perfect that they will say, and do, just about anything to maintain a facade. Even let their supporters talk about killing their opponent. After all, it wasn't THEM who said it, so they assume no blame.

My stepchildren's mother liked to claim that her three husbands all abused her, that her children abused her, that the system abused her and that she was an all-around victim.

Kinda like Senator McCain likes to say that Senator Obama's campaign has been the most negative in history.

Nobody knows the trouble they've seen.

The reality? Quite the opposite. Julia was the abuser, to all of her husbands, and all of her children. Her temper was legendary, and erratic.

Remind you of anybody we know?

Yet somehow, she was able to present herself well enough to convince a lot of people that she was innocent. Heroic, in fact. Narcissist present well.

While the McCain campaign has been painting themselves the victim of Obama's "attacks", those like me, without a particular agenda going in, have noticed something disturbing...the old "pot calling the kettle black" business. Who is doing the negative campaigning, really?

Also, the "Wink-wink I'm not sayin' but I will imply..." method of getting you to think bad thoughts about Senator Obama is classic narcissism. The McCain campaign is free from accountability for what YOU think, so they are safe in letting you go on thinking awful things about Senator Obama. They imply something sinister about Obama, and say all kinds of things to lead you in a negative direction, but don't actually go on record with anything. They let you conclude that thought on your own. That way, they have plausible deniability. Classic narcissism.

After all, it wasn't McCain or Palin who said "Kill him". They just didn't disagree.

And clearly, they don't disagree, or, they would have said something by now, don't you think?

Are we really going to elect people who won't come out strongly against KILLING a fellow political candidate?

I don't think I will. You lost me, John. I was an undecided voter who paid attention. I cared enough to listen to it ALL. In the end, the truth was revealed by what was NOT said.

Sexsomnia? Really?

2008-10-10T09:18:00.001-05:00

Things we study here in Minnesota...taking your libido out for a little sleep-walk. Who knew? And, is it possible to train your partner to become a sexsomniac, in case that's the only kind of sex you can get? Juuuuust askin'.....

Sexsomnia--The Ultimate Sexual Disorder

Fortified with Spammy Goodness

2008-10-09T09:41:00.002-05:00

Woooo-Hooooo! Spam game! See if you can find any interesting spam subjects in YOUR email and you might win.......uh........you might win.........

Well, you won't actually "win" anything, but at least you'll have a good laugh at someone else's expense, and isn't that what life is all about?

Awesome Auger Makes Yard Work Easy‎ - Insert filthy joke about "drilling" RIGHT HERE!

Happiness‎ -Is a Warm......banana walnut scone and a hot cup of pressed coffee.

What? What did you think I was going to say?

Easier way to open that jar - You get a GUY to do it! Yeah, yeah...I'm totally guilty of that. I also, on occasion, make them get things off of high shelves for me...

Painkillers? We GOT Everything - Which makes you my new best friend!

You deserve to be a giant‎ - Am I not, already, gigantic? I stepped on the bathroom scale this morning, and it did indicate signs of giant-ness. I'm just sayin'.

Shelly, Do You Know Your Life's Purpose - I'm not sure if I want to know...I mean, what if its actually all the sucky stuff I've already been doing up until now? What if.....what if this is IT?

Billions of dollars being given away‎ - Hey....I thought we weren't going to talk politics today...

power your friend‎ - I don't want to have to go looking for the AC adapter plug on my friend, OK? She's going to have to find that herself...

Your pants' magic weapon‎ - Is that a taser in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?

Penis‎ - I like this subject, because it was straight to the point--no talking about "love gun" or any thinly veiled innuendo like "your pants' magic weapon", just, "Penis". I respect that.

Have you had your spam today?

A Little Perspective, People!

2008-10-09T09:22:00.001-05:00

I don't know exactly where this started or where it came from, if the credited author actually wrote it or anything like that, but, my brother sent it to me, its excellent, and, I'm sharing...

545 PEOPLE
By Charlie Reese

[Charlie Reese is a former columnist of the Orlando Sentinel]

Politicians are the only people in the world who create problems and then campaign against them.

Have you ever wondered why, if both the Democrats and the Republicans are against deficits, WHY do we have deficits?

Have you ever wondered why, if all the politicians are against inflation and high taxes, WHY do we have inflation and high taxes?

You and I don't propose a federal budget. The president does.

You and I don't have the Constitutional authority to vote on appropriations. The House of Representatives does.

You and I don't write the tax code, Congress does.

You and I don't set fiscal policy, Congress does.

You and I don't control monetary policy, the Federal Reserve Bank does.

One hundred senators, 435 congressmen, one president, and nine Supreme Court justices 545 human beings out of the 300 million are directly, legally, morally, and individually responsible for the domestic problems that plague this country.

I excluded the members of the Federal Reserve Board because that problem was created by the Congress. In 1913, Congress delegated its Constitutional duty to provide a sound currency to a federally chartered, but private, central bank.

I excluded all the special interests and lobbyists for a sound reason. They have no legal authority. They have no ability to coerce a senator, a congressman, or a president to do one cotton-picking thing. I don't care if they offer a politician $1 million dollars in cash. The politician has the power to accept or reject it. No matter what the lobbyist promises, it is the legislator's responsibility to determine how he votes.

Those 545 human beings spend much of their energy convincing you that what they did is not their fault. They cooperate in this common con regardless of party.

What separates a politician from a normal human being is an excessive amount of gall. No normal human being would have the gall of a Speaker, who stood up and criticized the President for creating deficits. The president can only propose a budget. He cannot force the Congress to accept it.

The Constitution, which is the supreme law of the land, gives sole responsibility to the House of Representatives for originating and approving appropriations and taxes. Who is the speaker of the House? She is the leader of the majority party. She and fellow House members, not the president, can approve any budget they want. If the president vetoes it, they can pass it over his veto if they agree to.

It seems inconceivable to me that a nation of 300 million cannot replace 545 people who stand convicted -- by present facts -- of incompetence and irresponsibility. I can't think of a single domestic problem that is not traceable directly to those 545 people. When you fully grasp the plain truth that 545 people exercise the power of the federal government, then it must follow that what exists is what they want to exist.

If the tax code is unfair, it's because they want it unfair.

If the budget is in the red, it's because they want it in the red.

If the Army & Marines are at war, it's because they want them at war.

If they do not receive social security but are on an elite retirement plan not available to the people, it's because they want it that way.

They vote their own pay raises for themselves because they want it that way.

There are no unsolvable government problems.

Do not let these 545 people shift the blame to bureaucrats, whom they hire and whose jobs they can abolish; to lobbyists, whose gifts and advice they can reject; to regulators, to whom they give the power to regulate and from whom they can take this power. Above all, do not let them con you into the belief that there exists disembodied mystical forces like 'the economy,' 'inflation,' or 'politics' that prevent them from doing what they take an oath to do.

Those 545 people, and they alone, are responsible.

They, and they alone, have the power.

They, and they alone, should be held accountable by the people who are their bosses provided the voters have the gumption to manage their own employees.

We should vote all of them out of office and clean up their mess!

That could very well be the last thing anybody needs to say about politics this week, or this month, or even this year....

Thank You FactCheck.Org!

2008-10-08T08:33:00.001-05:00

OK, I watched the entire debate. I only cringed a little. Nobody appeared as giant spiders and the Sarah Michelle Gellar character was absent.

One Golden Opportunity missed by BOTH candidates? When the lady asked what we Americans can sacrifice besides our soldier's blood (since we haven't been asked to sacrifice anything since the Depression era), I would have said, "If everybody in America worked to reduce their PERSONAL DEBT, it would go a looooooong way toward solving financial problems that we face. THAT is the sacrifice that you can make. So plant your Victory Garden and forgo a few things, people. Yes, we ARE drunk on credit. Thanks for playing..."

Read all about it at your favorite places online, and definitely check out Factcheck.org.

Better Days

2008-10-07T13:58:00.000-05:00

I went from a sh*tty Monday to a Total Effing Rock Star Tuesday, juuuust like that, and, it's a beautiful thing. In celebration, I stole another meme from Cursing Mama, who's eternal indulgence of my thieving ways has spoiled me rotten.

Answer each question with a one word answer....Ready, Set, Go!

1. Where is your cell phone? Desk

2. Where is your husband? HA!

3. Where is your mother? Home

4. Where is your father? Home

5. What is your hair color? Uh...

6 Your favorite thing? Food

7. What did you dream last night? Dunno

8. What's your goal? Domination

9. What room are you in? Living

10. What's your hobby? Knitting

11. What's your biggest fear? Failing

12. Where will you be in 6 years? Dominating!

13. Where were you last night? Patio

14. What you're not? Gregarious

15. What's one of your wish-list items? ... (Ahem...I don't recognize this "wish list" thing of which you speak)

16. Where you grew up? Dakota

17. What's the last thing you did? Bath

18. What are you wearing? Robe

19. Your TV? Off

20. Your pet? Aggravating!

21. Your computer? Dell

22. Your mood? Happy

23. Missing someone? No

24. Your car? Large

25. What are you not wearing? Underwear! (Wooooo-Hoooo! TMI?)

26. What's your favorite store? Target

27. Your summer? Weird

28. Love someone? Certainly

29. Your favorite color? Green

30. When was the last time you laughed? Today

31. Cried? This week

Like An Incurable

2008-10-06T13:42:00.004-05:00

My friend got a song stuck in her head, and was seeking a cure. It was the type of song where, if you are out partying, and somebody plays it on the jukebox or the band plays it, even in your most drunken state, everybody in the entire place knows all the words and, because of the aforementioned drunken state,everybody feels the need to sing along at the top of their lungs and, perhaps, dance.

Well, everybody but me. I am what you would call a "stick in the mud", meaning, while you all are dancing and singing and having a good time, I'm looking at everybody thinking, "Oh dear God...this is sooooo embarrassing..."

To exorcise the Song Stuck In My Head demon, my friend decided that she must hear the song in question, and after that she should be fine.

The song was Reminiscing.

Oh, hell...

....Reminiscing...catchy like the flu and no preventive vaccine on the market. If somebody plays that song, anywhere, at any time, you are Completely. Screwed.

My friend's boyfriend, trying to help her, located the appropriate Little River Band collection, and popped on Reminiscing.

Completely.

Screwed.

Immediately upon hearing it, I had it stuck in MY head. Its a much worse condition for us sticks-in-the-mud than it is for you normal people. (Yes, I do know all the words. Every single one. I don't actually know any homo-sapien on this planet who doesn't know all the words to that song. It's also right in my key, so, I kick ass at the singalong. Most of us white girls do.)

What followed after the LRB cure was an hour or so of ticking through and playing some "great old songs", all in what I would call the Adult Contemporary format, that all of my friends agreed were just "the BEST" and they wish people made music like that now, etc., etc., Blah, Blah, Blah.

I even caught my friends, on the very next evening, sitting through an info-mercial for an Adult Contemporary song collection being offered by Time/Life.

Jeezuz...

It's not that the songs weren't good, or the artists weren't good. It's that when you say "Music, 1978" to me, I think about The Police, not the Little River Band.

Apparently, I have some slightly funky wiring.

I still listen to Outlandos d'Amour--working on my third or fourth copy by now--and, still love the hell out of it. I'm listening to it right now, as a matter of fact, to try to wash that info-mercial out of my hair.

I think that the thing about all those huge hit songs boils down to this: They are easy. Just like it is easy to love a star quarterback, with all the hunky athleticism, it is easy to love a huge hit song. It takes very little effort on the part of the listener. It's everywhere, and, all your friends are doing it. (So, if all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you do that, too? Sorry, I couldn't resist. I'm a mother.)

One could say that it is a pretty neat trick for a song-writer, to be able to come up with something like that. It may be, or, it may be just a timing thing. In 1978 and for several years after, we were in the mood for what LRB was serving up, and most of us didn't get into a Police mood until we were into the 80's. By then, the Police had finished much of their snarling (except at each other) and were all driving nice cars and such. While Synchronicity is brilliant, Outlandos d'Amour screamed "We've Got Nothing To Lose By Trying", which I find so much more appealing on a personal level. The band didn't have any money or a record contract at that time, so, they made the particular brand of art that one makes while nobody is watching.

And...that's very much like you dancing around your living room to your favorite song when you're the only one home. It's all you, for better or worse. Very telling. But what do most of us do when we catch a friend dancing when they think nobody's watching? Laugh at them. No wonder hardly anybody dares like things that aren't hugely popular...there are some consequences involved with doing your own thing.

I wish I wasn't a weirdo like that, and I wish I listened only to hit songs instead of what I actually listen to. I think life would be easier if I did. I wouldn't have to explain every band, every musician and every song--there would be no effort involved with me enjoying music. I could just drink the fucking Kool-Aid and zombie out.

Except, I am the weirdo, and the stick in the mud, and the one equating listening to nothing but extremely popular music with jumping off a bridge. I'm the one, where, when people get in my car, they say things like, "What the hell are you listening to?" or, at concerts, they destroy all of what I consider delicious musical moments by complaining to me that it "doesn't sound like the album." I'm the one who, when I put together a mix or playlist for a party or something, its a bunch of tunes you don't know, and most people are incredibly surprised when they actually like all those scary songs that don't get played on the radio.

I'm the one secretly referring to you as a lemming.

I'm not sure there is a cure for musical snobbery (of which I have only a very mild case...), but I think we can all get along. I know I'm a mutant--I spent 14 years working in mostly Top 40 radio and you didn't. I had to smile through a lot of songs I was sick of playing, that I heard 17 times a day, that you never got sick of because you only heard them maybe once a day. Consider yourself lucky when you get one of those songs stuck in your head. At least you are treatable.

_______________________________________________

Nothing to do with anything, but since we are talking about The Police, let's peel off the Best Damned Police Songs, Ever, as determined by me...Ready? No particular order, and, as always, feel free to chime in...

Can't Stand Losing You--"...and your brother's gonna kill me and he's six feet ten." Sting writes about the potential for having the shit kicked out of him on a few occasions in my immediate memory. Don't know why that's so charming...

Next To You--Loud. Fast.

So Lonely--Somewhere around an Eleven on the Cool Song scale

Does Everyone Stare--I like the construction of this, and, the fact that it is a pre-"Every Breath You Take" stalkery song. I also don't know why that is so charming. I don't think people are used to singers talking about themselves as nervous wrecks that stare at girls from a distance--we're so used to songs that involve actual relationships...

Man In A Suitcase
Bombs Away
Canary In A Coal Mine
De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da--Huge pop appeal, infinitely listenable.

Hungry For You--I don't speak French. Don't care...

Secret Journey--BEST drum part on any Police song. Yeah, I said it...

Wrapped Around Your Finger--Perfect lyric. Again.

Miss Gradenko--It's one of those examples of a relatively light song--the guitar and bass work together but are so separate that you almost don't recognize them as being part of the same song.

Synchronicity I--NOT II, I. :-) It just flies faster...

Somethin' To Grab For

2008-10-03T16:07:00.001-05:00

Man...tough week, seriously. I'm looking for a couple of gallons of white wash to clean the graffiti off of my soul. (Jeeezuz what a lame, melodramatic line that was! Somebody please shoot me...)

It's the weekend...Use yours wisely.

What I wanted to ask was, how much debate did you watch...?

Anyone?

Anyone?

I watched this in the same way I watched the giant spider scenes from the Lord of the Rings trilogy--with my hands over my eyes. I watched The Grudge in the same way. Both giant spiders and freaky Japanese ghosty thingies scare the living hell out of me--they could jump out from the screen and grab me at any time.

Monsters.

(I realize as I type this that I must have learned the "cover your eyes" trick from my mother, who used to "watch" the Johnny Cash show with the sound turned up, but the TV turned to black. She wanted to hear it, but...he scared her? Hmmm...Ahem, that's a true story about my mother, by the way...)

The potential for disaster last night was so high that I didn't dare watch. Of course, it didn't turn out as bad as we might have imagined, but still, the lead up got me ready for all kinds of horror.

I guess I'm just very sensitive to other people's suffering. Though I probably won't end up voting for the Republican ticket, it doesn't mean I like to see anyone being trampled.

See? I'm such a nice person...

Before I go, a couple of things...first of all, I don't want anybody thinking I was drawing a comparison between Joe Biden and a giant spider, or Sarah Palin and Sarah Michelle Gellar, for that matter.

OK, maybe I was. My reaction to them is about the same. He's in his element, and that's kinda scary cuz he's gonna get ya! And...she doesn't know what the fuck is going on and the movie is way more interesting because of it. Frankly, I hope she never figures it out. And keep that fucking spider the hell away from me.

Lastly, completely off topic, but, everybody stop over and visit Brian, and wish him well. Karma is King, Brian, and for all you've done for everybody else, let us think a few good thoughts for you and do a few good things. Speedy recovery and a healthy life. You Rock!

Woooooo-Hoooooo!!!

2008-10-02T14:16:00.001-05:00

VICE PRESIDENTIAL DEBATE Drinking Game
brought to you by Viva Chuck Todd and Viva Rachel Maddow

You know John McCain is going to be tipping back more than a few tomorrow night, so why not join him in spirit while enjoying the most-watched Vice Presidential Debate in history. As only the Viva Chuck Todd and Viva Rachel Maddow people could do, we've put together a drinking game complete with recipes of the official drinks for each of the candidates plus the official Rachel Maddow libation and the much-anticipated, Chuck Todd-y - the official drink of Viva Chuck Todd.

Prior to beginning the game, the group must pick an official arbiter who will make all official decisions. Their word is law.

Sarah Palin

Anytime Governor Palin says:

"Gosh"
"9-11"
"Y'know"
"Well Gwen"
"Islamic Fundamentalists"
"Russia" and/or "Pootin"
"Job-creation"
"hockey mom"
"Joe six-pack"

everyone drinks.

If Trig is being hoisted around in the audience, take a drink.

If Trig get's a another spit-makeover by his sister or father, take 2 drinks and do the same thing to yourself.

Every time you see the "First Dude", take a drink and do a jumping chest bump with someone.

Anytime the television audience nervously giggles at a Governor Palin non-sequitur, everyone yells "Katie, I'd like to use my lifeline!" and drinks. Arbiter will have final say as to what qualifies, though not a hard call to make.

If Governor Palin should break down in tears and leave the stage prematurely - chug every last drop of booze in the room, doff your clothing and run naked through the neighborhood hooting in a schadenfreude-induced celebration.

Joe Biden

Anytime Senator Biden says:

"Aw c'mon"
"Malarkey"
"Scranton"
"Well Gwen"
"The policies of George Bush"
"Dick Cheney"
“John's a friend of mine” or a variation thereof
"Joe six-pack"

everyone drinks.

Anytime Senator Biden looks up to the rafters, audibly sighs OR raises his voice beyond an appropriate level out of sheer exasperation, everyone drinks. Arbiter will have final say as to what qualifies, though not a hard call to make.

Anytime Senator Biden makes an inappropriate reference to Governor Palin's gender, everyone drinks. Arbiter will have final say as to what qualifies, though not a hard call to make because you probably will hear Biden's handlers slapping their foreheads and blurting "D'oh!".

Anytime Senator Biden makes the sign of the cross and asks for God to grant him patience, everyone drink from their partner's drink as if being given communion.

When Senator Biden looks at Governor Palin and says "Get the hell off this stage, you're an insult to the process!" or any variation thereof - chug every last drop of booze in the room, doff your clothing and run naked through the neighborhood just for the hell of it.

The Chilla from Wasilla - The official drink for Governor Palin

Scale ingredients to servings - Serve in a Mason Jar

3 oz amaretto almond liqueur
1 pint beer (preferably Midnight Sun Kodiak Brown)
2 oz Coca-Cola®

Pour the amaretto into the jar over crushed ice. Follow it up by pouring a chilled beer (Alaskan if possible). Then top it off with the Coke.

The Moji-Joe - The official drink for Senator Biden

1 1/2oz. Light Rum
1 oz. Lime Juice
1/2 Cup Delaware Punch or Hawaiian Punch
3-4 Mint leaves Club Soda

Combine lime juice, mint and punch in a Collins or highball glass.
Stir gently to bruise the mint.
Fill glass 3/4 with ice.
Add the rum.
Top with soda. Stir well.

The Perfect with a lemon twist - The official Viva Rachel Maddow drink

1.5oz sweet vermouth1.5oz dry vermouth
lemon twist
over ice in a rocks glass

Watch Rachel personally whip this juicy bit of heaven up by clicking here

This drink is smooth and easy, as smooth and easy as “the Chuck” himself. Nothing harsh, or cloying or bitter. Just cool, baby. Smooth and cool, just like “the Chuck.”

the CHUCK TODD-Y

Fill glass with ice and add

1 oz Malibu Rum
1 oz Parrot Bay Rum
½ oz Grenadine or Crème de Almond
Top off glass with equal parts orange juice and pineapple juice.
Shake and pour into glass.

This drink was designed by Patrick - Official Viva Chuck Todd Mixologist,
who can be found in the summer months manning the spirits
at the Dragonfly Deck Bar in Kill Devil Hills, NC

This Is Screaming

2008-10-01T15:11:00.004-05:00

Hi.

Grouchy.

Don't feel like talkin'.

Here's a funny thing Barrett was sharing on PDD today....

Like It Never Even Happened

2008-09-30T11:33:00.001-05:00

I keep running into old business associates.

People from the ancient times.

People that I thought I was never going to see or speak to, ever again.

And...they are all happy to see me.

I feel a bit like Pam Ewing.

If I had to describe it, I would say it was like the last 10 years never happened. What a long, strange sleep.

And I am a bit bewildered, as one is upon waking, (Nice to see you all...is there coffee?) because everybody is talking to me like they just saw me yesterday, even though for some, its been upwards of 15 years.

Huh...

I'm a big believer in signs, as in, "If I'm supposed to be doing X, please send me a sign". This turned into a rather hilarious ongoing dialogue with my daughter when we were living in Mobile, Alabama and we were dreadfully unhappy--anytime something relating to NOT being there popped up, she would scream, "MOM!! It's a SIGN!" Bad service at the Popeye's Drive Thru? "MOM!! It's a SIGN!" See a flying cockroach climbing up the outside wall? "MOM!! It's a SIGN!" You get the idea. She was ready to leave...

Eventually, after being pummeled with signs, we did leave.

So now, I am here, and, it has been very welcoming. Old friends. Good signs.

Last week, it really bothered me that I had taken that long nap. This week, not so much. I'm starting to feel like my old self again. Only better. I know how to handle things differently, how to be a better business person--lots of things. It was a productive sleep.

To The Writers

2008-09-29T14:00:00.001-05:00

I didn't always think of writing as a means of casual communication, but rather, relief from intense social frustration: It is a far less frightening way to talk. The medium itself, for the most part, doesn't really include dialogue in the traditional sense, where people are talking over you and you're debating and eventually, they might change your mind. You write the whole damn thing and present it. There you go--"This is how I feel..." and let them answer all they want--you've said your peace.

I have found that I am an extremely mutable person--that I just go along with whatever, even when I hate it or it feels wrong to me, just because I don't want to make waves, or disappoint or anger anyone. Basic doormat behavior. Strange how I'm not at all like that on a page--When I'm writing, I've got seven million ways to say, "You are a complete idiot, you need to stay the hell away from me, and hopefully you will die soon, to spare the rest of the world from your dangerous stupidity..." but, I'd probably never say that to you in person, even if you richly deserved it.

I want very much to believe that people have good intentions, but the reality is that most people who are trying to get you to change your mind are thinking only of their own comfort, or, they are acting upon some societal norm--its not their fault. Many people are this way, and it is I who am the "weirdo" in this situation--not to worry, I'll be uncomfortable enough for the both of us.

The Weirdo personality quirk that has caused a lot of problems for me. For example, I ended up getting married a couple of times... :-) Sitting in front of this computer right now, I will tell you that I never should have done it, that I don't like being married, that I can't handle it, that I don't have to strength for that kind of arrangement, that being married just about killed my entire spirit (both times), that I don't especially like living with other people, anyway, and that I'm much, much happier left to my own devices and not not living in some kind of "have to" world.

Why have I come to this realization? For starters, I can't even count how often I was up at 2 in the morning, happily working on some project, and my mate d'jour stumbled out of the bedroom, questioning why I wasn't snuggled in bed with him. Strangely, "Because I'm painting/writing/working..." never seemed to cut it as an answer. Neither did, "I'm afraid if I don't act upon this inspiration right now, it will be lost forever." I mean...not wildly logical, is it? Don't you have to work in the morning?

Everyone assumed that I if I didn't want to hang out with them at "bed time", that I didn't love them, so often I would bow to their pressure for the sake of keeping them happy. Consequently, I found that the things I cared about--my personal expression chief among them--suffered dramatically.

While it is true this was a consequence that I brought upon myself by constantly acquiescing to people who had no artistic leanings of any kind, and I probably should have known better than to hang out with that kind of person in the first place, the lesson escaped me for a very long time. Finally, it is hitting home.

Luckily, I'm still young and fabulous.

Also lucky? The desire to create never really leaves a person. It takes an awful lot to beat it out of you.

Of course, there is little money in artistry, save for a select few people, and you do have to support yourself in some way that may have nothing to do with purely creative endeavors, but, I think that is OK, as long as you recognize and honor your creative self, and also, make sure that the people you choose to hang out with honor it as well.

And, that they do it from the safe distance of their own houses...

...and I mean that in the nicest possible way.

I was reading Stephanie Pearl-McPhee this morning, and she talked about artists, and the art industry. It occurred to me that it is really a strange affair to a lot of people--they don't "get" it on the action level. They can't relate to sitting down and writing, and doing that enough times where you eventually end up with a book. Or putting any kind of effort into anything of that nature, with no guarantee of a return on your investment of time or resources. Most art is done on spec. Yet, art is everywhere around them, every minute of the day: They listen to the radio, they watch television, they walk past a sculpture on their way into their office, they read, etc. Somebody had to take that leap of faith and write that freaking song...it didn't just appear out of thin air.

Well, actually, it DID just appear out of thin air...and someone with the ability to see it and recognize it for what it was, had the inclination to write it down. That is what art is. Ideas appear, and artists interpret them for you in a medium that you can understand--photograph, book, TV show, symphonic movement...whatever. I often hear people who are not artists claim that artists are selfish, but I am here today to tell you that those people are dead wrong. Imagine a world in which no one had ever bothered to share an observation, and you'll see what I mean. They are the complete opposite of selfish.

Art cannot happen unless the artist is actually given the freedom to do it--and I do want to stress that I am not talking about money or grants here, but a more precious currency:

Time.

Michelangelo painted four years on a little project known as the Sistine Chapel, with no guarantee of payment, since the man who hired him was often off to war, and at one point was actually lying on his death bed, being administered the last rites of the church. Somehow, though, the planets lined up and the work was presented to the world as we see it now, one of the greatest achievements not just in the art industry, but in any industry.

And...what have you done for mankind lately?

I still write people notes instead of talk to them if it's something that I consider important. I just don't trust myself not to say something stupid, even after all this time. Words are very powerful to me, especially in times when I feel powerless, and with so many things that can go wrong, I dare not leave some things to chance. I am happy to be a writer, happy that I can do it, and happy that it can make a difference in somebodys life, in some way. Not to mention the fact that it is cheaper than therapy...

Fluent In Gibberish

2008-09-26T09:40:00.001-05:00

I may not have anything to talk about today, but I don't like to leave political conversations hanging up over the weekend, so, I suppose we could discuss cute boys or something, just to keep it light...?

I'm reading Ian Shane's Radio Radio, and, surprise, surprise, I recognize every character. I appreciate that he started the book with this quote from Hunter S. Thompson--"The radio business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where pimps and thieves run free, and good men die like dogs. There is also a negative side." El Fucking Oh El, my friend...
More than I appreciate the fact that My Space finally created a profile music player that holds more than one song, I am in LOOOOOOOOOOOOVE with the fact that Sting made his most wonderful song "Straight To My Heart" available for schmoh's like me to add to our little playlist thingies. "Thingie" being the technical term. "Straight To My Heart" is an absolute delight from one end to the other--one of my favorite songs of ALL TIME. I would normally direct you to the man himself to hear that song, but, you may have trouble finding it in the fat volume of work on Sting's page, so, just see me instead, and it will pop right on, MmmmKay? (And then you'll hear a bunch of pop songs, for which I have no excuse other than the "I'm a girl" thing. Hives Rule. Thank you.).
And if you need further proof that Sting is, or at least, was at one time, the King of the Known World, check out "I Burn For You", as well. Everybody should be singing that to somebody. I'm just sayin'.
Did I ever tell you that the first time I heard The Kooks, I couldn't understand a damn thing they were singing and had to spend a week with a lyric sheet in front of me? Juuuust a wee bit different from that Sconnie accent that I finally aced. Next, I'm going to learn Mandarin. How hard could it be? I mean, I'm already unbelievable bad at Spanish and German, so, having some new thing to completely brutalize will be no big deal, right?
Never mind the fact that I learned all my Spanish and German from beer labels...
HEADS UP! This little operation is moving, sort of...I found out that Barely Contained was available here at Blogger, so, I made a second copy of this very web page at www.barelycontained.blogspot.com. For the moment, I'm posting the exact same thing on both pages, so, they look exactly the same. Sometime in the future, the address where you are sitting right now will just be an archive page, and the Barely Contained address will be the blog home page. But, not today. Or, even tomorrow. Just, sometime. So, relax. Have a drink. Light up. You've got time...

Just Keep Talking, Everybody--Keep Talking

2008-09-25T09:44:00.001-05:00

Completely and utterly stolen from Kerstin, who got it from someplace else...

This is Your Nation on White Privilege
By Tim Wise
9/13/08

For those who still can't grasp the concept of white privilege, or who are constantly looking for some easy-to-understand examples of it, perhaps this list will help.

White privilege is when you can get pregnant at seventeen like Bristol Palin and everyone is quick to insist that your life and that of your family is a personal matter, and that no one has a right to judge you or your parents, because "every family has challenges," even as black and Latino families with similar "challenges" are regularly typified as irresponsible, pathological and arbiters of social decay.

White privilege is when you can call yourself a "fuckin' redneck," like Bristol Palin's boyfriend does, and talk about how if anyone messes with you, you'll "kick their fuckin' ass," and talk about how you like to "shoot shit" for fun, and still be viewed as a responsible, all-American boy (and a great son-in-law to be) rather than a thug.

White privilege is when you can attend four different colleges in six years like Sarah Palin did (one of which you basically failed out of, then returned to after making up some coursework at a community college), and no one questions your intelligence or commitment to achievement, whereas a person of color who did this would be viewed as unfit for college, and probably someone who only got in in the first place because of affirmative action.

White privilege is when you can claim that being mayor of a town smaller than most medium-sized colleges, and then Governor of a state with about the same number of people as the lower fifth of the island of Manhattan, makes you ready to potentially be president, and people don't all piss on themselves with laughter, while being a black U.S. Senator, two-term state Senator, and constitutional law scholar, means you're "untested."

White privilege is being able to say that you support the words "under God" in the pledge of allegiance because "if it was good enough for the founding fathers, it's good enough for me," and not be immediately disqualified from holding office--since, after all, the pledge was written in the late 1800s and the "under God" part wasn't added until the 1950s--while believing that reading accused criminals and terrorists their rights (because, ya know, the Constitution, which you used to teach at a prestigious law school requires it), is a dangerous and silly idea only supported by mushy liberals.

White privilege is being able to be a gun enthusiast and not make people immediately scared of you.

White privilege is being able to have a husband who was a member of an extremist political party that wants your state to secede from the Union, and whose motto was "Alaska first," and no one questions your patriotism or that of your family, while if you're black and your spouse merely fails to come to a 9/11 memorial so she can be home with her kids on the first day of school, people immediately think she's being disrespectful.

White privilege is being able to make fun of community organizers and the work they do--like, among other things, fight for the right of women to vote, or for civil rights, or the 8-hour workday, or an end to child labor--and people think you're being pithy and tough, but if you merely question the experience of a small town mayor and 18-month governor with no foreign policy expertise beyond a class she took in college--you're somehow being mean, or even sexist.

White privilege is being able to convince white women who don't even agree with you on any substantive issue to vote for you and your running mate anyway, because all of a sudden your presence on the ticket has inspired confidence in these same white women, and made them give your party a "second look."

White privilege is being able to fire people who didn't support your political campaigns and not be accused of abusing your power or being a typical politician who engages in favoritism, while being black and merely knowing some folks from the old-line political machines in Chicago means you must be corrupt.

White privilege is being able to attend churches over the years whose pastors say that people who voted for John Kerry or merely criticize George W. Bush are going to hell, and that the U.S. is an explicitly Christian nation and the job of Christians is to bring Christian theological principles into government, and who bring in speakers who say the conflict in the Middle East is God's punishment on Jews for rejecting Jesus, and everyone can still think you're just a good
church-going Christian, but if you're black and friends with a black pastor who has noted (as have Colin Powell and the U.S. Department of Defense) that terrorist attacks are often the result of U.S. foreign policy and who talks about the history of racism and its effect on black people, you're an extremist who probably hates America.

White privilege is not knowing what the Bush Doctrine is when asked by a reporter, and then people get angry at the reporter for asking you such a "trick question," while being black and merely refusing to give one-word answers to the queries of Bill O'Reilly means you're dodging the question, or trying to seem overly intellectual and nuanced.

White privilege is being able to claim your experience as a POW has anything at all to do with your fitness for president, while being black and experiencing racism is, as Sarah Palin has referred to it a "light" burden.

This is your nation on white privilege. Any questions?

The More They Stay The Same

2008-09-24T10:53:00.002-05:00

I was standing around at the Cabooze last night, with a group of radio cronies. They weren't "my" radio cronies--they actually belonged to my buddy, Greg.

Of course, since Greg and I have known each other for 852 years, we do have some mutual cronies.

The funny thing is, I've been out of the business for 9 years, and, everybody was still bitching about the same stuff they were bitching about 10 years ago, only, now we're all in Minneapolis, better dressed and driving nicer cars.

Different, but, still the same.

At one point, Greg introduced me to someone that I sort of already knew (We talked on the phone a couple of times--he had offered me a job years ago and I turned him down. Hmmm...), and as soon as the guy heard my name he rattled off half of my resume off the top of his head. I'd say it was weird, but, that's really the way a lot of people are in radio--it is a small community, so you tend to know what everybody is doing. If you liked them, you remember their radio history. It was a nice compliment that he remembered mine.

Somebody asked me if I missed it, and I had to admit that I did. It is a fun way to earn a living. My reasons for leaving it were complicated--I had gotten married to someone who was also in the business, and in the town where we lived, they really didn't want married people working at the same place, and definitely didn't want you working at competing places, so, since he made three times the money I would have made, I was the one who got out of it. In retrospect, I think that I wouldn't necessarily have had to do that--I could have just said, "Screw you" and done whatever the hell I wanted, but, it was important to my husband at the time, and he didn't want to have that pressure, so, I chose the path of least resistance.

As much as I try not to live with regret, I do regret that particular decision because I feel that it dramatically changed the path I was on in my life. I had started in radio long before I even met my husband, and, before HE started in the business as well. I had more of it under my belt. I had a history that other people in the business admired, enough to rattle it off from the top of their heads. I can say that radio really meant independence to me, in many unspoken ways--even when there was no money in it, or when I wanted to literally strangle a co-worker here and there. I don't like the fact that I just walked away from it for some guy. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry--I mean...I'm no longer even WITH my husband, after all. What the hell was I thinking?

But, I do have a history of just giving myself away any time somebody asks, so, it doesn't surprise me that I did. And there isn't really much to do about it now--just gotta get up, do the work, raise fabulous daughters and not wallow or whine. Life is still good, and there is much to be thankful for.

It was ironic, I suppose, that the reason we were at the Cabooze last night was to see Darius Rucker. Darius, of course, was a singer in a band called Hootie and the Blowfish, who sold eleventy kajillion albums and made a bunch of videos featuring their favorite football player... :-). Darious is doing something slightly different these days--playing country music, under his own name, with a whole new set of musicians backing him. What struck me about him, though, was that his approach to his work is in no way less passionate than it was when he was singing in a pop act. Because of this, he can sing whatever the hell kind of music he wants to--no matter what it is, he does it with the same vigor. He gives country music the same kind of love and attention he gave all those pop songs, making it impossible to be denied: He's just a damn talented man.

Still, there have been a lot of comments about Darius, who played arenas with Hootie, now playing for a few hundred people in a bar on a Tuesday. It is looked upon as a lesser thing. I challenge that negativity, however. Here is a guy doing what he wants to do, and what makes him happy. Who cares if it's for four hundred people or four thousand? Does it even matter? Besides, the cream rises to the top, people. He has a number one album and single this morning, and, this is territory with which he is very, very familiar.

Different, but still the same.

And, so am I. I still approach work the same way I did ten years ago, even though I have a completely different career. I'm still driven to do the best job possible. I have the admiration of the people in my business--I get promotions and raises and such, just like I always have. None of this has changed, at all. In fact, the more things change...

Fantastic

2008-09-24T06:58:00.001-05:00

Went to see Darius Rucker last night--GREAT singer, but, we already knew that, didn't we? ;-)

Here's the STrib review.

He's Always Been A Winner

2008-09-23T08:07:00.002-05:00

Painless, Non-Surgical Technology!*

2008-09-23T07:31:00.002-05:00

Amazing what a good night of perspective-aligning dreamless sleep will do...

I'm actually quite busy today, but did want to share some Linky Love--over at Rock Your Day, Dave's talking about How To Get Through Damn Near Anything, another well timed thing that just popped up.

I remember when I was well into my second year of I Have A Headache Every Day, one day just waking up and thinking, "Well, this sucks, I don't wanna do this anymore" and literally changing my mind about the whole headache thing. Its not that I didn't still have the diagnosed and documented physical issue, since the arthritis was still there in my neck, and the funky neurological thing was still there, too. I just didn't like what I had become, which was basically a disabled person, so, I decided not to be her anymore, and, just like that, I wasn't!

Ta-Dah!

Simple?

Yesterday, by the way, I had a BITCH of a headache all day. Head, face, neck...extreme pain. But it was like I had just fallen back into it, like some kind of pain habit, because normally, I am focusing on other things and don't notice it. Yesterday, I was just focusing on hurt. Your body listens, people--your body listens. Today, with so much to do, no headache. Funny how that works, isn't it?

*Google, you creep me out, seriously...I write about pain and headaches and stuff in my gmail compose mode, and the ads that pop up on the side are all freaking miracle cures...so, I totally stole one of their tag lines for the title of this post. Apparently spinal decompression is all the rage, by the way--I'm not sure I even want to know what that is.

Hollywood Ending

2008-09-22T13:30:00.004-05:00

There is a scene in Cyrano de Bergerac where, fearing he may die in battle, he writes a letter of farewell to Roxane, the love of his life, and the sole inspiration to his greatest work as a writer.

Roxane had expressed, to Cyrano, an interest in the handsome, though somewhat stupid cadet, Christian de Neuvillette. She had never met the young soldier, never spoken to him. She had only seen him, and, catching his gaze, rationalized that one so beautiful as Christian must surely have a beautiful mind, as well. Cyrano challenged her choice, reminding her that she herself had declared that she would not be up for grabs to just any man. A man would have to earn her love—have to prove himself worthy, not with muscle or a way with the sword, but with his intellect, and humility. He would have to be clever. He would have to be a poet. What if, he asked, Christian was not clever? What if he was not a poet? She declared that if that were the case, that Cyrano could put her in her grave, as she so desperately wanted to believe Baron de Neuvillette was the man of her dreams.

Desire…what a wonderful and terrible thing. To want something so badly that you refuse to believe it can never be. It makes you see things that are not there, in your desperate wish.

Unfortunately, when it came to women, Christian was a bit of a dope. He was, in fact, not clever, nor was he a poet. But because he was beautiful, and trainable, Cyrano seized an opportunity: He would create Roxane's perfect love, with the handsome good looks of Christian, and his own love's poetry providing the soul for the pleasing facade. For Cyrano did truly love Roxane, but was afraid that with his own clownish face, that she could not possibly love him in return. Though well accomplished, talented and brave, he was riddled with self-loathing because he was not handsome, and declared that even an ugly woman could not love him, much less the dazzling Roxane. With the face of Christian, however, he knew he could win her.

He poured his love for her onto the pages, writing his deepest, most heart-wrenching feelings, then, acted as if it were all just some writing exercise in which he had no emotional stake. He would say that he was an actor, a writer, a performer, and that these silly emotional things meant nothing more than a poet's commission to him. He was ever the clown on the outside, with an attitude the size of his ridiculous nose. On the inside, however, he ached for Roxane, and the more desperately he ached, the more beautiful his writing became. Finally, Cyrano's words did win her heart. She was a prize not for Cyrano, however, but for the man who had become his handsome mouthpiece, Christian.

In the play, Christian and Roxane marry, and he is sent off to war. He is brave in battle, but not so brave as his comrade, Cyrano, who crosses enemy lines daily in order to send love letters to Roxane, each signed with the name of Christian. As the two soldiers prepare for what will certainly be the most difficult military conflict of the war thus far, they are aware that they may not make it out alive, and Cyrano writes what he believes to be his final letter to Roxane. The words betray his ultimate sadness and regret, worshipping her as he did, but never telling her. Now, with death looming, he would never have another chance. As he writes, he is overwhelmed by sorrow and begins to cry. The teardrops fall upon the paper, but even his own tears, he explains away as deception, insisting to Christian that the letter is much more convincingly crafted thus, stained with tears.

I can't tell you the number times I have written in this way, with great sorrow that I later denied, to betray nothing of my own heart. Certainly dozens and dozens. I remember first "meeting" the character of Cyrano de Bergerac in college and identifying with him immediately. I thought of him last night while I was lying on my bed with my notebook and pen, crafting a farewell of my own. Just putting something to rest, that needed to be put to rest.

It has become such a familiar scene, as I am suddenly aware, yet again, that fond wishes do not come true merely by my wishing them. Wanting someone, no matter how much, does not make them yours. Sometimes, desire makes you see things that are not there, and sometimes that mirage goes on for a very long time.

The realization moves through me and feels like absolute hell, so, as I write about it, I cry. I think of it as a good cry, though. Cleansing. I am glad to get it out of me. I know tomorrow I will be less sad, and the next day, even less. Eventually, it will feel as if it never affected me. Ever the clown.

Sadness holds a different kind of beauty than joy. Most people don't want to look sadness in the eye. In fact, most people won't enjoy this particular bit that I have written today, because nobody wants to hear about you feeling shitty. I spoke to a friend last night, and when she asked what I was doing, I told her about how I was thinking of the story of Cyrano de Bergerac, and about my angle for writing this very essay. I spoke of the tragedy of not feeling that you are worthy of your heart's desire, and about fear of rejection spurring inaction.

She told me that she loved that story because she loved happy endings.

I realized that she was thinking of some Hollywood movie, since, in the play I read, Cyrano goes to his grave only barely admitting to Roxane that he ever cared for her, after hiding it for many, many years. I got off the phone wondering why I found the tragic version to be so much more realistic. I also wondered, with all my stockpiles of pride, if I was ever going to admit to giving a shit about anything, or if I was just going to go on like Cyrano, denying it to the end.

And Your Baby's Dancin', Too

2008-09-21T12:17:00.002-05:00

Returning from a evening of many smiles and much laughter, I am a bit exhausted and ever-so-slightly hung over...

First of all, I do recommend that if you ever need to hang out in a large crowd of people, bring Barb. She always finds the fun people. Last night, it was the Bare Naked Ladies guy. No, it wasn't the actual Bare Naked Ladies guy, but a guy that Barb thought looked like one of the guys from Bare Naked Ladies. I didn't see it, but, its not like I've actually taken a good look at any of them lately, so, what the hell do I know?

BNL Guy was hanging out with some dude we'll call...um..."Todd".

That might be his actual name.

I've seen him around before, and I must say, he's always seemed more like a "Craig" to me.

Barb played the hook-up in her usual way--gave BNL Guy relentless shit about something, thereby introducing herself, and they were buddies for the rest of the night. As it happens, BNL Guy and Todd were in a singing mood, and Barb marveled when, as the BoDeans took the stage, not only did BNL Guy and Todd know most of the words, they also split into harmony parts while singing them. The show had great energy, lots of smiles, and Our Boy Sam was in a chatty, dancing mood. Very Cool.

It was one of those Face Hurts From Smiling nights--you can barely go anywhere with Barb without having that problem.

When Boogie Wonderland played Baby Got Back, and a large contingency of well-heeled women started pointing their butts at anyone who would look, her classic observation was, "I feel bad...its like the rich people never get out of the house." For the record? I understand why Boogie Wonderland would do that song, but I could probably survive into antiquity without ever hearing it again, and be perfect content. I'm just sayin'. Stupid, stupid effing song...

Besides Todd and the BNL Guy, we also had a lot of fun with the porta-potty stop watch game, in which, while standing in the loooooooong bathroom line, Barb informed those in front of us that she would be timing them, prompting discussions of how many of us grew up in a house full of men (four brothers, thank you) and therefore knew how to pee really fast. Soon, those exiting porta-potties were met with cheers based on their time. Imagine, if you will, women emerging from porta-potties with arms raised in triumph. That's just a typical night out with my best friend.

Oh, and she made a point to shake Noah's hand last night, so she could brag about it to my daughter, who thinks he's cool. (The Diva has declared that she is, indeed, jealous.)

We were plenty exhausted when it was all through.

I dropped Barb off with a promise to talk tomorrow, drove home to scrounge through pill bottles in search of essential relief (Is it fair that doing anything fun causes head and spinal pain? I'm so tired of it...), washed it down with a beer and sat in silence on the patio, waiting for the Vicodin to undo all the damage I did to myself in standing, dancing, and general jumping around.

It sucks to have the body of a 157 year old. And, not just the pain issues, but...do you know how much moisturizer it takes just to stay looking 40?

Sarah drunk-dialed at around 1:30, apparently to get my expert opinion on the subject of eye-f*cking--that's a subject for a different post--and after a brief how-the-hell-are-ya, she noticed she was really shit-faced and should probably go to bed. I said, yeah, that the pill was hitting me, and I should go, too. It was sweet that this little girl (age 24), who had been drinking since 9AM, woke up at that point, enough to lecture me about pills and booze.

"Go to sleep, Sarah..."

"You be safe, OK?"

"I'm home. I'm safe. I've had a whole three beers since 6 o'clock. One pill. Go to sleep..."

"Kay..."

Touchy, Touchy...

2008-09-19T13:33:00.004-05:00

I can't believe the lawnmower had a FIT over something as stupid as me running it over a brick!

Gaaah! Give it up you psycho! Its just a brick!

Anyway...ran over a brick with the lawnmower. There was a loud protest, followed by the silent treatment. I responded in my usual way...

...with a hammer.

And I just realized that this might be why people generally don't pick fights with me.

A couple of reader questions:

Are you on Facebook?--YES! Whooo-Hoooo! And, unlike MySpace, I kind of actually use the Facebook to keep in touch with people, and I don't add people that I don't know, so, go ahead and search me BUT make sure you tell me who the hell you are, or I'm just gonna scream "CREEPER!" and run away, OK?

Very little callous objectifying going on around here lately! Where is the love?--Hmmm...digging through the archive, I see that the last callous objectification of pre-selected cute boy was back in March. Barb and I are going drop by and see this particular one in Eagan on Saturday, mainly to get the HELL out of the house, but also, because we desperately need some chill time to bitch about men and such. Not that men are annoying or anything...

Well, they kind of are.

Luckily for them, they are also cute sometimes, which brings to mind the theory that the main reason babies and puppies are cute, is that the cuteness keeps you from wanting to wring their necks when they pee all over the place. Please note video evidence of cuteness:

See? I hardly feel like killing anybody anymore! Or using them for my selfish whims. That is so weird!

Pregunta final...My cell phone never takes pictures that look that good! What kind of cell phone do you have?--Ahem...it is, a PINK cell phone. We believe that the magic is entirely in the pinkness of the phone. Cuz it is otherwise just a regular, Sanyo phone--most of the pictures on this phone are kinda crappy.

Of course, it could be that the cuteness of Punky and her friends simply took over the entire camera, making it a happy place in which things are in focus and everybody is holding still and looks totally cute, which is our second theory.

I understand there will be some patio sittin', beer drinkin' relaxation happening this weekend, because here in Minnesota, we always glom on to nice weather weekends, especially during this season, just in case it is the last one of the calendar year. We don't want to leave that to chance.

I hope everybody has a good one!

I Just Liked This One...

2008-09-18T05:50:00.002-05:00

On my cell phone, you will find, thanks to the daughters, at least one hundred thousand pictures of the cats. They looooooove takin' pictures of the cats.

You will also find, thanks to me, pictures of things that I saw somewhere that I plan to make...everything from giant wall hangings to teeny little Halloween ring costume jewelry. You know...just stuff you see and think, "I could do that!"

Last night, I found this shot of Punky and friends, and all their raving cuteness...its a keeper.

Sharing!

2008-09-17T15:29:00.001-05:00

The Extreme Moderate Manifesto

A Little Re-Sharing

2008-09-17T10:46:00.001-05:00

I was cleaning my room--uh, I mean, cleaning up the blog--and found plenty that I needed to get rid of (remember the bad Scotch?) but also, a few things that I liked...here was one of them:

Last night, I had a delightful, delicious, mind-blowing *thing* pop into my head, which was fantastic, but as I sit here today, of course, it is gone...forgot to write it anywhere.

Reminds me of all of those scenes where the secret of ultimate happiness is discovered by a bunch of guys sitting around getting totally baked, but when they come out of it, they can't remember what it was...

Such a drag...

True inspiration hits us all, some more than others. I like to think that it hits me a lot, and it does--I just happen to be unbearably lazy about it.

OK, that isn't entirely true. It may be because words escape me at a particular moment, and I can't do inspiration justice by trying to write it down--kind of like trying to describe exactly how you feel at the height of sexual pleasure...

...tough gig.

I read once that the reason we meditate using the name of our higher power is that it is about the only word we can manage to spit out at the exact moment we're having an orgasm--that our true pleasure is inextricably linked to that sound.

Now there's something to think about.

The French call orgasm "le petite mort"--the little death. Apparently this name comes from the notion that you leave a little bit of your life with your lover at that moment. How beautifully French.

I would argue that this is also true with all moments of divine guidance that are acted upon--you leave a little bit of your life in that work that you do--that painting, that sculpture, song, poem, or stupid essay about inspiration.

The little death.

It would seem, then, that one should never, ever waste that inspiration. After all, you are giving away little bits of you. Perhaps you should ask, what part of you do you want to share?

Nothing worries me more than a person who doesn't share--especially when that person is me. I have to wonder...what is happening to all of that life that is gone forever, and doesn't have a home, simply because I didn't think to write something down?

If you think that was deep, you should have heard the thing I forgot...

Evil Walks

2008-09-16T11:04:00.002-05:00

So-And-So was supposed to call and they didn't.

Aaaaugh!

I dropped immediately into this, "Well, I'll just make myself too damn busy to take their call, if that's the way they want to play it" mood and dug in. My logical mind said, "Maybe So-And-So has a reasonable excuse," but emotionally, I stubbornly went on the defensive, assuming that So-And-So was avoiding me.

Cuz that is so much better than just not worrying about it.

Since it was work-related, my logical mind told me to call him and see what was up. Trust me, if So-And-So was some cute boy I had the hots for, who said he was going to call me and didn't, I wouldn't have called. In fact, I would have made myself so scarce that Hard To Get would look like a stroll down Easy Street. Yeah, that'll teach 'em not to fucking call me...

I've spent a large amount of my life in the business of promotion, marketing, and sales. I know you have to have thick skin. I don't have this, but apparently, I can fake it pretty well, when it comes to work. I called.

I got his voicemail. Thank God.

Me, talking: (Big Smile) Hi So-And-So! It's Shelly! I was just calling about That Thing...
Me, in my head: (Bitchy) That Thing that you SAID you were going to call me about last week, you Effing Prick Who Doesn't Call When They Say They're Going To Call...
Me, talking: (Still Smiling! Casual! Smiling!) My phone number is (blah-blah-blah) And...I just wanted to check the status of That Thing and thank you so much for meeting with me about That Thing last week! K, Bye!

You know what I'm talking about, right? No pitch, no pressure, just...pretending that The Thing is no big deal, when the reality is that The Thing is a huge deal, and getting it could make or break you in your little geek world of the workplace?

Yes, I'm guilty. That phone call was a total girl trick--shaking my little tail and walking away while looking over my shoulder. I might be evil.

The non-work equivalent would be to dress up and show up where the Cute Guy Who Didn't Call You hangs out, then spend the entire night ignoring him to see if he is actually curious enough to approach you. Sometimes they are, sometimes they aren't. But at least you'll know one way or the other--Its the only, truly effective way to find out.

Because I was now incredibly nervous and freaked about So-And-So not calling, I pitched The Thing to a bunch of other people that I didn't care about. I mean...I gotta bring something to the table, even if it is just leftovers, right?. And if he does call, I can bat my eyes, play the victim and inform him that it is he that I truly love, but, what's a girl to do out here in the big scary world with no deal? I had no choice but to seek shelter elsewhere...please, please, take me away from these other people that I don't care about! There is only YOU, my darling! Only you!

And...that would also appear to be somewhat evil.

I can't believe that after openly declaring my distaste for naked sales tactics for so many years that I actually ended up being good at them. I have lived and/or worked with sales people since I was 18, all the while saying, "OK, guys, that's YOUR thing, leave me out of it..." until the day my (soon to be ex) husband, a sales person, accused me of being manipulative--it kind of reminded me of that commercial where the kid gets caught smoking pot and tells his dad, "I learned it from you!" His kids were able to sell him on things that I thought were just obscene, but, hey, they were way better at selling than I was, so, they got what they wanted while stood by in amazement, scratching for crumbs.

Sure, I learned it as a base survival tactic, but I'm glad I did, and I promise to use my powers for good. Except for So-And-So. He's Toast.

Cuz I'm Just Like Everybody Else

2008-09-15T08:34:00.003-05:00

And if you really believe that, give me a minute and I'll think of some way to disprove it.

Anyway...we are all sharing this today, but, it's funny as hell, so, why not, huh?

Aged Three Years In A Plastic Bottle

2008-09-12T10:56:00.001-05:00

I was speaking to my sister on the phone when she discovered, in one of her cupboards, a bottle of Scotch.

She's not a Scotch drinker, so, this was not her purchase, and she had to search her memory banks to try to figure out when it arrived, who brought it, and, why they left it.

Having recalled the "who" and the "when", she then determined the "why" by picking up the bottle. It was surprisingly light. Hmm...plastic.

She peered at the label and noted with a laugh that this particular Scotch had been aged for a whopping three years. Even adding the two years that it had been collecting dust at her house...still jail-bait.

Ever the curious one, though, she thought she would try it. Mind you, my sister has visited some of the finer distilleries in Scotland, where even the crappy stuff isn't crappy. And this is really all of the Scotch she has made a point to drink. She KNOWS she is spoiled in that department. She knows it. The very act of her opening that bottle and pouring herself a taste was a demonstration of her being an incredibly good sport.

"Mmmm....vinegary," she deadpanned. "....what are you having?"

"Flying Dog India Pale," I answered, taking a swig for sound effect. "...Yummy."

"I love Flying Dog! Trade?"

"Come and get it." Rather predictable of me to say that, but, I'd have much rather been sitting around having a beer with my sister than talking about booze over the phone. "Oh, and leave the Scotch in New Jersey."

"I can't decide if I should pour it down the drain or just throw the whole bottle in the garbage."

I suggested that she find the 'friend' who left it at her house and make a very big deal about giving it back to him. Perhaps she could crochet a bottle cozy in Fall colors and hand-stamp a gift tag.

Using humor to get rid of the nasty from your life is always preferred.

Of course, there is the possibility that the person responsible for bringing the bad Scotch into your home wouldn't get the joke. After all, they did use their own, hard-earned money, on something that is literally uncomfortable to consume. Clearly they were just going for the buzz and were not concerned with how painful it was going to be to achieve it.

Metaphorically speaking, I, too, have couple of bottles of bad Scotch in my cupboards--experiences that people have given me, many of which I am still in the middle of, that are not pleasant. Uncomfortable to consume. Not something in which I would normally partake, having self-respect and all, left with me by somebody who doesn't have a similar self-image.

I have actually been struggling this week, trying to come up with things to write about. Even though there is a LOT going on in my life right now, most of it cannot be shared just yet.

Some of it is really, really great Scotch that has been aging for quite a long time but hasn't quite reached the point of perfection yet In the next few weeks, it should be ready. When it is, we will share.

Some of it is absolute crap that I would not serve to people that I care about--lingering garbage from some party years ago, that I should really get rid of.

Now...should I just pour it down the drain? Drop the entire bottle in the trash, or, make a big show of giving it back to the person who left it there?

I can't decide.

2008-09-12T10:19:00.002-05:00

If it were not for Cursing Mama, Blogthings would think that I don't like them...I always forget to visit.

This one was sort of interesting, though, in a typically self-involved sort of way.

Your Blog Should Be Green

Your blog is smart and thoughtful - not a lot of fluff.

You enjoy a good discussion, especially if it involves picking apart ideas.

However, you tend to get easily annoyed by any thoughtless comments in your blog.

What Color Should Your Blog or Journal Be?

A Note To The Non Coffee-Drinkers

2008-09-09T11:58:00.001-05:00

Let me just say it: You don't understand.

No, you don't.

Maybe, at one time, you DID understand, but if you are not currently burdened with a caffeine addiction, you got nothin'.

And oh, just so you know, I could stop at any time! Yes, I can!

Of course, I would DIE as a result of stopping, but, I could stop!

Which brings me to the real reason I am writing today...Coffee Pot Lament.

I'm living with friends--a lovely couple, and some of my favorite people on the planet--and, she drinks coffee, he does not.

So, in review: SHE is like me and runs a bit groggy in the morning, and HE doesn't give coffee a whole lot of thought, so, he's unlike any normal people I know.

For some reason, however, the household coffee pot belongs to him. The non coffee-drinker picked out the appliance for making that most precious of things. They just moved in together, and apparently his coffee maker was the first one found in all the boxes of kitchen stuff, so, his is the household machine.

So painful.

It is a crappy coffee pot. Who knew there could be such a thing? They are all alike, right?

No...

This thing was not designed for people who actually drink coffee, because in the morning, WHEN YOU HAVEN'T HAD YOUR COFFEE, the machine's many nuances make it too hard to figure out and so there is a delay in when you get to HAVE YOUR COFFEE as the coffee pot conspires to keep you from it.

Catch 22.

Cursed, cursed coffee pot...

Can you believe that it doesn't even stop dripping when you pull the carafe out for the first cup? I mean....do you know ANYBODY who waits for a full pot to brew before taking a cup of coffee?

And instead of having a remove-able reservoir that you fill with water, you have to take the carafe, fill it with water, and pour it into this tiny opening on the top of the machine. Invariable, half of the water drips down the side of the carafe, onto the counter. And why? BECAUSE I HAVEN'T HAD MY COFFEE YET, THAT'S WHY!!!

I should have known this thing was trouble the minute I saw the stack of coffee filters. I haven't bought coffee filters in 10 years. But this evil coffee pot takes the filters. The place where you put the coffee is kind of misshapen--not sure if you can fit one of the metal filters in there. OH! And when you are making coffee, if you don't have all the interior parts put together just so (filter-holder thingy and some nonsensical screen), it leaks coffee all over the place.

Picture me, this morning, having fully indulged in way too much drink and conversation last night, on one of those, "please don't open those Doritos--I can't stand the noise of the bag" mornings, trying to make coffee...

...And opting instead to pop open a soda, a vile substitute to keep me from dying while I try to get my wits about me enough to do battle with the cursed pot.

...Too dramatic?

Really?

Clearly, you don't drink coffee...

Let Them Eat Cake-Eaters

2008-09-08T09:57:00.004-05:00

I TOTALLY deliver...and, for the record, you haven't seen anything until you have seen a group of 40-somethings (two girls and a guy) hover around a computer monitor, looking at pictures of William Beckett, trying to decide which photo is the most "dreamy", and therefore most worthy of birthday cake.

In the end, I picked this one:

And The Diva swooned appropriately.

Now, the focus of her young life is seeing The Academy Is (again) when they play at The Cabooze on Halloween night.

Because she is my child, I have seen this band play a couple of times, in my Official Escort/Mom's Taxi role. And I have no problem seeing them again.

But, Halloween night? At a bar? JeeeeezuzMaryNJosuf.....this mission could stretch beyond my vast, saintly patience. Anyone working in the entertainment industry will tell you...Halloween night is a work night, not a night for trying to go out and have anything resembling fun (except for the fun you would have while working).

Seriously.

Ouch.

Perhaps Mr. Beckett could swing by and pick her up on his way to the venue. I think we can all agree that would qualify him as "dreamy".

I Thought So, Too...

2008-09-08T06:18:00.001-05:00

MTV Relaunches Spears Brand at the VMA's

When It Matters

2008-09-05T14:54:00.001-05:00

Writing is a rather selfish thing. Certainly, it is for me. I pull a complete Greta Garbo and get annoyed by most or all distractions. Then, even though I'm a fairly easy-going and balanced observer, I write mostly from the gut. It's rare to find anything on this blog that resembles actual research, and we're also pretty light on statistics around here. I toss it off with "personal blog" being my only safety net.

Knowing, as I do, that all media has an off switch, I don't give a lot of thought to whether or not people agree with me--I say, if it pisses you off, please stay the hell away from me, cuz, ultimately, I don't care.

I do make some effort to make the concepts presented here as broadly accessible as humanly possible, however, and avoid dramatically polarizing topics. As near as I can figure, this is related to me being a middle child, and having some deep-seeded psychological need for everybody to loooooooove me. Also, years of marketing and promotion just makes me that kind of writer--the kind who is ever inviting people to party, and doing the "can't we all just get along?" thing.

That's just this blog, though. This is the easy writing.

Recently, I've been doing some writing that I refer to as "Writing For Your Life". Writing that actually matters. Not the writing for entertainment purposes, but the kind where, what you say can have a huge impact on what somebody actually does, beyond buying a Supergrass CD or trying some new cake place. I have friends with problems. Unhappiness. Confusion. One so messed up that she just about said "Screw It" to life entirely, just last week. I'm not sure if I am drawn to these people or they to me. I'm guessing the latter. I do know that at those moments, when they are standing right in front of you, you can't just do nothing. So I try.

Just for the record, it is much simpler to burn off some smart-ass comment about lucking out of the pre-RNC police raids than it is to convince someone that offing yourself because some boy broke your heart would be stupidest possible thing you could do (without actually calling them "stupid", even when you believe to your very core that they are being incredibly stupid...). When somebody feels like absolutely shit--so low that its not even worth it--where do you even begin? I mean...I've made it pretty clear that in my life, I don't care what other people think of me. I suppose that puts me in the unique position of being the best person to offer advice to someone whose entire self-worth is wrapped up in another's opinion.

Honestly, I can't even wrap my head around the concept of being that weak--of thinking that you're just going to feel that bad forever, or that it's even going to matter in the morning. What about tomorrow? How does this elude them? I don't even know. It also angers me, since someone is trying to plunk the responsibility for them living or dying, or just being happy, right in my lap. Its not up to me to make you want to fight another day--I'm just doing it because I am a SAINT, remember?

So, I've been in some weird conversations lately--phone, email, chat, etc. I've written some amazing things--stuff to make Marianne Williamson proud. Or even Depak Chopra. I've yelled at people and talked to people and done my best Life Does NOT Suck sales jobs ever. And, I'm kind of exhausted. Besides, what part of the "Hey, I just left an 8-year marriage, I have NOTHING, and I've really gotta hustle to get my life back together" story makes it seem like I have all kinds of time to focus on anybody besides myself right now?

Its time to step away and spend a couple of days swimming in self-indugence--hanging out with people who don't lay their problems at my feet. And perhaps drinking. Some of you might refer to it as "The Weekend". Here's to it. If I don't answer my phone, don't be offended...

Momentous

2008-09-05T07:24:00.005-05:00

On this date, more years ago than I want to think about this morning, this hot little number was born:
Looking at this picture, I'm trying to imagine what it would be like to be a boy and see this walking down the hall of your school. Excited? Or totally intimidated?

She balances being fabulous with being completely unafraid to look ridiculous to get a laugh, as evidenced below.

And all she wants for her birthday is a cake with William Beckett's face on it...I'm working on it!

Happy B-Day Madds!

I'll Show You A Maverick!

2008-09-04T09:48:00.002-05:00

Yeah, that's right...in order to prove I am a rebel, I will now post a blog with ZERO mention of any political anything!

OK, that's a lie. I mean, what the hell else am I going to talk about? Cat Barf?

People keep asking me what I thought of the speech last night. Well, I watched ALL the freaking speeches last night (just like I did last week), and, I have to say that the GOP has got their presentation skills incredibly fine-tuned right now. Humor, Heroes, Hockey Moms--most of us can relate, and, they know it. As an Independent still in the "Show Me What You've Got" stage of it all, I'm listening.

Keep talking.

(One of you will little buggers will self-destruct before November--of this I can be sure...)

I know of many, many people who either don't watch these things, or, watch them with contempt for the side they have vowed to disagree with. Shame on you! Watch it ALL, people, watch it ALL....otherwise, how are you going to know.--REALLY know--when its crunch time? Of course, if you are simply hard-wired to disagree, then, OK...but please don't feel like you need to explain what The Evil Other Side is doing, like I couldn't possible figure it out on my own. I have perfectly functional ears (despite 30-odd years of playing music way too loud), and, an almost-too-high-to-actually-be-useful IQ. And a conscience.

So, what matters to me? I want my gay friends to be able to get married if they want to. Seems odd that someone like me, a heterosexual who is actually REALLY BAD at being married, can just keep marrying willy-nilly and my friends who have been together longer than BOTH of my marriages combined, cannot. What is up with that?

I want lobbyists to have spending limits that look more like lunch at McDonalds than a Caribbean vacation for their back pocket boys. I'm just sayin'...

I want actual campaign finance reform. The money being spent in the next few months could do a lot of other, more important things, like, oh, I dunno....feed some people or build a couple new neighborhoods. Or complete cities. Again...I'm just sayin'.

I want somebody, please, ANYBODY, to realize that the wind blows and the sun shines and by golly, you can use that stuff to power just about anything. And I am reminded of this every damn time I go to buy something and somebody says "Oh, we had to raise the price of that because of the gas prices." Seriously...its retarded. RETARDED.

*sigh*

Those are just a few things that come to mind.

Somebody? Anybody?

Snap

2008-09-03T09:07:00.001-05:00

Mother Nature says, "How about a little Fall, Scarecrow?"

Yesterday started off like more of summer. Yes, kids were catching the bus to school, but, it was warm and sunny and didn't seem any different from anything I'd experienced for the last several months.

Today? Wakey-Wakey!

And...I'm glad.

There is something energizing about a cold snap, especially the first one at the end of the summer. Your mind and body prepares for battle. It quite literally snaps you back into reality. Sure, reality starts to get annoying around March, but, in the Fall, its all good. I'm so ready.

Laborious

2008-09-01T11:40:00.001-05:00

Subject line on an email from my best friend that made me spit out my coffee all over the computer this morning: "Are you in labor?" I briefly wondered if she knew something I didn't, then I remembered it is Labor Day. Oh, Barb...you are one funny girl...
And there will be much rejoicing and dancing of feet: Children start school tomorrow.
Thank you, etrade, for putting talking babies on your TV commercials. I'm not sure why I find them so endlessly amusing, but, I do.
I'm watching hurricane coverage, since the ex and the stepson still live in Mobile. Thankfully, my peeps are all OK.
Speaking of that, due to the reduced RNC schedule, do you suppose all those whacky Republicans will spend all their free time hitting the bars around here?
Turns out that I barely needed that Secret Service background check after all, what with W not able to make it.
Apparently, I'm not on any "lists", so, I'm not expecting any official visits from the cops this week. Except for the loud parties, I mean...

Heh...

2008-08-31T13:36:00.003-05:00

Had to share...whacky Minnesotans, we are...

Never Should Have Played That DNC Drinking Game OR Misery Wants Company....And Some Saltines, Please

2008-08-29T11:24:00.001-05:00

Just kidding, Mother...

Besides, if we had actually taken a drink every time the word "Change" was uttered last night, we'd be in a coma.

I am quite ill today--not hung over, just sick. This sick is of the "violently ill" variety, in which, when you have finally been purged of whatever the hell you ate that made you sick, you have ZERO energy left, so you lie in bed, carefully sipping coffee and eating crackers and thinking about how much you stink and need a shower. Oh, and since you feel like complete shit, a million topics pop into your head to write about, because "miserable" is some kind of prerequisite for inspiration. Ask anybody.

I kinda regret not playing the DNC Drinking Game, since, hey, this is as good as a hangover gets...if I had known I was going to be sick, anyway, I would have had more than one glass of scotch.

I watched the Senator's speech in mixed company last night. Mixed, meaning, we had a Republican in the house. (Actually, its his house, so of course, he was allowed to say whatever the hell he wanted during the speech. Just so ya know, he blames the Democrats...try to act surprised.) There was some yelling. But its wasn't a problem. I'll see if I can find some yellers to invite over for next week.

I'm a bit frightened by the fact that I am so incredibly neutral on things that I'm just gonna vote for the one who gives the most moving speech. If you have the power to inspire me, I'm pretty much yours. But I've been this way forever. I want those speeches to move me like Italian Opera, baby.

In fact, I wonder if they could just sing everything from here on out.

For years I have been saying that we just need a president who can stand up and give a speech and make the whole country say, "Hell, yeah!" and we've had nothing but a bunch of duds. I mean...I would have totally voted for Jessie Jackson, cuz even if the whole country was in the toilet, he'd have the ability to get up, say a few words, and have us all saying, "This isn't so bad...and..maybe I can help make it better."

I believe that the ability to inspire is better than just about anything. I say this only because I am comfortable in the knowledge that when you are "inspired", you are driven, not to do the exact thing that the preacher is preaching, but, to find a thing within you, that YOU want to put energy into. You can have one event inspire a thousand people a thousand different ways, mostly all good. To be inspired by someone does not mean the same as being brainwashed by them.

I say, if you don't feel like sitting on the couch and complaining anymore, but rather, getting up and doing something...ANYTHING, then you're inspired.

It seems odd...in retrospect, it feels like a lot of us have been sitting on the couch for a long time. That is not necessarily a statement about the current administration. It just feels like...we've given up a little.

While inspiration is a normal by-product of a presidential election, I don't recall feeling this inspired for any of the last several. Yes, part of it may be because my life has changed so dramatically in the past few months. I AM inspired. I was inspired to do something in my personal life--something important--and it was damned difficult but I did it anyway. Now I feel like I can wrestle a lion. Barely Contained becomes, No Longer Contained At All.

I won't be offering my services or financial resources to any political party. I won't be talking about it much. I'll just be listening, and hopefully sharing things that I have found, that have inspired me.

I hope that you are listening, too, and please...when you hear something that moves you, get up off the couch and go out into the sunshine. Your country is waiting for you.

And while you're out, could you bring me more crackers?

Linktopia

2008-08-28T11:17:00.000-05:00

I know, I know....its all Sweet Mary Sunshine and stuff, but, I liked this one...

The No. 1 Lifehack You can Implement Today to Make the World a Better Place

Brilliant...And You Can Tell Her I Said So

2008-08-28T10:37:00.001-05:00

Debbie Does Dems

Alamadingdong

2008-08-26T09:06:00.001-05:00

Spam Game!!! Read any good Spam lately? Here's mine...

Angelina's Newborn Twins Marry Each Other -- There is no appropriate response to that, but, definitely too funny not to blog.

Is He the Yang to Your Yin?‎ -- Perhaps it is I who am the Yang...And...if you're both Yangs, then you're pretty much screwed, right?

Shocking porno Pamela Anderson -- Shocking? SHOCKING??? You did say Pamela Anderson, right? How shocking could it be, really?

You are Just a Half of the Whole!‎ -- Yeah, yeah....Ying. Yang. I heard...

Instant intimate relief -- So much better than the 27 years of intensive psycho-therapy!

OH!!!....THAT kind of 'intimate'...!!

Never mind.

While we are on the subject, here are a few other pill things:
Tablet of happiness -
‎Make sure it works‎ -
Improve your organism state- I love how they deliberately mis-spell or substitute words. As intrigued as I was about my organism state, I was able to resist clicking. I was also able to resist the thing about the Pr0n. Cuz I'm all smart like that...

Fortune Cookie Spam:
Its time for perfect enjoyment in bed
Spice up your senses in bed
We all play the fortune cookie game, right? Where no matter what it says on the fortune cookie, you add the words "in bed" to the end? Cool that these already had the "in bed" part added. Some of my favorites, from actual fortune cookies, include "Your talents will be recognized and suitably rewarded..." and "Your skill will accomplish what the force of many cannot..."

YES!!!!!!!!!!!

10 things to do to your lover -- one would think that this is a sex tape of some kind, but it is actually a Boy Scout Knot Tying Manual. Go figure.

How much more do you need?‎ -- I think we've all had quite enough...

I'm Serial!

2008-08-24T13:46:00.002-05:00

(It is quite possible that Trey Parker and Matt Stone's Al Gore character is actually saying "Cereal" in the ManBearPig episode, instead of "Serial", but I never bothered to check. There is a schedule of air-dates at the link above, so you can watch it and decide for yourself.)

It is both a blessing and a curse to be a person who thinks. There are many occasions in which I am certain that life would be easier if I was blissfully stupid, and many occasions in which I am very glad that I am not.

Thinking about relationships is probably the worst. Or maybe it is the best. I'll get back to you on that.

While a poet might say "love with everything you've got" and that getting hurt is an important part of the process of living, the little voice in my head--the one telling me that my heart is going to get stomped on if I proceed--usually wins. People will tell you to take a chance, cuz you never know, but the problem is, I DO Know. I know exactly how this is going to play out.

The romantic relationships I have had in the past have all started with a great surprise, meaning, some guy proved me wrong. Some guy convinced me that he was the exception to the "Men are dogs" rule and, we got together. Such is the love-life of the cautious heart...you wait around for those exceptions.

And, the exceptions have been, well, exceptional. Really interesting, cool people.

Of course, part of the reason that I "know" how things are going to play out in relationships is because I have a hand in how they proceed. In fact, I hold all the damn cards. After all, I am the one who ultimately says "Yes" or "No".

Travis Wright wrote a great little article called "Worry is Prayer for What You Don't Want", and it landed in my reader this morning, so well-timed, the way words of wisdom often are. He said that we are wired to worry and think about things that we don't want to happen, and, our subconscious creates those very situations--what we claim NOT to want ends up happening, because we spend so much energy thinking about it.

Guilty.

Very.

I mean, when I see someone that I want to be with, who appears to want to be with me, I spend a lot of time looking for signs that they are an asshole. Then, when I get even the slightest hint that it might be true, (you ALWAYS find something when you're looking!) I jump immediately to the conclusion with an "Ah-Ha! You see? I was totally RIGHT about that guy! He's a jerk!" and I pat myself on the back in congratulations for another bullet dodged.

Yes, it sounds messed up when you look at it that way...

Also messed up is that habit of seeing someone you want, but unconsciously hoping that they have a spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend or are otherwise unavailable so you don't have to do anything about it. I mean, a guy could be having lunch with his sister, but, I wouldn't bother to ask who she was, I'd just think, "Girl! There is a girl here! With that guy! Clearly this is a date! Thank God I found out in time! I'm outta here..." and I disappear in a puff of smoke, never to be seen again...

...so fearful am I, of looking like a dope.

Truth is, we are all afraid of looking like dopes. We are all afraid of saying something stupid, or approaching someone when we don't know FOR SURE that they like us, too, and blah, blah, blah. We don't want to take that chance, cuz, what if it's awful? Some cog in our brain runs the diagnostic on the chances your interaction being painfully uncomfortable and you end up not doing anything because you don't like the looks of the numbers.

Meanwhile, our heads are positively clouded with thoughts of the person in question, because everything points to them being perfect for you.

We're so retarded...

I was talking to a friend of mine about a man she likes (who, as far as we can tell, really likes her, too), and she said that she was scared that she would never have him. They've been flirting back and forth for a long time, and they are all worked up over each other, but, neither of them have thrown any gasoline on the fire.

Meanwhile, their friends are all standing around them, thinking, "would you two just GET IT OVER WITH ALREADY??"

You know...one of those?

The WORST, right?

It occurred to me to tell her, "You shouldn't be scared about not having him--you already don't have him."

She asked me to elaborate. I said, "You've already never kissed him. You've already never hugged him. You've already never gone out to dinner or a movie with him, or spent the night with him. He's already NOT 'yours' in that sense. What you are worried about happening is the exact experience that you are already living!"

In essence...there is nothing to lose by trying.

So easy to say, to someone else, isn't it?

Definitely one of those "Physician Heal Thyself" moments. Or more accurately, "Liebendoktor, Why Don't You Have A Date?"

Travis is right about the worrying, of course. We worry too much. We think so much about what could go wrong, that pretty soon we start seeing ManBearPig around every corner. Seriously, what's two minutes of ascertaining a guy's interest compared to two months of wondering? Bad math. And then you end up looking like a dope...

When The Day Met The Night

2008-08-21T09:35:00.001-05:00

The great thing about being a grown-up is that I can have apple pie for breakfast if I want to.

From my understanding, its better than no breakfast, which is what I usually order.

Another great thing about being a grown-up is that, if you want to, you can prove your ultimate dweebiness by staying up til all hours of the night, clicking away on YouTube.

I console myself by saying that at least I wasn't watching a succession of videos of somebody having a bad fall. But the dweebiness remains: It was a couple of hours of (really, really crappy) concert video and a handful of (beautifully shot) interviews with musicians.

By the way? Justin Currie? Greasy, shaggy and scary-looking Justin Currie? With the mega-chop sideburns and the icky soul patch? He ain't pretty. When you listen to his music, though, you get the strong impression that he actually so beautiful that he is trying to ugly-up his physical appearance, in hopes that the whole world won't paw him to death in adoration. He's also a cynical drunk, just to assure that anyone not turned off by the facial hair choices will keep their distance. That's how good he is.

None of his little tricks work with me, by the way. I just keep buying the records...

The fine, fine, folks at YouTube, as you may know, designed their website for the purpose of YOU spending mindless hours in front of a computer (that would be the "tube"). Their motto is: "You like that video? GREAT! We have 20 Bazillion more just like it! Click Here!"

Usually, I'm able to resist the temptation.

Not last night, for some reason. Last night it was all: "Hey! I was AT that show!" and I would watch entire concerts in minute-and-a-half-long increments of wildly out-of-focus video with sound quality that can only be described as "Horrific".

No, I did not look for myself in the crowd.

Dweeb? Yes. Mega-Dweeb? No.

....like I could actually spot me in a crowd, anyway...heh...

If it wasn't enough that I stayed up late watching videos, when I finally shut the computer off, I popped on the mp3 player for a couple of hours. I have no idea why, at 1:45AM, I was thinking, "There's nothing to do!! Hey, I haven't listened to music in a while..." and ended up vegging to Panic At The Disco* instead of sleeping.

I'll be paying for it later. Right now, though, there's pie.

*I must have listened to "When The Day Met The Night" about 15 times last night, hence the blog title--it seemed appropriate. To get your very own copy, check the widget on the right side of the page, or grab it from your favorite source. Don't forget to use actual money...

Easy Like A Sunday

2008-08-19T09:56:00.001-05:00

So, I was perusing the City Pages and found a full page ad for beer.

I won't mention which beer, because, well...they know who they are. Maybe you do, too.

Besides, I don't drink that particular brand, so, (ENDORSEMENT NAZI) "No mention for you!"

Yes, the "standards" thing that I have going on here really stands in the way of the "send me free shit" agenda, but, whatever...

The ad had a gigantic picture of a bottle of beer, logo prominent, of course, with the headline, "Drinkability: Easy to drink"

Gosh...there are just so many things wrong with that, I don't know where to begin, but I suppose I could start this simple truth: Nothing really worth having is ever easy.

I mean....think about it. Guys? Is the "easy" woman the one that you're going to introduce to your mother?

I'm just sayin'.

Its Those Little Moments...

2008-08-18T19:20:00.001-05:00

I was relaxing on the patio, listening to the neighborhood children running and playing and laughing, when one of them broke into spontaneous song:

"I kissed a squirrel and I liked it..."

Kids...

Girls Rule! Boys Drool...

2008-08-15T12:30:00.001-05:00

How many times, in this world, do you suppose that women have consoled each other by saying the words, "Men are stupid" ?

Because I said that very thing to one of my friends today.

I have covered this topic before, but I wonder if there is anything new to discuss. My argument was always, "men are NOT from Mars, they just use that as an excuse when they are acting like idiots."

But, what if I'm just dead wrong about that? What if, compared to women, men are a whole different (and kinda dopey) species, entirely?

*sigh*

What a pain in the ass...

I have daughters, and have said, on numerous occasions, that I am so glad they are girls, because boys just confuse the hell out of me. Seriously, boys of any age make me say "WTF??"

I don't get them. At all.

Which explains a lot about my love life, or lack thereof.

But even little boys, I can't explain. My friend has a 7 year old son who simply perplexes me. He's a nice kid, good kid, but, the logic in his brain is a complete mystery. I remember shopping for a gift for my stepson when he was around 11 years old and having NO CLUE what to get him. Meanwhile, the holiday shopping cart was packed with girl things that I knew they would love. I used to think that my lack of understanding was a thing specific to the stepson, but, now that I am out of that scene and have met the other little man, I'm not so sure.

There are mothers who swear that boys are easier to raise than girls, and I could not disagree more strongly. I'd like to think that if I had sons, I would have raised some pretty spectacular sons with exceptional communication skills who are completely in touch with their feelings, and all of that mumbo-jumbo. But I'm probably wrong about that. I'll never know. The only boy I have helped raise was already all "boy" when I got my hands on them, so I banged my head against the wall a lot. It seemed to help. And, of course, what frustrations were not eliminated by head-banging were taken care of by the alcohol.

Just kidding, mother...

My mother raised four sons, and I never once heard her use the words, "Boys are just like that" or, "He's all boy" or any of those phrases so often used by people who delight in the inner workings of the young male. In fact, I think she raised them pretty much the same way she raised my sister and me. She even made sure, when each boy child was a baby, to put them in a dress with a bow in their hair and take a picture. True story. This was not an exercise in humility for the boys, since they were too young to remember, but it was definitely a "Girl Power" thing for my mom.

It helps to come from a long line of strong women.

Somehow, though, every single of of those boys turned into gun totin', war-goin' sum-bitch. (I mean--nice people, and I love them all to bits, but, Holy Shit The Guns And Ammo!) How the fuck did that happen?

Anyway...

When I started writing this post this morning, I was helping a girl out--she was having a problem with something stupid a guy did, and I uttered the not-so-secret Girl Mantra, "Men are stupid" to make her feel better. Hours have passed, and she has had a couple of conversations with the man in question since then, and now she just wants to jump his bones.

So, either he's not so stupid anymore, or, she has realized that even if he is, she can live with it.

And we all do that. All women, at some point, observe a guy doing something totally dumb and later, after we run screaming to our friends about it, we shrug it off. Personally, I think this fact alone stands as a testament to the infinite ability of a woman to forgive. Its a girl thing. Hopefully, the men are thanking their lucky stars that we are so different, otherwise, they might all be living in caves. Well, at least the heterosexuals...

But Its Better If You Do

2008-08-14T12:24:00.002-05:00

Bullet points today...and if you want to, you can also pretend it is Friday, and skip work tomorrow.

I know I will!

Oh, wait....never mind...I forgot I was unemployed and pathetic.

Get ye to Paramore at the State Fair. Not that I am going, but, Punky and the Diva will be there, and, I have a feeling that they will need a referee at some point...such is the sisterly love.
I take that back...right how, they are sitting on the couch and having civilized conversation. Alert the media! Oh, wait...I am the media...
While they are checking out Paramore, I'll be doing other Fair stuff, like looking at sheep and eating fried things on a stick. A bundle of excitement, I am.
And Thank G*d I'm so exciting! Turns out, the effing Secret Service (oh yes, THAT Secret Service...not the other one) needs to do a background check on me because I applied for a job within a 27 mile radius of where the Republican National Convention is to be held this year. I wonder if they will be able to contain the laughter while reading that shit...
And by "27 miles", I mean, probably somewhat dramatically less than that.
I never exaggerate--I don't know what you are talking about.
If I pass muster with the Secret Service, I figure that report would be a good thing to bring along on dates, in case a guy thinks I'm a psycho or something. Cuz that is where we are at now, isn't it? Are we so out of line to ask for a few things? Blood Sample? Secret Service background check? Credit report? Three non-relatives that are also not ex-girlfriends, for references? I'm just sayin'...

I'm A Pixie, Damn It!

2008-08-13T07:48:00.002-05:00

While pouring through a few clothing choices for a job interview, I found myself at a loss for what to wear.

I have....a lot of freaking clothes.

And, I have all variety of clothing, from "work" clothes (suits, dresses, etc.) to the stuff I actually wear when I don't give a sh*t (a collection that consists almost entirely of jeans, cargo shorts, radio station T-Shirts, and shirts with infinitely dry humorous sayings on them...).

I dragged four outfits into the living room, where I was met by Punky, who was semi-distracted watching TV, and my friend Greg, who we shall refer to as my Host Parent, since I'm totally couch-surfing at his place.

I rattled through the choices: Dress? Skirt and top? Classic Skirt Suit? Suit that can go with either pants or a skirt?

Host Parent recommended the dress.

And why?

Well....his reasoning was that I should not wear a suit and pants with my "butch" haircut, lest I should appear too....well, butch, I guess.

Really?

Because the stylist assured me that this haircut would be considered "Pixie".

That's right, Pixie.

You know....All things sweet and delicate?

Pixie?

Semi-androgynous, leaning toward the feminine?

Of course, it would have been nice if she could have arranged a Pixie Face to go along with the hair, but...whatever.

I got the haircut at one of the many fine, fine styling salons in the fair city of Mobile, Alabama. You know the ones where, in the very same building, you can get yourself a heaping helping of some of the finest red beans and rice on the Gulf Coast?

(Oooooo....cracking on the South...I'll be going straight to hell for that one...send in the lynching mob. Ooops!!! Did it again! Did you catch that? SHAME!)

Anyway...

This morning, I tried to take a picture of the Pixie hair, so I could get some other (random, people I don't know) opinions on it, but 10 minutes into snapping photos, I remembered that I can't stand to have my picture taken, and really, really hate any and all pictures of myself and that I probably shouldn't be thinking about how weird my nose looks in photographs, especially when I'm on my way to try to sell myself to a bunch of other random people I don't know (job interview), so, I stopped taking pictures and found this one from a couple of months ago.

If you would, please imagine this a lot more sun-bleached and all wet-look fabulous, and me with something resembling a tan....I ask you: Pixie?

I'm not wearing the dress--I went with the skirt set and heels. I wasn't worried about looking "butch" (by the way? Hate that fucking word...) since I Am A Pixie, Damn It! but, the legs are looking good and tan, so, what the hell, right? Sadly, I won't be interviewing with a group of horny heterosexual men, because not only do my legs look good in the skirt, my ass does, too...yay me!

Ahem...sorry to those of you who thought I was above that sort of thing....

As a side note, I do want to say that all things considered, I really don't give a shit if the people interviewing me today don't see Pixie. I would only care if they didn't hire me BECAUSE they don't see Pixie, because that, of course, would be a sign of a major problem--not with me, but with them. Because I don't happen to be gay, my experience with that sort of discrimination has been minimal, and, all directly related to my hairstyle in combination with whether or not I choose to dress up like a girl on any particular day. Unlike sexual orientation, I can change those things.

But I don't want to. I'm A Pixie, Damn It!

Der Liebendoktor

2008-08-11T11:34:00.002-05:00

Its funny how my friends all flock to the lady in the middle of a divorce when looking for advice about love.

And perhaps even more strange is that I'm actually able to give them pretty decent advice. Maybe its a "Do as I say, not as I do" kind of thing.

Then again, they are all in various stages of unhappy, like I was, and I already worked out all the ugly crap in my own situation.

So, I know a few things.

Yeah, it took me two years to figure it out, but...I think I qualify as borderline expert at this point.

And I don't offer, but, they ask...

My friends call and text me and say, "Hey! That thing that you told me to do? IT TOTALLY WORKED!" and they are all surprised and happy and I'm their hero of the moment.

It is easy to look at a situation that doesn't involve me and say, "OH! Simple! You just need to _______ ," and sound like some kind of sage. I know what doesn't work, after all. I know lots of things that don't work.

They say that it is important, if you are a part of a couple, to never, never, never take relationship advice from a single person. There is value in this rule--if you want to stay married or coupled up, a single person is not the one to turn to for the how-to. I mean...what could they possibly know about keeping it together? I can say with complete honesty that when the sh*t was going down in my marriage, I did not turn to any single friends. I don't think I actually have any single friends. In fact, I didn't really take anyone's advice but my own, because ultimately, it was up to me, not them.

And that became the hallmark for the advice that I give. I'm the one dishing out the sucky advice--the stuff they don't want to hear. The person who says, "Oh, by the way? Its a lot of this is on you. And you might have to change some things, and break out of your comfort zone."

*Groan*

Comfort zones are so...comfortable, aren't they? In my case, the comfort was sort of like a pair golden handcuffs. Sure, you can stay where you are and be fine, forever; but, once you notice the confinement, staying put becomes less and less what you want to do.

After everything I have gone through in the last couple of years, I think now, finally, I have it figured it out. Now, I run every question through two filters: Play Fair, and Be Patient. I suppose we could also call them Be Honest (with yourself and the other person) and Give It A Chance (before you completely ditch something could turn out to be a good thing).

These things can be difficult. When you know that being honest with someone might hurt their feelings, you don't want to do it. When you are fed up with someone, you don't want to hang around and see if the relationship is, in any way, workable. But, in order to get happy, or even just walk away with a clear conscience, you really have to (as long as no one is in physical danger).

Because I have figured things out a little, my friends call me Love Doctor, and, a few other rather hilarious variations thereof. One actually refers to me as Yoda on occasion--I'm sure she isn't commenting on my looks when she does that.

(Um...you aren't commenting on my looks, are you? Cuz I used to have a boss that we called "Yoda" and it wasn't because he was smart...I'm just sayin'.)

Anyway....the month of August has, thus far, been crazy with possibilities, and full of relationship madness. People breaking up. People hooking up. People doing both. People just trying to hold it together. People tired of holding it together. The doctor is busy, people. But I don't mind. If we can get through it and find our little slice of happy somewhere on the other side, then its all good, right?

Resume Paper Airplane Game

2008-08-08T17:36:00.003-05:00

Seriously, I've been thinking WAY too much about jobs lately.

Every day, another lovingly constructed cover letter. Every day, another job-specifically tweaked resume. All organized on some freakishly geeky spreadsheet, because there are so damn many of them, I don't want to try to keep track in my head anymore.

I'm so tired of talking about how great I am, I could hurl.

I find relief in the fact that in this electronic age, I don't have many actual, paper copies of the resume sitting around. I don't have to print out many of those gushing cover letters. (Thank you Google Docs! You Rock My World!) If I had them all sitting around, I would eventually look at them with contempt. I would eventually start folding them up and chucking them out the open window near the desk, where the cats like to sit. Or, out the window of my car while flying down 394. Or into the breeze outside some dude's office while I'm being interviewed for a job.

Matthew Sweet wrote that great song, "Sick Of Myself" and it comes to mind...here's the YouTube link. And while we're talkin'....Matthew Sweet...coolest ever? I'm just sayin'...

In college, I actually did a demonstration speech on how to make a paper airplane. I handed out paper to all of the other students, and bullshitted my way through ten whole minutes of airplane construction instruction.

In case you are wondering, the answer is No, it does NOT take ten minutes to build a paper airplane. You have to fill in the rest with jokes and amazing stories, and pretend that paper airplanes have a long and noble history. Luckily, the teacher for this particular speech class was my favorite really-really gay guy on campus. He loved me. He thought I was delightfully spunky. Or something.

Today, I took a break from resume crafting and cover-letter feats of daring by...helping a friend tweak a resume and write a cover letter.

I hope he gets the job. Please throw money.

Me? I'm about to be waist deep in interviews. I'm planning a sort of Scarlett O'Hara At The Wilkes Plantation Barbecue kind of thing, to see if I can make everybody jealous.

Lace up my corset.

And perhaps, if the people could be so kind as to all throw money...that would be cool.

I've always relied on the kindness of strangers.

Anyway...

The weekend is upon us, and its time for really, really loaded alcoholic beverages and, a chance to not think about this stuff for a day or so. To that end, here is my "Found Item" Spiked Coffee, made from stuff I found laying around my friend's house.

Fill an iced tea glass with ice. Fill it halfway with cold coffee (OK to use the leftover morning coffee--you'll barely notice with all the booze). Add a splash of milk, or, if you have some liquid coffee creamer that is not too strangely flavored, go for it. Add booze. I recommend Kahlua, Creme de Cacao (white or dark) and Frangelico. (Its what we had around--feel free to alter.) Sit on the patio and sip, while making paper airplanes. Have another. OK, slow down...

Have an excellent weekend!

Oh, How The Mighty Fall...

2008-08-07T22:22:00.002-05:00

The Drunkest Cities in America

Another Stolen Blog Thing

2008-08-07T17:54:00.000-05:00

But look! Its all cute and everything...

The Recipe For Shelly

3 parts Cleverness

2 parts Courage

1 part Understanding

Splash of Inspiration

Shake vigorously

What's the Recipe for Your Personality?

Shoulda Stayed On The Patio

2008-08-06T12:49:00.002-05:00

Amazing....

I just got back from a "job interview".

Yes, if you were here in person, and I was telling you this story, I would have totally done the air quotes right there. I'm that kind of a dork.

I actually interviewed for this company last week, had a great interview and a great interviewer, but wasn't over-the-moon about the job opportunity because of the *cough-cough*CrapForPay*cough-cough* thing.

But....OK, whatever...I'll meet somebody else for the second interview, just to see what they throw on the table.

I arrived ten minutes early, cuz I'm good like that. The front desk person let the interviewer know I was there, and I settled in.

Fifteen minutes later (five minutes past my interview time), I started to develop an escape plan. I decided, if the interviewer doesn't show up by 15 minutes after my interview time, I will make something up and bow out. After all, it is supposed to be a short interview--I could reasonably say that I had someplace to be in an hour, and didn't have time to sit around.

So, yeah...my head wasn't in it.

Seven minutes past my interview time, the Interviewer buzzed the desk to let them know she was on her way.

Damn! No escape!

But "On the way" in this woman's world means that to walk from her office to the lobby, 60 feet at best, takes about 8 minutes.

I understand people being busy. I get that. I just have a thing about appointments. I show up on time, and expect the other person to make a reasonable effort. I don't care if they are a potential boss of mine...People who don't value my time, just annoy the hell out of me.

30 seconds before I'm ready to excuse myself, a large, slow, grouchy-looking woman putters into the lobby. She makes no excuse for the lateness, legitimate or otherwise, and ushers me into a room. We then spent approximately 6 minutes making small talk about the job, during which she did not crack one smile, nor offer ANY new information.

It became clear to me that the only reason I was even sitting there was because the large, slow, grouchy-looking supervisor has some kind of ego wrapped up in it--like she didn't trust the first interviewer's opinion, and just wanted to see for herself. And, she was one of those negative, grumpy types, so, a good recommendation from the first interviewer pretty much meant you were completely screwed with this lady.

And I just want to say that I'm sooo glad I drove over there for that...

She said that they would call later in the week. I kept the "don't bother" tucked neatly into my cheek, and, through monumental effort, managed to not roll my eyes until I got out the door. Cuz I'm good like that.

All in all, though...shoulda stay on the patio.