Brain Twinkles

Czarina Obviousa on Life Changing Moments

2012-02-16T07:25:00.000-08:00

A few years ago, when The Ex was giving me so much grief, I was crying to my neighbor across the street. She told me, “One of these days I’m going to see you running and screaming naked up the hill and I’m going to tell my husband, ‘Yup, he did it. Layne’s finally lost her mind.’”

I have since called that moment when you realize something isn’t working and you have to make a change a “running up the hill, screaming and naked” moment.

I experienced one such moment this morning when a client called and wanted me to walk him through his settings on his email window so he could read his email better. I do not work in IT. I am a paralegal. If you are a young, college-educated person who has held a job anytime within the last ten years, you should know how to set your email preferences. You should also the difference between a Word file and a PDF.

I think I need to run screaming naked up the hill to look for a new job.

Czarina Obviousa on World Travel

2012-01-12T14:10:00.000-08:00

Three years ago, The Big One and I were fortunate enough to take a school trip to Washington D.C. This year, we were fortunate in that we took a trip to London with her school’s marching band.

This was a trip we had been planning since she joined the band in the fifth grade. The marching band takes this trip every three years and marches in the London New Year’s Day Parade. When I was single, it was truly a dream that both of us would be able to take this trip, due to finances, but married or single, I was determined to make it happen.

The trip was worth every penny.

There were about 140 of us on the trip, students and chaperones. That is an almost overwhelming number of people to move across an ocean, but everything was planned so well, that it was amazingly smooth. I had three girls in my group, including The Big One, and we had plenty of free time to explore London on our own.

We’d made plans as a group to see certain attractions, such as the London Eye (if you ever go on this, use the Fast Pass option so you don’t spend more time waiting in line than on the actual Eye), Platform 9 ¾ (Which is nowhere near the actual Platform. It’s outside of the station, across the street from McDonald’s) British Museum, Parliament, Big Ben, etc., but I think we got more out of just walking around and seeing where the city took us. We walked at least 6 miles a day, and discovered things like Goodenough College and St. Mungo’s.

We had structured tours on the coach (it’s “coach,” not “bus” over there) with our tour guide, Darling Nikki. Nikki was smart as a whip and even though I’m sure she repeats the same information over and over again, was enthusiastic about her presentations and answered everyone’s questions. I have to give a shout out to The Big One’s Euro History teacher, because at least one kid knew the answer to every question Nikki asked.

Our first coach tour with Nikki was a general sweep of the London high points. We cruised by the Royal Albert Hall, Grosvenor Square, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Parliament, No. 10 Downing Street, Buckingham Palace, Harrod’s, the American Embassy, Piccadilly Circus, the West End and ended up with a tour of the Tower of London.

The Tower was nothing like I thought. I knew it had been a prison and where the Crown Jewels were displayed, but I expected it to be more prison-like. There was a great display in the White Tower of arms and armor. We whizzed by the Crown Jewels on the people-mover so quickly, I hardly got a look at them, but was later told they were replicas anyway. We toured the dungeon and got some great photos of the Tower Bridge.

After our tour, we were free to explore on our own and got our first experience with the London Underground. We did pretty well, but did hit some hiccups getting back to the hotel because several of the lines were closed. We eventually found Platform 9 ¾, after some assistance from the very helpful transportation worker. We found ourselves on Carnaby Street and Soho and ended up in the M & M store. The M & M store is pretty much a huge tourist trap, and I was extremely disappointed they did not carry raspberry chocolate almond M & Ms.

The next day we got back on the coach and headed north to Windsor Castle. Again, we were treated to a history lesson from Nikki, and I still can’t believe she can keep all those kings and queens straight. We were able to tour some of the inside of the castle and I think everyone’s favorite was the princesses’ dollhouse. Even in December, the grounds were beautiful and think they must be truly spectacular in the summer.

When we returned to London, my little group had our time on the London Eye. I am a total tightwad about touristy things, but this was totally worth it. After that, we walked over to the National Gallery. We had a short time there, but I think we all got to see the high points.

That evening, The Big One and I saw a performance of Phantom of the Opera at Her Majesty’s Theatre. I’ve seen Phantom twice before and while I enjoyed those performances, it’s not one of my favorite shows, but because this was in a small theater or maybe because I was watching it with The Big One and it’s her favorite show, but this performance was amazing. We were close enough to see details and some of the behind the scenes work. The marching band’s halftime show this year was music from Phantom, so it made the event even more special.

The next day we headed north again to Stonehenge and Bath. Any photos or images I’ve ever seen of Stonehenge do not even begin to do it justice. It was everything I imagined it to be.

We drove from Stonehenge to Bath, and most on our coach fell asleep. The Big One and I may have been the only exceptions because we didn’t want to miss a minute.
We toured the baths at Bath and the town. I insisted the girls tour the Assembly Rooms, even though apparently The Big One and I were the only ones who’d read anything by Jane Austen. I got chills, thinking that JANE AUSTEN HAD ACTUALLY BEEN IN THESE ROOMS. And the fifth grade boy in my got the giggles because the Jane Austen Center is on Gay Street in Queen’s Square. Also, apparently, there was a pizza baker at the birth of Baby Jesus.

The whole city was beautiful, even on a drizzly day and unlike London, felt like a real English town, not just a business metropolis.

That evening, we met up with my old friend, English Boyfriend. We dated for about ten minutes in college, and he lives about 2 hours north of London. I hadn’t seen him in 26 years, and I learned it’s nearly impossible to find anything to wear that makes one look 26 years younger. He took us to Covent Gardens and met us the next morning at 221b Baker Street. That afternoon, the girls and I toured the British Museum, the Charles Dickens House, the Globe Theatre, the Tate Gallery and walked over the Millennium Bridge.

Our last full day was the New Year’s Day parade. The kids all got on a coach to go to the parade start site, and I sneaked off to get a few photos of Abbey Road. It started to rain about an hour before the band passed me at the end of the parade route, but I saw nothing but smiles on all the kids.

I’m so grateful we had this opportunity. I’ve dreamed of going to England since I was a kid, and am so glad I got to experience it with The Big One. She even actually wanted to hang with me on the coaches and tours rather than the other girls, so we really got to spend a lot of time together.

Here’s what I learned:
• No matter how old they are, you have to tell kids things over and over again. While taking a photo of No. 10 Downing Street, I had the follow conversation. FOUR TIMES. “What are you taking a picture of?” “No. 10 Downing Street” “What’s that?” “It’s where the Prime Minister lives.” REPEAT FOUR TIMES.
• No matter how old they are, kids are still going to get away from you.
• Even though Tourguide Nikki was cute, blonde, skinny and brilliant, she had bad teeth, so that English stereotype may hold true.
• Avoid Asian tour groups at all costs. Another stereotype, I know, but in our experience, it was absolutely true.
• Even if I walk 10 miles a day and eat nothing but sandwiches, I will not lose weight.
• It is possible for me to sleep sitting up on an airplane if I take enough Ambien.
• My 10th grade daughter will probably be fine in the world on her own.
• Van Gogh’s Sunflowers is much smaller than I thought. But it seems larger than life in person.
• The car-payment boots I bought were totally worth it.

And for the first time in my life, my mom was wrong about something. Wearing jeans in England will not make me look like a tourist because EVERY DAMN PERSON IN LONDON IS A JEANS-WEARING-TOURIST.

Czarina Obviousa on American Economics

2011-10-18T08:45:00.000-07:00

I am probably not going out on a limb if I state that like most Americans, I’m somewhat confused about the Occupy Wall Street protest. I know I’m supposed to be supportive, but not sure why. I think I finally got a handle on it though. Hear me out:

I work for a company that is representing a group of workers who want to be paid by their employer for all the time they spend performing work for their employer. The employer is a giant American corporation. One so large, that I’m pretty sure that every household in America has purchased their products at one time or another. We are representing workers in just one location. The workers are asking to be paid for an amount of time per day that probably adds up to less than ten minutes.

Corporate America may argue that ten minutes per day per worker, adds up over time and would cost the company untold profit. But here’s the thing: this case has been going on for almost four years. The company has spent far more on its attorney’s fees and expenses that it ever would have if they had simply paid their employees fairly to begin with. I’m not a math wizard, but I do know that an employee making $15 an hour, is far less than an attorney billing at $425 an hour, plus expenses. Add that up over four years, and see who comes out ahead.

The bottom line is, the company is not interested in what is doing what is right for its employees, or even its customers. As long as it shows the stockholders and board of directors that it has their best interests at heart, they are doing their job.

I feel this is also why the economy is failing and unemployment is so high. Corporate America is more interested in profits rather than keeping jobs in America, so most manufacturing is now done overseas where labor is cheap.

If given the choice, most Americans would buy a t-shirt at Wal-Mart that was manufactured in China for $4.99, than buy the same t-shirt manufactured in the US, at a locally owned store for $19.99. It becomes a vicious circle, because without jobs to have money to buy the t-shirt in the first place, there is little choice on what t-shirt to buy and where to buy it. Therefore, Corporate America has dictated where Americans shop and what they purchase.

So now I understand the basic principle of the protest. I hope this has been helpful, and please fly with us again.

Czarina Obviousa on Whirled Peas

2011-09-13T10:17:00.000-07:00

The Little One and I were watching the morning news, and she made this comment:

"War is stupid. They should just play Rock, Paper, Scissors. That's what Coach makes us do."

She is spot on.

Czarina Obviousa on Telepathy

2011-09-07T07:36:00.000-07:00

The Big One and I were at a used bookstore the other day while visiting my parents, and went our separate ways to browse. I went looking in the DVD section for a couple of Alan Rickman titles I cannot seem to find on DVD anywhere and came up empty. She finds me and is all excited. “Mom, does Grandmother still have a VHS player? Look what I found!”

She’s got an old VHS copy of one of the movies I was just looking for, “Truly, Madly, Deeply.”

What was so weird, is that this was not a popular film, it came out twenty years ago, and she and I had never discussed it. I’ve seen it several times and it breaks my heart every time I watch it. I have no idea how she found out about it, but had downloaded “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore,” which was on the soundtrack. Alan Rickman and Juliet Stevenson sing is as a duet. The Big One thought it was a song from WW2 and I had to set her straight.

My mom did have a VHS player. In fact, she does not own a DVD player and still insists she needs to hook up the VHS player to her new HD television so she can record her shows because she refuses to get a DVR box from the cable company and still hard wires her cable TV into the wall, but that’s another blog entry. The Big One watched it, and I kept popping my head in to see how she liked it, because it’s such a sad movie, and I wasn’t in the mood for it. She did like it, and now I have a mission to find it on DVD for her Christmas stocking.

Just another affirmation that I’m raising her right.

Czarina Obviousa on Noise Pollution

2011-09-07T07:26:00.000-07:00

So The Big One and I were getting gas the other day, when the car next to us starts up, and starts blasting music. At. Full. Volume.

I got back in the car and said, “You know I really wanted to say to that guy, ‘Hey, when you do that, people aren’t thinking, ‘Man, that guy’s cool.’ What they are thinking is, ‘Man, that guy’s a jackhole.’”

The Big One said, “Yeah. The only time it would be cool if he were blasting showtunes.”

My work is done.

Czarina Obivosa’s Open Letter to Fellow Dog Walkers

2011-07-06T08:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Fellow Dog Walkers:

Like you, I enjoy walking my dog, especially in the public park near my house. However, let’s review a few common courtesies.

• This particular park is not an off-leash park. Let me repeat: NOT AN OFF-LEASH PARK. I do not care that your dog is so obedient and well behaved that you feel a leash is not necessary when you take your constitutional. So when your tiny dog charges at my 65-pound-plus dog who responds by barking and picking up your dog in her jaws, do not scream at me to control my dog. Your dog is getting the ass whooping it deserves.

• Please pick up your dog’s poo. If you do not have or have run out of poo bags, which happens to even the most conscientious dog owners, please move the poo away from the walking path, either with a stick or your shoe. Your fellow dog owners do not want to look at your dog’s poo.

• Please do not allow your dog to poo on the sidewalk or walking path. Again, please remove it either with a bag especially designed for picking up poo, or said shoe and/or stick. I personally do not enjoy stepping in your dog’s by-products, and am certain other patrons of park feel the same way.

• If you have small children, please do not allow them to go running up to dogs they do not know, with arms flailing and screaming at the top of their lungs. My own dog loves children and responds to this by lying down, but I have witnessed other dogs who do not share this affinity for what they may perceive as being attacked by howler monkeys. And if the dog responds by nipping at your child, it is not the dog owner’s fault. Perhaps you should consider a leash for your child.

• My dog absolutely hates small dogs, especially female dogs. She is a rescue dog, so I have no idea what her history is regarding this. I am also aware you have no way of knowing this. So when I see you coming toward me with your small dog, please do not take it as an affront to you personally when I turn and walk the other way. Please do not encourage them to be “friends,” unless you wish to have my dog eat your dog for breakfast. I am not being rude. I am just trying to avoid a doggie homicide.

If we all can follow the above, we will all have a pleasant dog walking experience. Thank you for your support.

Czarina Obviousa on Office Manners

2011-06-27T08:13:00.000-07:00

Just a few basics for those who are completely without any manners or boundaries:

• Put your cell phone on silent. Seriously. No one else in the office wants to hear your ringtone. Over and over. And over. And when you do take a personal call, please go in your office or in the hall, so it’s not broadcast everywhere. And when we hear your personal business, please don’t accuse us of eavesdropping.

• Personal hygiene is done at home. Period paragraph. This includes clipping your fingernails at your desk or cleaning your ears in the break room.

• Please do not take shared office items, such as the newspaper, with you on your visits to the restroom. The rest of the office does not want to read your poopy paper.

• Please wash your own dishes. The maid and your mother are out sick this week.

• When the paper towel roll dispenser is empty, please replace. And no, it doesn’t count when you place the new paper towel roll next to the paper towel roll dispenser. If you are unclear on how the paper towel roll dispenser is operated, please ask a four year old.

• When your lunch explodes in the microwave, please clean it up. Do not keep re-microwaving it until it resembles cheese barnacles.

• There is no coffee fairy. When the coffee pot is empty, please make another pot. If you are not trained on how to make coffee, please ask the aforementioned four year old.

• When you are finished with your lunch, brunch, snack, coffee break, etc. please wipe down the mess you left on the counter and/or shared table. Again, the maid and your mother are out sick this week.

• Please take home dirty lunch containers. Do not place them in the refrigerator. This is not a science lab.

• When you are printing 587 pages on the shared printer, please replenish the paper supply for the next person. Again, the four year old can help you with this one.

You know what? How about you start looking for another job and we’ll just hire the four year old.

Czarina Obviousa on Karma

2011-06-01T12:32:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, I was first in line at the stoplight. It turned green, but as I moved forward, the jackhole in the left turn only lane on the opposite side decided that the red light did not apply to him and turned left, just as the guy next to me and I started through the intersection. I held my breath, because it looked like the guy next to me would plow right into this entitled ass, and hit the brakes. The car behind me then hit me.

We both pulled over and the first thing she says to me is, “Why did you stop?”

Not “Are you okay?” or “I’m sorry.” Nope. She tried to shift the blame right out of the gate.

She then looks at my car. I drive a 1994 Toyota Corolla wagon with 206,000 miles. It’s dead sexy. She asks, “Well, what did I do?” I looked at her with a straight face and said, “You rear-ended me.”

Please try to keep up, lady-in-the-the-big-SUV-who-rear-ended-me.

“No,” she sniffs, “I mean there’s already a lot of damage here, what is mine?”

OK, I admit there was one pretty good dent in the bumper where a young woman backed into me in the Target parking lot in Austin, Texas, four years ago. The girls and I were on our first vacation that didn’t involve going to my parents’ and I got lost looking for my cousin’s house. It was really hot, it was the end of the day, and we were all cranky. I told the girl if she gave me directions to my cousin’s, we’d be even-steven. I figured it was good karma.

So the bumper wasn’t in that great of shape to begin with.

However, she did scratch it up pretty bad, plus put dents in around the hatch door, around the tag. And she messed up my “Republicans for Voldemort” bumper sticker pretty good. I was more upset about losing that. It’s probably worth more than the car.

I handed her my card and got her insurance info. I think when she saw I worked in a law office, she came down off her high horse a little.

I went home all mad. Not because of the car, but because of her attitude. She really gave off a bad first impression, because she was so judgmental of my car.

I cooled off and decided that I’d just get the undercarriage checked to make sure it was safe for driving. If there was damage, I’d give her insurance company a call. So imagine my surprise when two days later, I got a call from her insurance company, stating that she’d accepted the blame and they requested I meet one of their appraisers.

Never underestimate the power of a law office business card.

I got the estimate, and as I’d guessed, it’s a total insurance loss. I can still drive it, so I really don’t care about the damage. I was planning on giving it to The Big One when she started driving anyway.

I felt a little funny at first, accepting the check from her insurance company. But I figure, since she’s the one who did the right thing and called her insurance company and not me, and was the one at actual fault, I’d let go of that feeling. I’m stashing it in the band trip fund for The Big One and I.

Karma’s way of paying me back.

2011-05-13T10:02:00.000-07:00

I’m a big fan and follower of freerangekids.com. The author, Lenore Skenazy, campaigns to educate parents on the real and perceived risks to children. I appreciate the research she presents and it has helped me to be less fearful in raising my own girls.

The Little One’s school is probably one of the few in the country that actually encourages its students to walk, rather than have them dropped off by an adult. The school is situated in a neighborhood, off of any busy street, and the traffic congestion can get pretty bad. The school promotes an “All Walk” day once a month and we usually participate. We live about a half mile from the school, which is doable every day, but we’re lazy and sleep the extra fifteen minutes, so I usually take her on my way to work. However, every morning I see lot of kids walking to school. Many are alone or with siblings and no parents. No one seems to think this is dangerous or unusual.

Last Friday was All Walk day, and we got up early enough to walk. I know she’ll be fine if she walks alone, but the dog needed a walk and so did I, so I went with her. We got about two blocks from the school and heard a crash across the street. We looked over, and there was a little guy who had fallen off his scooter. We went over to check on him. He was crying, had a cut on his neck and was holding his arm like it hurt. I introduced myself and The Little One, asked him his name and who was his teacher. It turned out he had the same second grade teacher as The Little One had had. I picked up his scooter and told him we’d walk with him the rest of the way. The Little One stayed with him and chatted with him about Mrs. Second Grade Teacher. When we got to school, I walked him into the nurse’s office and told the school secretary he was in Mrs. Second Grade Teacher’s class. She commented it was nice I brought him in and I told her I couldn’t just leave him crying on the sidewalk.

After school, I asked The Little One if she’d seen the little boy at all during the day. She said she had gone by Mrs. Second Grade Teacher’s classroom to check on him and he was fine.

This incident illustrates that the Free Range Kids idea really works. Little Guy’s mother had enough faith that her kid was capable of getting himself to school. She also had enough faith that if something happened to him, it would be taken care of. Not only was there someone around when he needed it, there was someone who checked up on him.

The boogey man’s not really out there as much as we think. We just need to relearn how to treat each other like neighbors.

Baby Steps

2011-04-21T13:30:00.001-07:00

The other night was the two-year anniversary of The Husband's and my first date. He planned to take me out to dinner, so he brought home pizza and Krispy Kreme doughnuts for the girls for dinner.

I let The Little One know that The Husband had brought Krispy Kreme for her and she smiled big. Then she said, "I have to go give The Stepfather a hug...I mean I have to go give The Almost Feral Cat a hug...I mean I have to have The Almost Feral cat give The Stepfather a hug."

We're getting there.

Czarina Obviousa on Bedtime

2011-03-28T07:33:00.001-07:00

Last night, after watching another stellar Masterpiece Classic, I got up to let the dog out, and was blasted by Guns N Roses Knock, Knock, Knocking on Heaven's Door. So loud, I thought it was a live band.

Being that it was 9:45 on a Sunday night, my curiosity was immediately aroused.

WTF???????!!!!!!!!!

After poking my head out the back door and not seeing anything over the privacy fences, I went upstairs. The Big One and The Little One, who had already gone to bed, were stumbling around, "Mommy, what's that noise?" I went in my bedroom, and The Husband was out cold and had not heard a thing.

So I went out the front door to look for the source. Keep in mind I was wearing the Capri tights I'd worn to the gym earlier, a baggy t-shirt, no bra, no make-up, red Crocs over my footie slippers, and Mickey Mouse fleece robe with a broken zipper.

Two doors down, I could see from the street that the occupants were having a party on their back patio. Did I mention it had snowed for about six hours that day and the temperature was right around the freezing mark?

I didn't want to be a total jackhole and call the police, but it really was obnoxiously LOUD. And on a Sunday night. And it was dark and everything.

Guns N Roses stopped Knock, Knock, Knocking on Heaven's Door, so I thought the music would stop and started walking back home. Apparently, Guns N Roses had an encore. I went back upstairs and both girls were all, "Mommy, we can't sleep, it's too loud."

I decided not to be a jackhole and involve the authorities. Instead, I went in the backyard and yelled "HEY! I'ts a SCHOOL NIGHT!!!"

And the music stopped.

Czarina Obviousa does not mess around with bedtime.

Czarina Obviousa on Racism

2011-03-03T08:08:00.000-08:00

I’ve been researching my family tree. When I say “I,” I mean I pretty much just copy/pasted research done by others and posted on the internet and reformatting it in a way that won’t make the old ADD needle jump the chart.

I’ve been fortunate in that I was able to follow the research and trace one branch back to 1774 and another back to 1374. My maiden name has a very unusual spelling. So unusual, in fact, that when I ran it through the super-duper people search engine at work, the only other Americans I found with this particular spelling were my father, my mother, my brothers, my sister-in-law and myself.

Yep. We are truly the last of this line in America. My brother has three girls, so unless they are able to carry on the name, it dies with this generation. I seriously thought about changing my girls’ last names to hyphenate with their dad’s, but thought that would just be too pretentious and too much to sign on a signature line.

Both of my paternal grandparents were only children, so I didn’t have a lot of relatives that on that side growing up. I can honestly say there are about 17 people on my father’s side that I knew. That included my paternal grandmother’s people, and my paternal grandfather’s mother’s people.

However, after a few search engine fishing trips, learned that while my grandfather’s side of the family with the unusually spelled last name was small, there were cousins I never knew about. And it turned out, the one who is apparently my great-great grandfather’s sister’s descendant, who did the awesome research, lives about 2 hours from me. He’s some kind of blood cousin, anyway. Not the same last name anymore, but I don’t feel so isolated now.

My paternal grandmother’s family has the benefit for research in that several ancestors were political figures and therefore, there was accurate documentation of them and their families. There are three books written about my grandmother’s grandfather, and that’s where things got interesting on the genealogy message boards that I found.

It is a well-known fact that slavery was once legal in America. There is absolutely nothing I can do to change that fact or change the facts of history that were caused by slavery. One of these facts is that slave owners made it a custom and practice of having sexual relations with their slaves, consensual or not. I’m guessing not. This, of course, led to births that may have not been recorded as they should. Fast forward a couple of hundred years, and modern racism enters.

It’s easy for me to understand the viewpoints on race from a couple of centuries ago. What I don’t understand is why we’re still talking about the same issues now.

Apparently, one of my distant cousins is a descendant of a “relationship” between a slave and her owner and has had some difficulty of convincing other “purer” relations of his legitimate kinship. Another topic of discussion on the message boards has been denial on the idea that there may be mixed-race descendants, because according to some of the posters, “my relatives would not have done such a thing.”

Um, excuse me. Attention people who are making that assumption: were you, your parents or grandparents even ALIVE when these events were taking place? No? Then shut your whore mouths and here’s a copy of “Roots.”

My good friend, Irony, comes in about here: the ancestors who these racists have their knickers in a wad over, are Native Americans.

That’s right: “people of color” are in disagreement with other “people of color” over events that happened a couple of centuries ago. And what further incenses me is that these descendants feel they can speak for someone they’ve never, nor will ever, meet and that other descendants still have to fight this tired fight. Descendants of Native Americans and African Americans are still not recognized as members of certain Native American tribes. This may not seem like a big deal, but tell that to someone who is not recognized when they are filling out a census form or applying for benefits or scholarships.

The particular ancestor who has the books published about him also kept a journal. He wrote an autobiography from these notes and this was published, but not his private journals. Those were kept by my grandmother until her death, then by my aunt, her daughter. According to one of the books about him, written by a non-family member, he makes reference to those kinfolk in his journal, but alludes that it is not something the family likes to acknowledge. I don’t know if this is true or not. I’ve never been allowed to read the original journals. I’m not even sure where they are now, since my aunt died about a year and a half ago. I will probably never be privy to their contents, given my grandmother’s wishes to keep this family “secret” a secret.

Frankly, I was tickled to death to have any distant relations, regardless of color.

The Big One has a friend with whom she’s in jazz band, Jazz Band Girl, who is biracial. Jazz Band Girl’s dad comes to almost every band event (sidebar: big shout out to him, because that’s practically a full-time job) who is white. Jazz Band Girl has two younger sisters and I just assumed their mother was African American. Her mother doesn’t generally come to all the events, so it was several months into band season before I saw her.

Hello Irony, I’m so glad to see you again!

Who’s that white woman sitting with Jazz Band Girl’s dad and her sisters? Is it his girlfriend? Second wife?

Turns out, Jazz Band Girl and her sisters are all adopted. This was not even on my radar.

So my question is, am I any better that my ancestors and those involved in the discussion about race? I was making racial assumptions, just as they did and are. Have I done a 180 or a 360?

I know in a perfect world, we’re not supposed to see color and compartmentalize based on color, but we have a long way to go to make a perfect world. I loved the fact that at a recent slumber party, The Little One was the only white kid, but I hate the fact that I saw that and had the need to point it out to The Husband.

I guess it just makes me sad that this issue will never go away.

Every time I hear a member of the "Tea Party" proclaim, "We're taking back our country!" what I hear them say is "We're taking back our country from the nigger president!"

It's sad that no matter how educated a person is or how intelligent or if they have exemplary leadership skills, those will always be noticed after the color of their skin.

A Little Piece of Quiet

2011-02-22T12:27:00.000-08:00

So I’m watching Oprah a few weeks ago, and even though I lost some of my respect for Oprah because of James Frey and Jenny McCarthy, Goldie Hawn was on and I luurrrrrrvve her, and she’s talking about happiness. What makes people happy, how you can achieve it.

Whatever.

So Goldie says that the one thing that is guaranteed to contribute to happiness and well being is being alone and quiet, even if it’s only for ten minutes a day.

Like every other woman in America who was watching this, I was thinking, “Yeah, RIGHT. When the hell am I supposed to get ten minutes ALONE and QUIET? I can’t even go in the bathroom without the dog following me in there.”

Then she explained what she does, which is go in her bathroom, lock the door, put the seat down and sit and breathe for 10-20 minutes.

GOLDIE HAWN has to go hide in the bathroom in her own house, just to get a piece of quiet. GOLDIE HAWN who could afford to have a special wing built onto her house, for the sole purpose of getting a piece of quiet, has to sit on the closed toilet in order to do so.

This problem has clearly reached a crisis point for American women.

One of the biggest adjustments to my new married life is that while I feel like I can’t get away from people and things that constantly need me, The Husband is making up for lost time for all the years he lived alone. It’s not that I don’t want him or anyone else around. I just don’t want them around ALL. THE. TIME.

I got so totally fed up the other day at work, dealing with the idiocity caused by the boss’ brother, that I had to get out of the office for a while. It was too cold to take a walk, so I went in the bathroom and played Angry Birds for a while. Not more than two minutes later, I started getting anxious texts from Kathy with a K: “Where are you? R U OK?”

So it’s not just at home where it’s impossible to be alone.

Years ago, there was a short-lived cartoon series based on the Baby Blues comic strip. One episode had the mom, Wanda, open her own business. A NAP STORE. How awesome would this be in real life? Just a space filled with giant drawers with beds in them. No sex allowed, just napping. As cheap as I am, I would pay good money to have two hours of uninterrupted sleep in a quiet place.

So if anyone out there is looking for a start-up business idea, let me know. We could make money and contribute to the well-being of women all over America.

Czarina Obviousa at the Gym

2011-02-07T07:56:00.000-08:00

An Open Letter to the Girl in the Pink Top on the Treadmill Next to Me at the Gym:

Hi girl-in-the-pink-top-on-the-treadmill-next-to-me-at-the-gym,

We all have a little rebel in us, but when ALL of the cardio apparatus are in use, and I mean ALL the treadmills, ellipticals, stairclimbers, etc., and there are other members of the gym milling around, waiting for an opening, it's really NOT cool to exceed the 30 minute time limit imposed on said apparatus.

Even if you have zero body fat and the waist the size of a gnat's.

I am certain that you exceeded the 30 minute because I was one of the other members who was waiting for an opening while you were already on the treadmill. When the treadmill next to you opened, I hopped on, started the timer and began my workout. After my allotted 30 minutes, I got off, wiped it down (as is courteous) and walked an additional 5 laps around the gym.

You were still on the same treadmill when I left the gym. And during my workout, I did notice you punching the buttons on the control panel. A lot.

If it had been less that 5 minutes, or if the gym hadn't been so crowded, I would not have had an issue with this. I myself did 45 minutes one time, but that was on Easter Sunday, when there were literally SIX people in the gym. But I did feel guilty about it, and told the attendant, who just laughed at me and said, "Really, today it's okay."

I appreciate the fact that you are dedicated to your workout, which is obvious because you have zero body fat and a waist the size of a gnat's but that does not entitle you to special privileges. Especially at the expense of others who may have had to carve time out of their day and brave the elements to go to the gym. And given the evidence that you have zero body fat and a waist the size of a gnat's, carving time out of your day to go to the gym is not a problem, because it it obvious you have nothing else to do with your time but go to the gym.

I saw you at the gym yesterday, and had my eye on you. I couldn't tell if you were using the special entitlement card, but you're on my radar now, so watch out.

Next time, I'll be a tattletale and let the attendant know. Or better still, knock you and your zero body fat and waist the size of a gnat's into the window.

Just so I can watch you slide down the glass like Rick Moranis did in Ghostbusters.

Exercise makes Czarina Obviousa cranky.

The Adventures of Czarina Obviousia

2011-02-04T09:16:00.000-08:00

“I strongly believe that we should take on, once and for all, the issue of illegal immigration. I am prepared to work with Republicans and Democrats to protect our borders, enforce our laws and address the millions of undocumented workers who are now living in the shadows.” - President Obama

The above is from the President’s recent State of the Union Address, or as I like to call it after witnessing John Boehner’s man-tan, “Oompa-Loompas Gone Wild.” Seriously, I couldn't take my eyes off him. Very distracting.

There was a recent election in Fremont, Nebraska that just has put my panties in a wad. The good folks of this hamlet have voted to ban hiring or renting of property to illegal immigrants.

My good friend Irony, pokes its head in here, because Fremont, Nebraska is the home of two meat packing plants, staffed mostly by immigrants, illegal or not. In fact, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that most of America’s food supply is processed by immigrants, illegal or not.

I tried looking up the exact figures on how many undocumented workers there are in America and the needle just flew off my ADD chart. There are so many different sources, and because they are undocumented, the figures cannot be accurate. The closest I could find from the 2009 US Census is probably about 13 million. I tried to find the amount spent by the US on these undocumented immigrants for welfare services and my eyeballs started spinning in my head, because again, too many conflicting sources. Even the government can’t figure it out. A 2007 report by the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office examined 29 reports on state and local costs published over 15 years in an attempt to answer this question. CBO concluded that most of the estimates determined that illegal immigrants impose a net cost to state and local governments but "that impact is most likely modest." CBO said "no agreement exists as to the size of, or even the best way of measuring, that cost on a national level."

Agricultural workers are exempt from receiving overtime and minimum wage. That’s right. The guy with the family working in the field is not even making $7.25 an hour. Or getting overtime.

People complain all the time about the high price of food, but what would prices be like if labor weren’t so cheap?

The thing is, and I know I’m stereotyping, but if you were deemed “legal” to work and live in America, wouldn’t you choose collecting welfare over picking strawberries? I know I would. Collect a check AND get benefits such as health care? Sign me up.

I wonder if the good people of Fremont and others like them have made that connection.

Wonder if they’ll figure it out when ground beef is $10 a pound? Or will they blame it on the “illegals” who are draining the welfare system?

Wonder if anyone has shown them what corporate welfare costs this country?

I'd rather have cheap asparagus than bail out Goldman Sachs.

SNOWMAGEDDON!!! 2011

2011-02-03T08:55:00.000-08:00

Snow, snow, snow, blah, blah, blah.

Yeah, we get it. We've had a lot of snow. Most of the country has had a lot of snow.

However, no one I personally know of has lost power, or has been stranded on the road or stuck in their house for more than a day and a half. We all had plenty of groceries because we had two day's worth of warnings. Everyone had pretty much laid in supplies and was under cover when the blizzard started. I heard folks in Austin were on rolling blackouts to accommodate the surge in usage, but no one was really without power for a dangerous or extended period of time. A couple of people did have pipes burst, but they had bottled water on hand and when the temperature is way below zero for several days, there is really nothing you can do about it.

I couldn't get out of my driveway or street and had to miss two days of work. This is not the end of the world, believe me. Schools have been out for three days. The kids don't mind.

The Big One's fifteenth birthday fell on the second snow day. She was born on a snow day, and I think we've had one every birthday since. One year, we'd lost power for a few days. We had a special breakfast and cake and ice cream, and it was pretty much like every other birthday.

So for everyone out there who keeps whining about being stuck in their house for two days, I have this advice:

Shut the fuck up already.

Seriously, did you miss a dialysis or chemo appointment while you stayed in your warm house watching DVDs and eating? No, I don't think so.

Were you homeless and under a bridge? Nope.

Were you so snowed in that if there were a life-threatening situation, an ambulance couldn't have gotten to your house? I live on a pretty steep hill that didn't get plowed until Day Two and I still think an ambulance could have made it if absolutely necessary.

Did your employer threaten to fire you if you didn't show up? No, because they couldn't open their front door, much less get to the office.

Although as a sidebar, The Little One's Girl Scout leader's daughter did have to have an emergency appendectomy, so she gets a pass. In addition, she handled it in true Girl-Scout-leader-single-mother-of-four fashion and apologized to ME for not returning my email immediately regarding cookie money. Really, it's okay. The cookies can wait.

I think the only real concern I had was for my parents. My mom called and said they may not be able to get out for 5-6 days. She may end up killing my father by then.

Two days off in your house is a GIFT people. I know you all had access to your computers, because I kept reading posts on FaceBook that were whine after whine about how you couldn't get out your front door because of the snow and how the kids are going stir crazy.

Um, no they're not. They most likely have access to televisions, DVDs, computer games, iPods and maybe something that I like to call "books." They're fine. They don't really need constant stimulation and it's really okay for them to veg in front of the TV for a few days. Everyone else is also missing school, so no one's getting behind.

I personally sat on the fat couch and played Angry Birds, caught up on FarmVille and knitted house slippers to my heart's content. Watched "Easy A" on The Big One's recommendation, and was going to watch "The Social Network" but had to go to back to work. I had grand aspirations of cleaning out my closets, but the couch won. The Husband cooked and The Little One let the dog in and out. Good neighbor Charlie snowblowed our driveway. I've had worse vacations.

Please don't let me be the only one who saw this snowstorm as a gift, and not the end of the world. We all really have so much and I'm sure we all have everything we really need. I know I do. Maybe next snow day, instead of posting to FaceBook about how bored we are, we should post our blessings.

Thank You for Being De-Friend

2011-01-28T14:39:00.000-08:00

So what is it about FaceBook that has turned the country into a bunch of sixth-grade girls?

There are so many hurt feelings about who’s “friended” and “defriended” that I sometimes have flashbacks to Mayo Elementary, circa 1976.

Recently The Husband and I discovered we were both defriended by someone we’d gone to camp with 30 years ago, solely for the reason that we are both atheists and he’s a Christian.

Now I know I don’t follow the Christian theology, but isn’t that a very un-Christlike attitude?

My take on it is that real friends don’t lose touch after 30 years to begin with.

At least he wasn’t one of my FarmVille neighbors. That would have been really hurtful.

The Dish Experiment, Day Five

2011-01-26T14:10:00.000-08:00

So notice the clean dishes in the dish rack. Again, washed by the owner's wife. What year is this again?

Taking a stand for administrative assistants everywhere.

The Dish Experiment, Day Four

2011-01-25T06:38:00.001-08:00

Still haven't backed down, but apparently these dishes sat over the weekend. Some of the dishes left in the sink had been washed, but by the owner's WIFE. Seriously? Is it 1950?

The Dish Experiment, Day Three

2011-01-21T09:01:00.000-08:00

Day Three of not washing. I know the photo is bad, but I'm still trying out my smart phone. Smart Phone = Dumb User.

The fork, mug and glass are still there, with the addition of a couple of bowls the owner left. We'll see who caves first.

The Dish Experiment, Day Two

2011-01-20T07:10:00.001-08:00

So Kathy with a K and I made it through our first day of NOT washing dishes.

It doesn't look too bad, but keep in mind that she and I and the owner's brother were the only ones who ate in. And yes, all the dirty dishes and utensils belong to him.

The Dish Experiment, Day One

2011-01-17T09:54:00.000-08:00

It is a truth universally acknowledged that blogging about one's job is career suicide. However, I have reached my breaking point about one particular issue at my workplace:

The dirty dishes.

I work in a small office, only seven employees. One might assume that because we are all adults, all employees can be responsible for their dirty dishes. This is not the case. Every day, either I or Kathy with a K wash a stack of dishes that were dirtied by the other employees. We started doing this as a favor, but because we set this precedent, we are now expected to do this. Every day. Even when we ourselves have not used any dishes. Even when we are both absent from the office.

So beginning today, we have agreed that neither of us will succumb to the power of the stack of dirty dishes and refuse to wash a dish that we did not personally soil.

We ain't their bitches.

More Superpowers

2011-01-06T06:55:00.000-08:00

After the realization that I have the superpower that I can make myself become invisible, I almost immediately found that I can see and hear things that must be in a fourth dimension.

For years I've thought that all my nagging ("put that away," "watch out for ___," etc.) was because that is what kids and moms do. But after discovering I could become invisible, it opened my mind to the possibility of superpowers and it explains so much.

For example:
I am the only one who can see and hear the dog when she is panting like she's just finished a marathon and pacing in front of her water dish, to have a refill.
I am the only one who can see and hear the dog when she is pacing in front of the back door, crossing her legs and whining to be let out.
I am the only one who can see and hear the cat when she is howling next to her food dish, because it is empty.

The other morning, The Big One and I were in the girls' bathroom, and she was brushing her teeth. There was a ginormous wad of dog hair in the sink. IN THE BATHROOM SINK. The only explanation I have for this was that the dog was dying of thirst, so she went into the bathroom, turned on the sink and got herself a drink. I told The Big One, "Ewwww...clean that up." She said, "Clean what up?" This was not a few hairs, it was the size of a tarantula.

This superpower is not just related to animals. It also explains why no one but me sees the dirty dishes left on the floor in the den, the badminton racket left on the hood of my car, and the stapler in The Little One's bed.

I really must harness these powers for the greater good. At the least, I could get my house clean.

"With great power comes great responsibility."

The Invisible Woman

2010-12-28T10:23:00.000-08:00

I'm old enough to remember when the 70's sit-com, "Soap," was in it's original run. One of the characters, Burt, has a mild psychotic breakdown and believes he can make himself invisible.

I believe I can do the same. Problem is, I have no control over when this happens.

For example, last night The Husband fell asleep on the couch fairly early in the evening. I took this opportunity to go upstairs to hang some prints I received as a Christmas gift in our tiny bathroom. Not more than five minutes after I went upstairs, he came up and asked what I was doing. Not only did I go into detail about what I was about to do, I had the prints laid out on the bed in formation and was holding a hammer. He then proceeded into the tiny bathroom and spent the next 20 minutes cleaning his teeth. I stood in the bedroom with my mouth open and hammer in hand for the same 20 minutes.

This bathroom is really tiny. It's not even a full bath, and is considered, what I believe, a bath-and-three-quarters. One could pretty much sit on the toilet and wash one's hands in the sink or stand at the sink brushing one's teeth, and lean over and shave one's legs in the shower. I've pretty much done both of these activities. So hanging the prints while he was in the bathroom was pretty much out of the questions.

When he finally came out, I went in and started hammering nails. He poked his head in: "What are you doing?"

Seriously?!

I said, "Hanging up these prints LIKE I TOLD YOU TWENTY MINUTES AGO I WAS GOING TO DO."

I can come up with no other explanation for this, other than the fact I was indeed invisible when he first came upstairs, and therefore, he could neither see nor hear my detailed explanation.

This happens to me all the time. Especially with my kids.

I can give them extremely detailed instructions on upcoming events, or tasks I ask them to do, sometimes even written and with illustrations, and after I've completely gone Joan Crawford-Mommie Dearest on them, will look at me as though it were the first time they were receiving any kind of instructions.

I've also been left behind many times in my life, because people just forgot I was there. Most memorably, I was locked in at the bookstore where I worked, after closing, even though it was REQUIRED that all employees sign out at the end of the day.

The manager just forgot about me, and apparently my name on the roster was also invisible.

Now if I could only harness this super-power at will I could probably rule the world.

"The Gretch Who Stole Christmas"

2010-12-23T10:50:00.001-08:00

OK, I totally stole the title from The Daily Show, but it's just plain awesome.

What compelled me to write my previous post, was the kerfuffle that Faux News reporter Gretchen Carlson made about a parade in Tulsa, Oklahoma, my hometown. Basically, she had her panties in a wad because the annual holiday parade held there did not use the word "Christmas" in its title.

When the parade started years ago, it was called the P.S.O. Parade of Lights. It was sponsored by P.S.O., the electric company based in Tulsa. I'm not sure when it started, but it must have been after I moved away, because I don't remember ever going to it. My understanding that it was modeled after Disney's Electric Light Parade, or something like that. Anyway, after a few years, P.S.O. dropped its sponsorship, and it was taken over by my favorite Irish Pub,McNellie's. (sidebar - the sweet potato fries there are heaven on earth.) After they took over, the name was changed to Holiday Parade of Lights.

Not really earth shattering news. But for Gretchen Carlson, who was apparently having a slow news day, it was the end of the world as we know it. If you watch the video, my favorite part is the incredulous look on the guy's face as she's grilling him. And the video is just another reason I heart Jon Stewart and all the writers of The Daily Show, or as I call it, The News.

As an atheist, one would think that I'd be all for using the politically correct "Holiday" instead of "Christmas." The truth is, I don't really give a rat's ass.

I actually LOVE Christmas. I worked for about a decade as a visual merchandiser (basically a department store decorator) and we VMs spent about four months of the year planning, prepping, installing and removing Christmas decorations. As a result of my time doing that, I go pretty big on putting up the decorations at home. At one point, I had about 15 Rubbermaid totes filled with Christmas decorations. I have winnowed them down to about 9 now, but still love getting them out every year. Feels like seeing old friends when I drag them out. My mother is big on Hallmark ornaments, and thanks to her, we own about 150 of them. I used to put up at least three trees, but have downsized to the regular tree and the Barbie tree. Yep. We have a Barbie tree. This year, it is bright holographic pink tinsel, with lights, silver balls and bows. I think we're up to around forty Barbies on it.

I'm so anal retentive about how my Christmas trees are lit, that I spent the better part of three hours when we set the tree up a few weeks ago, removing a burned out strand of lights and replacing it. (another sidebar - this is a pre-lit tree, and when I finally got the strand off, found it was three strands of lights, joined at each end by male plugs. I don't think the Underwriter's Laboratory approved of this.)

I also love making out the list of presents I'm going to get for everyone, shopping for said presents, and my favorite thing, wrapping them.

So even though we celebrate Christmas at our house, it's a non-secular holiday, and we make it about spending time together and making traditions. We always do Christmas morning at our house, big dinner, a movie, then drive around and look at Christmas lights. It's not about a religious holiday, it's about a FEELING. FEELING grateful, happy and concerned for others.

So when people like Gretch make a big deal over what they feel is politically correct, here's what I'd like them to know:

Get a fucking life.

If anyone should feel that their rights are being violated by wishing someone "Merry Christmas," "Happy Holidays," "Happy Hanukkah," "Joyful Solstice," "Happy Kwanzaa," or "Happy Festivus," it should be the atheists. Maybe it's my Southern/Midwestern upbringing, but when someone wishes me a holiday greeting, I feel that they're just feeling happy, being friendly and using good manners. I have no problems saying it back either. Any friendly exchange amongst the human race is a good thing.

So, Gretchen Carlson, and the rest of you self-righteous so-called Christians, instead of worrying about what other people are saying, you should focus more on the message you are sending.

WWJD, indeed.

2010-12-22T14:49:00.000-08:00

When I was in the fourth grade, my favorite library book was D’Aulaires Book of Greek Myths. This was the book I checked out over and over again and never got tired of.

It didn’t take me long to figure out the similarities between Greek myths and Bible stories. Noah’s Ark? It’s in there. Virgin births? A bunch of those. Parents sacrificing their children? Got that, too.

I was not an exceptionally bright child so it seems like it was just common sense that allowed me to draw these parallels, and ask questions:
• “Weren’t the Greeks around before the Christians?”
• “Weren’t these stories around before the Bible was written?”
• “How come these stories are the same?”

Captain Obvious strikes again.

My family attended the Episcopal Church, which really wasn’t too “churchy” back then. We basically went to services (Episcopalian aerobics: stand up, sit down, kneel), Sunday school and I was a member of the EYC. I was confirmed, but never attended a Bible study class and was one of the first of the female acolytes in our parish. For me, church wasn’t a huge deal as far as religious education was concerned; it was more for socializing and they had an awesome bazaar every year. So it probably wasn’t that much of a reach that I made the parallels between the stories.

I stopped attending church after high school and made an attempt when The Big One was about four to go back. I found a church I liked, but it soon became clear that this particular church was intent on becoming a mega-church, and was going full court press to make that happen, no matter what. I finally left after I received a letter from a group of “like-minded members” urging me to vote for a fellow member who was running for office (um, illegal much?) and when the church voted itself out of the Episcopal Church because an openly gay man was appointed a bishop. Plus, The Big One kept begging to not go, and I really sensed something weird was going on with that, since she was very complacent when she was little.

So I went looking for something to fill that spiritual hole.

Here’s what I learned:

Organized religion is a crock.

Even as a kid I figured out that mankind created its gods to fill in for the unknown. Once the human race learned that lightning is caused by electrically charged ice and moisture particles, the notion that it was Zeus throwing them off Mount Olympus was abandoned. As science was expanded, superstitions disappeared.

My theory is that “God” is x, the unknown. For what we cannot yet explain through science, “God” is used as the fill-in. There is so much that is unknown to mankind, and progress is painfully slow. I’ll feel we’ll eventually catch up, but it will probably take about 10,000 years.

I’ve had people argue with me that they have proof of God in that when they pray, God answers their prayers. My response is that everything contains energy, and since so little is known about how energy can really be moved, wouldn’t it stand to reason that when a person is directing their energy in a particular manner, it disrupts and moves other energy, so that there is a change. They usually look at me like I’m a nut at this point, but if they are allowed to believe that there is an invisible man who lives in the sky who is in control of everything, I’m allowed to believe that energy can be moved. When they say they always feel better after praying, my answer is: “Of course you do. You’ve released that energy from your body and your body can physically feel that.” Again, the crazy lady looks.

I finally came out as a full-fledged atheist a couple of years ago, after seeing Julia Sweeny’s monologue “Letting Go of God.” She was able to articulate what I could not, I immediately had an “ah-ha!” moment and realized it was really okay to be an atheist and still be a good person, and in an instant, let go of that part of my psyche.

Here’s the really weird part: almost immediately I started experiencing major positive life changing events.
• The Big One’s academic team won their state title and a place at the national competition in Washington DC.
• Out of the blue, a friend was able to procure gratis lodging for us for the trip
• I received a job offer when I had not been looking for new employment, with a substantial bump in salary
• I met my future husband
• Because of the salary raise, I was able to refinance and get The Ex off the deed for my house
• I had several unexpected windfalls of over $1,000 each

All these things happened within the first three months of my coming out. I am positive that they happened because I had let go of beliefs that were not working for me, and that made space for things that would work for me to come in.

The Little One is at that age where she’s adamant there is no Santa Claus. At first, I said “Are you sure? Because that’s something you don’t want to mess around with.” The other night I told her, “You know, if I don’t expect you to believe in God, I shouldn’t expect you to believe in Santa. They’re both just make-believe.” I got no argument from her and we agreed to still pretend some of the presents are from Santa.

The thing is, I think I lead a better life now that I’m not constrained by some pre-determined dogma. I’m more open to listening to both sides of a story, and more open to new ideas in general. My kids have always been kind to others, and for me, that’s one of the best qualities they can have.

And they’re doing that without the benefit of an invisible man in the sky.

2010-12-13T11:05:00.000-08:00

I had a follow up visit today with The Big One's guidance counselor regarding her Individualized Education Program.

It went really well, and the nice thing about this meeting was that The Big One got to sit in with me, the guidance counselor and one of her teachers. We reviewed her grades, and reviewed her planned "Course of Action," that is, what her schedule would be, semester by semester for the next three and a half years.

Things have certainly changed since I was in high school, as back then, I was doing well to know what my next scheduled class would be, much less one I'd have in the future. But she seems to be doing well, and doesn't seem stressed out by the extra work.

However, once again, it was brought to my attention by education professionals that my daughter is "too quiet." Not that's she's shy, or too introverted, just "too quiet." This characteristic was deemed questionable by said education professionals when I appealed to get qualified for the gifted program. The teacher that sat in on the meeting again mentioned this, and this time, I was glad my daughter was there as I questioned this opinion.

"Look, if she had the opposite personality trait, we be here discussing what meds to get her on. 'Being quiet' is not a personality or intelligence deficiency. It's really OKAY to be quiet." They agreed, and decided rather than expressing herself verbally, perhaps she could do it in writing or individually with her teachers.

Finally. And I'm glad The Big One saw me do that in front the authority figures, so she'll have proof that at least on one occasion, I had her back.

I Heard the News Today, Oh Boy

2010-12-08T07:40:00.000-08:00

I am terrible about remembering things with numbers such as phone numbers or dates. However, there are a few dates I will always remember:

October 3, 1897, my grandmother's birthday
November 2, 1979, the day my BFF and I got our braces off
April 18, 2009, first date with The Husband
The birth dates of both my children
July 5, 2010, wedding anniversary
January 28, 1986, the Challenger exploded
December 9, 1980, the day I found out John Lennon had been murdered

As I mentioned before, I've been a Beatles fan since the ninth grade. In December 1980, I was a high school junior. I got up on December 9, 1980, got in the shower, dried off and got dressed, and then my dad stopped me in the hall.

"There's been an assassination, honey."

Those were his exact words. I can still hear them. His choice of the word "assassination" is what still rings in my ears thirty years later.

I first, of course, thought he meant the president, who at that time, was Jimmy Carter. Ronald Reagan had just been elected, and would have an attempt made on his life 69 days into his presidency.

Then he said, "It was John Lennon."

I remember I had to lean against the wall to avoid falling over. I know the expression "felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach" may be bandied about, but that's exactly how I felt. I started sobbing and my dad held onto me.

I immediately called one of my best friends, High School Mel (whose gift of an awesome "Happy Christmas from John and Yoko" t-shirt I still have, 30 years later). She had heard the news the night before. Back in those days, we were not allowed to call our friends after 9:00 PM, so she'd had a rough night.

I got to school and stumbled into home room. French with Mme. Sanchez. I remember that a senior named David came in after me, we made eye contact and we both knew what each of us was thinking. I can still hear him plop down into his desk behind me and let out a little groan. The rest of the day was a blur within a fog.

As the details about his murder came out, I felt the same feelings of waste as I'm sure millions of others did.

I could go on about the senselessness of his murder, the state of mental health care in America, gun control laws and whether or not Yoko really broke up the Beatles, but it still wouldn't bring back a man who truly and earnestly wanted to make the world a better place and wanted nothing but peace.

I don't believe in Zimmerman,
I don't believe in Beatles,
I just believe in me,
Yoko and me.

Putting the Fun in Dysfunctional

2010-12-07T13:18:00.000-08:00

So for Thanksgiving being the first major blended family get-together, I have to give thanks for how smoothly it went.

Seriously, we were practically the freakin’ Brady Bunch. That is if the Brady Bunch consumed copious amounts of narcotics and alcohol.

For about the past 10 years, I’ve always taken the girls back to my parents’ home for Thanksgiving. Even when I was married to The Ex, he maybe only joined us on one occasion, due to his work/gambling schedule, so we had a pretty set routine: Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house or my brother and sister-in-laws, a movie Thanksgiving evening, up on Black Friday (not crazy early, though) for breakfast and shopping with The Big One, and catching up with my school friends who happened to be in town that year. I had some concerns about disrupting this routine, since The Husband’s HUGE family has a big get-together every year, and I wanted them to participate in that, but knew it would be kind of a drag for them. The Husband had even voiced his concern, since he has personal experience in attending the step-family events, and wanted to be sure they were comfortable with the idea.

We compromised by agreeing to have lunch at my brother and sister-in-law’s place (M & M), and dessert at The Husband’s family gathering. According to The Husband, the food usually sucked at these gatherings, and M & M can cook up a storm, so it was really a win-win compromise.

So lunch at M & M’s was great. We got to see the Baby Cousins, Thing One, Thing Two and Surprise, and M’s brother and sister. The food, of course, was amazing as M & M always do a fantastic spread. We were entertained by all the Baby Cousins, especially when Surprise down-dog crawled over to the refrigerator, opened it, and pulled out a bottle of wine.

And at only 17 months of age! My kind of girl.

We hefted ourselves over to the in-laws and ate some more and got to know the fam. The Husband’s father comes from a family of about 5 or 6 kids (sorry, I can’t keep EVERYONE inventoried) and I was close to one of his uncles and his wife when I was in high school. The last time I saw them was on my 25th birthday, so it had been a couple of decades and change since then. When I mentioned that my 25th birthday was the last time I’d seen him, Uncle C said, “So it’s only been three weeks?”

I heart Uncle C.

Back then, they had a two year old who is no longer two, who I have gotten to know through FaceBook, and was really looking forward to meeting her, her sister and one particular cousin.

I was not disappointed in any way. These girls are the shit.

I would like to say they reminded me of me when I was their age, but no way was I ever as cool. They are the cool girls I wanted to be.

Anyway, I had a great time talking and getting to know everyone. There were maybe 25-30 people there, and I missed out on some introductions, but it will probably take me years to sort everyone out anyway. Another one of the out-laws, who’s been married to this family for 25+ years, said it took her at least 5 years to get everyone straight. And she lives in a much closer proximity than I.

The Girls did okay with the new in-laws. The Big One found a friend in one of Cool Cousin T’s daughter, who’s a couple of years younger and played with CCT’s three-year old. The Little One was feeling especially contrary, so she mostly sulked. I told her, “Next time, bring a book.” I know this was an intimidating situation, but she wasn’t even trying. I think she acts that way, just to get my attention.

After the grown-ups left, the host decided to have a cousin party. I don’t know when I was moved into the “grown-ups” category, as no one informed me, but The Husband and I were granted a reprieve, since we were borderline.

There is a reason I don’t party like I did when I was in my twenties: I am no longer in my twenties.

Anyway, it was fun just watching everyone cut loose. And I suppose there had to be one sober person there, just in case. Never thought I’d live to see the day where that person would be me. I used to be on the guest list at the Starck Club, dammit. But I digress.

We spent the rest of the weekend keeping to our usual Thanksgiving weekend activities: shopping, eating and meeting up with old friends from school. I spent way too much and ate way too much (see post below) but had a pretty stress free weekend.

The following weekend The Husband went to his much-anticipated Civil War re-enactment with BFF’s Husband. Since The Ex has gone from seeing the girls every day after school to about once a month, and was able to come visit that weekend. And since The Ex has to beg, borrow or steal lodging, it was decided he'd crash on the downstairs sofa.

Can you say "awkward"?

Actually, it wasn't the first time we've done this, just the first time The Husband would be gone. But I figure I'll take the high road, because it really is important that the girls spend time with their dad. Well, at least for The Little One, as The Big One has a social calendar even Paris Hilton would envy, and was gone most of the weekend. He did take them shopping and ice skating, so YAY for Quality Time.

So we all survived the first blended family holiday, and everyone came out okay on the other end. I met some new friends, got some great gifts and ate until I was fat enough to bake.

It could have been worse.

2010-12-07T11:01:00.000-08:00

I’ve been mostly sick for the past week with some scrumpdillicious strep/flu/virus thing, and I’ve spent the better part of the last week on the couch.

I’m not one to spend a lot of time just lolling about on the couch, watching TV or whatever. Between working several jobs, going to school, raising kids, etc., I generally don’t just SIT and watch TV. Oh, it’s always on, but I’m always doing something at the same time such as making meals, ironing, putting away laundry, you know.

So I had some time to catch up on my infomercials and also the big, fat Sunday pre-Christmas-shopping-frenzy newspaper circulars.

Here’s what I learned:

Most of the products manufactured and marketed to Americans are designed to encourage laziness.

Seriously, it doesn’t stop with the Snuggie. There was a product in an ad for a bedside laptop desk. It’s a little desk that slides in between your mattress and box springs so a person can use their laptop in bed. I thought that’s what a lap was for. There’s the Roomba, created so a person doesn’t have to get out the vacuum cleaner and spend 5 minutes vacuuming a room. Just let the little Roomba skitter around all day. I have days where getting out the vacuum cleaner counts as my upper body workout. There’s the EasyChop. I have one of those, but I call it a knife. And the product that is my particular pet peeve, the Kindle. I have one of those too, but I call it a LIBRARY.

All of these products are slightly genius in that they have created a demand that wasn’t there. In all fairness, I can see using most of them if you’re elderly or infirm, but I’ve yet to see someone Betty White’s age shilling a Roomba.

I’ve been blessed by genetics, in that I’m 5’10” and have pretty much been on the average/lean side of the height and weight charts my whole life. I’ve been lucky enough that I’ve pretty much eaten crap my whole adult life and remained basically the same size.

Until the last few months.

I have gained almost 10 pounds since I got married. My eating habits have stayed mostly the same, except we have been eating more red meat. It was generally situational that we didn’t eat that much red meat before, because I simple couldn’t afford it. Now I guess with two incomes, I’ve felt the need to splurge.

I am totally paying for that now.

When I sit, my belly now flops over onto my lap. I’ve never had a flat stomach to begin with, but this is just ridiculous. I can feel the back fat creeping up into my armpits when I get into the car. My energy is low and I feel just bloated and awful. I get out of breath when I climb the stairs. I seriously don’t know how clinically obese people stay alive as long as they do. I’m only carrying around 10 extra pounds, and I’m miserable.

I’ve also totally slacked off on walking the dog. I used to walk her faithfully almost every day, but now find excuse after excuse not to walk her, which is unhealthy for both of us.

So, for the first time in my life, am going to have to DIET or at least make better choices.

This could get ugly.

Fun with Pre-Menopause

2010-11-09T11:04:00.000-08:00

I’ve had trouble with short term memory for the last few years. It really kicked in around the time The Ex moved out and has been snowballing since. It started as small things, like not remembering dates and appointments, forgetting to pay bills, and just having a hard time keeping everyone where and when they needed to be. I was at The Big One’s Field Day when she was in the fifth grade, and a woman came over and spoke to me, with specificity, about her. I chatted with her for a good two to three minutes and made small talk.

I had no idea who she was.

I asked another mom who she was, thinking she was another parent. Turned out, she was The Big One’s teacher.

This was a woman who I talked to face-to-face a couple of times a month when I volunteered in the classroom.

Absolutely no recognition.

That shook me up a bit.

My mother chalked it up to the fact I was working several jobs and juggling that with kids and school, and said I just had too much information to process and retain. I started writing everything down and carrying a calendar with me at all times. A few months later, I was diagnosed with ADD and started taking medication.

Say what you will about ADD being over-diagnosed, but the meds are awesome. I lost 17 pounds in 3 months. That alone was worth the diagnosis. And my memory and concentration improved somewhat.

But it seems lately that the memory is failing again. I thought it was I’d gotten lazy about calendaring, but last week I was driving to one of my part-time gigs and drove to the wrong venue, even though I was aware it was at another.

When I finally got to the correct venue, I was lamenting the memory loss situation to one of my co-workers. She said she did the same thing. Her diagnosis? “Pre-menopause.”

What? I’m too young!!! Besides I still get my period, complete with cramps I had like a teenager, have no hot flashes or night sweats, and have no mood swings.

OK, scratch that last one.

So I did what medical experts like Jenny McCarthy do – I googled it.

I think my co-worker may be right about this one.

So I found the name of a supplement that I thought might help, wrote it down on a sticky note, and put it in my purse.

The Big One and I headed to the Whole Foods and I started digging in my purse for the note.

I couldn’t find it anywhere.

I knew the supplement began with an “M” so I looked through all the “M” supplements.

Here’s what I learned: The Whole Foods has a boat load of supplements, beginning with ALL the letters of the alphabet.

I gave up on looking for the elusive “M” supplement and picked up some black cohosh, which also came recommended, and we headed to the checkout.

When we got there, I remembered I’d left my wallet on the console of the car. EVEN AFTER I had reminded myself to pick it up BEFORE we went into the store. So I went back to the car, got my wallet and lo, and behold, there was the sticky note.

That I had put in my wallet so I wouldn’t forget it.

Back to the supplements to search for “macafem.” We didn’t find it, so we went back to the check out.

As we were leaving the store, The Big One asked what the supplements were for, and I told her.

She said, “You should probably buy more.”

Just wait. Paybacks are hell.

Practicing What I Preach

2010-11-02T08:22:00.000-07:00

This morning there was a text and voice mail from my Cool Friend Mel on my cell, which I'd left in the car overnight. She gives The Little One a ride home from school every day and both messages basically said, "Sorry about yesterday, my daughter was sick and I forgot to call you. Hope The Little One found a ride home okay."

I looked in the backseat. The Little One was there, ready for school, so she obviously got home somehow yesterday.

"Honey, was Little Bit (CFM's daughter) at school yesterday?"

"Well, I waited for her where her mom picks us up, and I saw some of her other friends and they said she wasn't in school."

"So how did you get home?"

"Um, I was really tired, I don't remember."

"...????"

"Well, I walked."

I am totally fine with this. She had a problem, and found a solution herself. Actually very proud of her resourcefulness.

However, I am not fine with two little hiccupy things. One, that she felt she couldn't tell me she'd walked home, and two, SHE DIDN'T CALL.

I did the whole politically correct mom thing, "I'm very proud of you for figuring out a way home by yourself, but next time, CALL FIRST."

Apparently, The Big One had already given her the CALL FIRST speech, so it's all good.

Little Bit is sick again today, so The Little One had the option of me finding a ride home for her or walking home alone again.

She chose to walk home, but will CALL when she arrives at the house.

This is a big deal for both of us, really. She's wanted to walk alone to school for a long time, but I resisted. Not because I was concerned she'd be snatched off the street by a crazed pedophile, but because I honestly didn't think she'd know the route to walk. I guess she had been paying attention all those times I walked her to school.

I probably should give her a little more credit in the brains department then.

Let's Do the Time Warp Again

2010-10-29T08:16:00.000-07:00

So like most of our fellow Gleeks, The Big One and I were really excited about this week's episode, Rocky Horror Glee Show. I, of course, have seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show dozens of times, AT THE THEATER to get the true experience. The Husband has the DVD and I let The Big One watch it. Apparently, she ended up watching it several times, because when the Glee episode rolled around, she knew most of the songs.

I took The Big One, Genius Girl and a nice young man from their class, The Crush, up north to the Screenland to watch the episode on their movie screen. The Screenland is an awesome old theater that has been restored and they started showing Glee live, for free, every Tuesday.

I'd never been in that part of town, so naturally, I got lost trying to find the theater, but we actually got there in time. I was very impressed with the venue, but Screenland, next time you advertise an event like this, please be familiar with the audio visual equipment, so that the viewing does not start 14 minutes late, because the tech cannot figure out which channel is airing the show. Just a suggestion.

Anyway, we all enjoyed the show, and Becky, the cheerleader with Down's, got the biggest laugh of the night with the line, "Give me chocolate or I'll cut you."

So on the way back, since Genius Girl and The Crush have not seen the movie, The Big One and I started explaining it to them. I acted out several parts, sang a few songs, interjected with a few of the audience shout outs, then turned around to see Genius Girl recording all of it on her phone.

It has not yet shown up on her FaceBook page, but it's only a matter of time.

The Big One had planned a party for Halloween, and wanted to show the film. I, obviously, had no problem with that, but felt I should get permission from the other parents, since it is rated R. I posted this question on my FaceBook status, "Is 14-15 too young?" and was surprised that most people said, no, but get the other parents' permission.

I guess Kansas is not the conservative wasteland I sometimes make it out to be. Or my friends are just really cool parents.

Anyway, the whole idea was to share something with The Big One that I had experienced. Yes, it is an R rated movie, and yes, there is lots of sex, and yes, there is a lot of cussing and vulgarity, but I am honestly more offended by the storyline on Glee that the cheerleader got pregnant by her boyfriend's best friend, because she didn't use protection, then told her boyfriend that she got pregnant because they were making out in a hot tub, he ejaculated, his little sperms swam up her vagina in the water, and found her egg.

Seriously?!

These kids have been getting AIDS education since the fourth grade, and they didn't use protection? And in the age of Google, it never occurred to the boyfriend to check out her story?

However, this is a show whose show choir seems to have an unlimited budget and can learn a new showstopper every week, so I guess I should just roll with it.

I downloaded the script with the audience shout outs, and after reviewing it, realized either I'm really old, or it's changed a lot in the last 30 years. I don't remember it having nearly as much cussing as it did, and some of the shout outs were just cussing for the sake of cussing.

Oh, I yelled out, "Asshole" and "Slut" back in the day, but NOT the f-bomb. Not like the script I found anyway. Which was kind of a let down, because the comments I remember making were clever and funny. I found a few of those left, but maybe I have selective memory or it was just my wild, reckless youth.

So I plan on taking The Big One to a midnight showing in the next year or two. I'd love to see it with her, but that's something she should experience without her old mom hanging around. After all, it's one of those things that she'll have her own memories of, not mine.

"To sing and dance once more to your dark refrains! To take that...step to the right!"

"But it's the pelvic thrust!"

"On our world, we'll do the Time Warp AGAIN!"

Take THAT, Smug-Stay-at-Home-Moms-Who-Criticize-Me-Behind-My-Back!

2010-10-18T14:44:00.000-07:00

From Time Magazine, comes an article that according to 50 years of research, kids of working mothers turn out okay.

My favorite sentence: "The children of single moms who work tend to do better than those who don't."

Suck it, haters.

Black Hawk Down

2010-10-08T14:25:00.000-07:00

I have prided myself on being a “slacker mom,” that is to say, my parenting style leans toward letting my kids figure out things for themselves, rather than me doing it for them. To some, this comes off as lazy or bad parenting, but both my girls are doing well, despite having me for a mother and their primary caregiver. I have days where if we all make it alive to bedtime, that’s a good day. But they are both smart girls who show much compassion, so I can’t have fucked them up that much.

I’ve met my share of Helicopter Parents and thought things would get better as the kids got older.

I was mistaken.

I was really looking forward to The Big One being in marching band and being a “Band Parent.” I thought there would be a camaraderie among the parents and was looking forward to making new friends. After only three encounters with the group, I’ve come to the conclusion that Band Parent may not be a good fit for me, as I don’t own a helicopter.

I have maintained for years that the biggest bitches in the world convene at PTA and Sunday School. Apparently, I need to add band boosters to that.

And I mean “bitches” in the nicest possible way.

I am well aware that organizations such as these only thrive because of their volunteers and I truly appreciate the work that the volunteers do. Less shit I have to deal with. And I am well aware of the 20/80 rule: that 20% of any volunteer organization does 80% of the work.

There’s a good reason for that. The 80% that doesn't work can’t stand the 20% that do.

I’m not putting down stay-at-home moms. I was one for nearly 10 years and staying at home with my kids was way more challenging than working full time. Most of the mothers I know who consider themselves full time stay-at-home moms also work part-time outside the home. However, there are few who have truly not worked in the real world in years and have completely immersed themselves in their children’s lives. Therefore, they must have complete control of anything that comes into their children’s lives.

At the first meeting, I was a bit overwhelmed by the number of committees and volunteers required to run said committees. It was micromanaging at a level I’ve never experienced. There were so many committees, I wondered if the parents were expected to do the actual marching and playing of instruments, so the kids would not have to. There is a committee to load the instruments and equipment into the trucks for performances, then another committee that provides pickup trucks to transport the unloaded equipment if the equipment truck has to park far away from the venue. My first thought was “Seriously? They’re actually asking these middle-aged men to do all this heavy lifting, when there are plenty of able-bodied teenagers to do it?” Yes. That’s exactly what they were asking. In all fairness, this might be a liability issue, but I doubt it. There are several committees that cover fundraising, and their various sub-committees. I GET that organizations like this run on fundraising, but do we really need a committee to manage just cakes and pies for a supper fundraiser?

The band marched in a local parade a few weeks ago. The parade route was about a half mile from the school and on our way to park the car for the event, we passed the drill team, walking from the school to the parade start location. When we were waiting for the parade to start, I ran into a couple of the band moms and I mentioned I'd just seen the drill team walking over, and expected the band would follow. "They just got on the buses," one mom informed me. "They're taking buses?" I said, "It's like 6 blocks away!" Band Mom retorted, "Well, they have to load up all that equipment."

Um, seeing how there was no special equipment needed for a parade like the drum majors' platforms, would "all that equipment" be the instruments they would be marching with in the parade?

That would be a YES.

No wonder childhood obesity is such a problem in America.

The most incredible committee that was listed at that first meeting had the vague heading of “Water.” Yes. There is a Water Committee. The Water Committee makes sure that at the games and events, there is water available for when the band comes off the field. When it was explained, my first thought was, “Are the kids not allowed to take a water bottle with them and leave it at their seats?” Apparently they can, but I suppose that would require they think for themselves and have to remember to bring the water bottles, and, goddess forbid, they should have to think or do for themselves.

My friend, Genius Girls’ Mom, thought this would be really simple and something she could do, so she volunteered. When we got to the first game, we found GGM frantically running up and down the stands, executing Water Girl duty. She had been given no instruction on exactly how Water Girl’s duties were to be performed, but she had just been given a dressing down as to how she was failing miserably at them by the former Water Girl. I jumped in and tried to help her fill the seemingly endless plastic cups of water and place them in their official band trays. She was given four coolers of water, but we exhausted those in about 10 minutes and went in search of refills. We lugged two coolers down to the concession stand, only to find we could not fit them under the faucet. Plan B: we took the lids off so the ice would melt more quickly and started filling the cups from that. By that time, Former Water Girl came over in a huff and informed GGM that there was a HOSE in the concession stand, specifically for the purpose of refilling the coolers, snatched up a cooler and took it to be refilled, and reiterated that GGM was doing it WRONG.

Yeah. GGM might have wanted that information BEFORE she started.

Then, just to make the situation ironic I suppose, it started to pour rain. The next day, GGM’s status on FaceBook read: “I was filling cups of water, and then I filled cups of water, and later I filled cups of water. And then it rained and we dumped out all the cups of water.”

I heart GGM.

During this whole escapade, I kept saying, “Why don’t they just bring their own damn water bottles?” Here’s where my friend Irony, pops in again. They WERE given water bottles prior to coming to the game, and I could see them clearly, in the stands, at their seats, and most were still full.

A few years ago, a similar thing happened to me. When I kicked out The Ex, I relied upon the kindness of strangers to the degree that my girls and I may have ended up homeless without them. Because at one point I was working one full time job and several part time gigs, I had very little time and energy to volunteer. When The Big One was in sixth grade, an opportunity to volunteer arose that was a good fit for me. I would be able to volunteer my morning off to run a weekly bake sale. This was actually pretty easy. I just had to send out reminders to parents for donations, set up a table, set out the Twinkies and sell junk food. I was happy to be finally able to give something back for a change. For the first couple of months, I averaged about $100 a bake sale. Pretty good for selling Ding Dongs at 25 cents each within two hours.

Then the Former Bake Sale Coordinator noticed that it was only myself and another mom manning the bake sales, and that this is NOT how they had been run when SHE was running the bake sale. I came in one morning at my usual time, about 20 minutes before the sale start time, to find Former Bake Sale Coordinator, setting things up and swearing under her breath, “I have been here for FORTY minutes, waiting for some help. You have not contacted any vendors to make donations and I have been doing all the work by myself.” Um, I didn’t know I was SUPPOSED to contact any vendors for donations, and had had plenty of inventory without doing so, seeing how I’d never run out of junk food to sell, and it only takes about 10 minutes to open a few boxes of Twinkies and set them on a table. She then proceeded to call other people to come up to the school, because she was desperate for help. Four volunteers appeared out of nowhere. Keep in mind, we are manning a six foot table. With me, the regular volunteer, Former Bake Sale Coordinator and her four minions, we were seven, squeezed in around this table.

I’m sitting there the whole time thinking I could really find a better use for my time, since we had so many idle hands, and this was my ONLY day off, and seriously thought about sneaking out, but knew I’d have to deal with the wrath of the Former Bake Sale Coordinator. A couple more sales commandeered by the Former Bake Sale Coordinator later, I withdrew my services, claiming they were “not a good fit for me at this time.” Again, here comes my old friend, Irony; we made as much at my sales as we did at the Former Bake Sale Coordinator’s sales.

I really felt like I’d been gypped out of an opportunity to give back, simply for the reason I was not doing something a Helicopter Parent would have, and I have a feeling GGM feels the same. It’s as if the HP has to control everything, not just their kids, because they have no other outlet for their energy. Which really sucks for everyone, because it causes so much tension within an organization whose intentions really are good.

I ended up volunteering to alter uniforms for the band, which went really well. The Coordinator of the Uniform Committee is really cool, laid back and gets things done without being an obnoxious control freak or micromanaging something that doesn’t need it. GGM withdrew her services as Water Girl, citing the “this is not a good fit for me at this time” excuse.

I got a mass email the other day, asking for a new head of water duties, and volunteers for its committee. At the last game, there were four volunteers, filling cup after cup of water and delivering it to each band member. All the while, their water bottles waited for them on their seats.

I’ll continue to volunteer when I can, and do what I am able to enrich The Big One’s experience with this organization, but will hold myself at arm’s length from becoming too meshed within the group, because I can already tell there are endless possibilities for backbiting within the troops, and for the simple reason that I really don’t need a helicopter, and neither do my kids.

Only in America

2010-09-28T09:12:00.001-07:00

When we were driving back from the wedding in July, we passed this charming retail outlet near Moran, Kansas. We tried to get a photo of their sign on the way down for the ill-fated camp reunion, but it was gone, so I pulled this online.

Awesome.

Their slogan? "Liquor in the front, master bait in the rear."

Double-awesome.

2010-09-22T19:14:00.000-07:00

So The Husband and I went to a reunion over the weekend. It was at the camp where we met 30 years ago and where we got married over the summer. This same group had a reunion a couple of years ago, and The Husband went and had a great experience. He described the weekend as very laid back and they spent most of the time just hanging out and relaxing. I was looking forward to a weekend of hanging out, drinking beer, staying up late, sleeping in and reading a book.

That was not the plan for this reunion.

The first night was great. The guests arrived and we just sat around and laughed at old photos and each other.

There was a "group seminar" planned for the next morning and afternoon, or as I now refer to it, "The Nine Circles of Hell."

I knew I was in trouble when I walked in the room and there was a laptop and movie screen set up. I equate the phrase "Power Point Presentation" with waterboarding. Fortunately, it was a film and that spent up about an hour and a half of the seminar.

However, after the film is when things started to go south for me. At satellite-re-entering-the-atmosphere speed.

Yeah. Nothing I like more than sitting in a room of relative strangers discussing my feelings.

Did I mention that this was a christian church camp? Did I mention that I'm an atheist? Pretty much dredged up all those buried emotions I always had while at camp as a kid, because I never felt like I quite fit in.

Can you say "full-on panic attack" boys and girls?

About halfway through the afternoon session, my anxiety level had elevated to the point I was having to physically force myself to stay in my seat. I must have excused myself a half a dozen times to use the restroom, just so I could get out of that room.

My body knew better than my mind where I needed to be.

I swear, if the speaker had mentioned any role playing exercises, I would have stabbed every last person in that room in the neck with a ball point pen.

In hindsight, I should have excused myself about halfway through the first session. But, I didn't want to be rude and the woman who had put the weekend together had worked really hard to make everything come together and the guest speaker came all that way to make his presentation and I knew The Husband really wanted me to be there and...

Anyway, when it was FINALLY over, and AFTER we had a meeting to discuss the evening and next morning's activities, all I wanted to do was go off by myself and be alone, so I could breathe through the anxiety and make myself well. By that time, my body was just one raw nerve and I was physically exhausted.

For a place that's supposed to be a retreat, there are precious few places where one can be alone.

I went back to our room, and The Husband interpreted this to mean I wanted to fool around. He eventually left, and I tried to sleep, but then people started knocking on the door, wanting to know what I was doing.

It's really hard to make people understand that when I say I really just want to be alone for a while, they take that to mean that I really want as many people around me as possible, and that all those people need to ask me lots of questions, and make lots of noise.

I went outside and found a bench about 40 yards away from the building and sat down with a book. Whenever I'm cycling through a panic/anxiety attack, I need to focus my energy on something else, like a book or TV, so that it can run its course and I can calm myself.

I ended up moving to FOUR different out of the way spots to find a quiet corner to myself, because, as I foolishly thought, sitting way off in the woods by yourself is never interpreted as an invitation to a PAR-TAY.

So when I got to the fourth bench, who should come strolling straight toward me, my ex-roommate. The ex-roommate who, for most of our relationship has had nothing to offer me but criticism and disapproval.

I should back up as a sidebar, since I'm spilling. About 12 years ago, The Ex-Roommate informed me that homosexuality is an abomination in the eyes of the lord, and therefore I should not be friends with anyone who happened to be gay and stop all contact with my gay friends. I told her we should just agree to disagree, because I wasn't going to stop loving people, just because she told me to. She also sent me an email a few years ago, urging me to boycott the film "The Golden Compass" because it was written by an atheist. Actually, that would have only encouraged me to see it, because did I mention, I'm an ATHEIST?

This incident really opened my eyes to the relationship I had with her. Over the next several years, I began to see that the only role I had in her life was someone she could criticize and disapprove of. I felt like her personal emotional trash can. I had reached a point in my life where I finally figured out that I don't have to keep toxic people in my life, so I deleted her from my psyche.

I had managed to get through the previous 24 hours in the same space as her with our only contact as a handshake, but her timing could not have been worse. Since that was the fourth move I'd made to be ALONE, I knew I was almost to the point of no return, where I knew I would lose any control of my emotions or body.

So when I saw her walking straight toward me, I slammed my book shut, looked straight at her with a grunt of disgust, stood up, walked right past her and toward my room.

I know it was cruel and mean. However, had she tried to engage me in conversation at that point of the anxiety/panic attack cycle, I most likely would have called her a self-righteous cunt and suggested she could go fuck herself.

I think I make the better choice.

So that pretty much sent me over the edge, and I had to spend the remainder of the weekend holed up in my room. However, this did not mean I got to be alone, because, again, people took that as an invitation to knock on my door, time and time again,until the wee hours of the morning, to see what I was doing. And I learned that apparently my parents were the only parents in the ENTIRE world who taught their children to be quiet while walking in hotel halls, and not slam the doors, because SOMEONE MIGHT BE TRYING TO SLEEP. Or work through a panic/anxiety attack.

I have to give credit to The Husband though. He has not yet had the viewing pleasure of one of my anxiety/panic attacks, but he knew exactly what to do. He was quiet, left me alone, and the next morning got me an ice cold Dr. Pepper, and got me out of there as quickly as possible, without any human contact.

The minute we got on the highway , I finally started to breathe.

You know, there's a reason people go thirty years without seeing one another.

2010-08-24T11:23:00.000-07:00

So The Big One started high school last week, so I guess I'm supposed to post about how sad I am that my baby is growing up, and how fast the time has gone and how I only have so little precious time left with her.

All of the above is true, but being the slacker mom I am, I am more excited for her than I've ever been in my life.

She and her friends are in that really awkward stage where they need you, but don't want you. Although, when we did tour the school and do the walk-thru of her schedule, she did ask that I go with her.

She's in the marching band and I am soooooooo excited about that. Really. Actually not being sarcastic. I can't wait to see her in her over-sized polyester uniform and oatmeal box hat. I know she's going to be making friends she'll experience so much with and keep all her life.

Living vicariously, much?

More Fun with Crack and Coke Math

2010-08-13T12:42:00.000-07:00

My future husband, President Obama, signed the aforementioned Fairness in Sentencing Act of 2010 on August 3rd.

The day AFTER our defendant was sentenced.

However, it would not have helped our guy, as the new law is not retroactive and the amount of drugs for which he was responsible was so huge that even with the 18:1 ratio, it would not have helped. I had to do another crazy algebraic formula, but it was a waste of time. However, we did get a very nice offer from the prosecution, so that reduced his sentence to a third of what he should have got.

Again, it was a huge amount of crack, so I think we did pretty well for our guy.

2010-08-12T17:53:00.000-07:00

So The Big One says she's invited to a sleepover at Emily's* house and they're going swimming the next day and can she go?

I say sure.

We get to Emily's house and I ask Emily's dad "When do I pick her up?"

He says, "Six o'clock. Tomorrow."

"You mean 24 hours from now? For real?"

Turns out, the swimming was not at the local pool, like I assumed, but at someone's house that's about a 20 minute drive away.

Apparently, I have to learn to ask a few more questions in dealing with a high schooler.

*Collective noun for all The Big One's friends.

Nerd Love

2010-08-04T10:18:00.000-07:00

My BFF since the 4th grade and her husband came for a visit last weekend. We don’t see each other much, but we are fortunate in that we can always pick up where we left off and that’s why we’ve been BFFs since we were 10. She and her husband were college sweethearts and will be married 24 years this December. And they still genuinely LIKE each other.

The BFF’s Husband is a big history buff, so we made visits to the National World War 1 Museum and the Harry Truman Library. The Husband and I had our first date there and our first kiss on the tower. Romantic, I know. I really do love the WW1 museum and find it very impressive and well-thought out as far as educating its visitors. The Truman Library is also worth a visit.

The Husband and the BFF’s Husband are also really into Civil War history. When I say “really” I mean that The Husband is writing a book about a specific battle and The BFF’s Husband is a re-enactor. My BFF and her family drove from Oklahoma to Gettysburg for a re-enactment of the Battle of Gettysburg several years ago, and it happened to fall on her youngest son’s birthday. When asked what he wanted to do the following year, he stated, “I don’t want no Civil War Birf-day.” She really loves this man.

So last weekend, I was grateful that the stars had happened to aligned when my BFF and I had chosen our spouses. I truly believe that some people are just meant to find each other, and my belief was affirmed with these two. They were in Civil War Nerd heaven.

The Husband got really excited when The BFF’s Husband invited him to participate in his re-enactment group. Snippets from their conversation: “I have a widget and an extra doohickey you could borrow for your uniform,” and “We re-enact the Battle of Some Famous Landmark at the end of September.” The Husband got REALLY excited when he found out there is an actual store in the metro area that supplies re-enactor gear. Guess where we’re going this weekend?

Re-enacting has actually been a life-long dream of his, so I have no problem acquiescing to this. Just as long for every dollar he spends for this hobby, he saves one for our trip to London with The Big One’s high school marching band.

Marching Nerds. I know. But I’ll at least get a trip to London out of it.

The Office

2010-07-30T12:52:00.000-07:00

My current means of support is working as a paralegal/legal assistant/receptionist. I fell into this after running into an acquaintance I used to work out with, who was also a single mom, and was working as a paralegal and thought I'd like it. I figured, “Hey, why not?” and enrolled in the paralegal program at my local junior college. Keep in mind, I chose my college based on its school colors.

So I finished school, while working one full time job and at least 3 part time jobs, and found my first paralegal position immediately after I completed the program. I’m on my third job in two and a half years, after being laid off of one job and ran screaming from the boss of another, so I guess all the hype about always being able to find a paralegal job is true. I’ve been at this office for little over a year, and while it’s not perfect, it’ll do pig, it’ll do.

My current employer’s focus of practice is employment law. Pretty basic stuff. Most of the cases follow a usual pattern and I spend a lot of time making templates and proofreading. I deal with a lot of misplaced apostrophes. So I usually know what to expect.

Yesterday, however, was an exception.

The firm took a CJA case before I was hired. Without going into too many details, our defendant was involved in a HUGE drug conspiracy, involving a HUGE amount of crack. He was due to be sentenced over a year ago, and it fell to me to write his Sentencing Memorandum. The Sentencing Memorandum is basically a document submitted to the court that contains the arguments as to why your guy should get time off or have his sentence reduced. Because his sentencing was delayed for over a year, I had a lot of time to educate myself in drug sentencing.

Here’s what I learned: The Reagan administration sucked.

During the big “Just Say No” campaign and the “war on drugs” during the eighties, the Reagan administration passed laws that had to be intentionally racist. Sentencing statutes were passed that had the effect of giving crack offenders the same jail sentence as someone who possessed 100 times the same amount of coke. The irony of this is that crack does not exist without coke. It’s made from coke. There are no chemical differences. The difference is that crack was perceived as a “black” drug and cocaine, a “white” drug. This resulted in sentences that were way too long for most offenders, which later led to overcrowding, etc. I won’t go into how the breakdown of the prison system, look it up.

I also learned that I would use algebra in ways I never imagined.

When I went back to school, I had to take algebra, because as an art major, I was not required to set foot in a math class, and had no math on my college transcript. I actually didn’t hate taking it, and it turned out, that the instructor was the father of one of The Big One’s classmates. Lucky I took this class though, because I had no idea how much math was involved in drug dealing.

The sentencing laws basically work like this: Marijuana is used for the starting point of all other drugs. So x amount of pot is worth x amount of meth or heroin or crack or coke, etc. Sentencing is based on the amount of the drugs involved. So I had to convert the amount of crack to its pot equivalent. Then I had to convert it from ounces to grams. Then I had to figure out its coke equivalent at a 100:1 ratio. Basically, I was trying to get the amount of drugs down as far as I could to benefit our defendant.

I also learned that there were a couple of bills and case law in place that agreed that the disparity in sentencing was racially motivated and went around and around and around researching all that. On the day I finally submitted my document to the court, Congress passed the Fairness in Sentencing Act of 2010, which, when signed by the President, change the ratio from 100:1 to 18:1. Hopefully, this will be to the benefit of our client.

Anyway, the funny part was when I was trying to do the math to convert the amounts to an 18:1 ratio. Lot of good that algebra class did me. “So if the original amount was 4.5 kilos of crack, what would that be in coke with the 18:1 ratio?” Ended up that we called Kathy with a K’s math-whiz daughter, and she gave me some formula. Just give me the answer, I don’t know how to remember to solve for x. So we figured it out and hopefully it will matter come the sentencing next week.

I do actually feel bad for our guy, even though it was a HUGE amount of crack. Weighed about as much as a six-month old baby.

We also had an interesting client meeting. Again, I can’t divulge much, but I learned that exotic dancers have to pay the house to work each shift, pay for their music, have to sell a certain number of drinks per shift, have to tip out the house for each dance, have to have a license from the city and are fined for infractions.

Not my typical workday.

It Was Twenty Years Ago Today

2010-07-26T11:51:00.000-07:00

When I was in the ninth grade, our research project was to write a 10 page biography of a public figure and present an oral report. My friend, Mary, was a huge Beatles fan and had a treasure trove of resources, so being the slacker I am, picked Paul McCartney, because she had the most information on him. Keep in mind, this was DECADES before the “internet,” so to do any kind of research, one had to go to a facility called a “library,” go to the “card catalogue,” and look up information in “books.” Mary received a hefty allowance at the time, about $20 a week, which in the late 70’s was a fortune, so she had enough disposable income to have amassed quite a library. Little did I know that before I finished this project, I would be in love.

I fell hard for the Beatles and Paul. Knew every song and bit of trivia I could find. I can still list dates of birth for all Beatles without Googling them. I started my own collection of albums, magazines, books and assorted memorabilia. For Christmas one year, my friend Mel gave me a t-shirt with the legend “War is Over, If You Want It” on the front, and “Happy Christmas from John and Yoko” on the back. I still have it, and on a good day, it still fits. I didn’t have all the albums, but most of them, and some were collector’s items. Like the copy of the white album (I know, actual title was “The Beatles”) pressed on white vinyl and I still had the inserts from that and Sgt. Pepper in tact. I carried on this love affair all through jr. high, high school, college and beyond.

In 1990, my dream of seeing Paul McCartney live finally happened. He played in Dallas, at Texas Stadium. This was really back in the day, when if you wanted concert tickets, you had to actually go to the ticket agency and stand in line all night, or phone in until you reached an operator to order your tickets. My Boyfriend at the time, who later became The Ex, lived in Dallas and I lived in Tulsa. The minute the tickets went on sale, we both started dialing. And I mean dialing, as I lived with my parents at the time and they only had dial-faced telephones. I dialed so many times, I ended up with a black ring around my dialing finger. It took a couple of hours, but I finally got through and ordered the tickets, even though the pickings were pretty slim by then.

We get to Texas Stadium, and our seats are literally behind the stage, on the top row of Texas Stadium. I could actually reach up and touch the dome. Fortunately, this was one of the first shows where the jumbo-tron screens were used, so we could see a little something. Mostly I just caught a glimpse of his hand when he would swing his guitar out at a certain angle. It was somewhat of a letdown, after waiting for so many years.

I may have mentioned, one of the most hurtful things The Ex did was hock my Beatles albums. I had taken such good care of them, saved all the posters and inserts and they represented so much of my growing up. It was such a personal thing he stole from me and I literally got physically sick when I made this discovery. Even if I had been able to track down my property, I was so broke, I wouldn’t have had the funds to get them back. I know rationally, they were just “things,” but that was a new low, even for him. So for years after this happened, whenever I’d hear a Beatles song, it would bring all that back up again, and I’d get pissed all over again. So he hocked much more than just the physical albums.

Last Christmas, The Husband got me the complete Beatles collection on CD. I listened to every one of them, and because he was so sweet in his reason for giving them to me, I could listen and not get angry. And man, I missed my boys.

I forgot how good every song was. I listened to songs I had not heard in decades. I was surprised at how good “Magical Mystery Tour” was. I was inspired to have Genius Girl sing “All You Need is Love” at our wedding. I got my Beatles back.

The Husband and I had breakfast over Memorial Day weekend with an old camp friend we had not seen in 28 years. Punk Paul LOVES his live music. He’s had several FB posts reviewing shows he’s seen over the last year or so, and when we were talking about the Fleetwood Mac show, I said I’d regretted not seeing them when they came to town, because it was just so expensive. I made the spot decision to not let finances get in my way the next time an act rolled into KC that I’d always wanted to see. Life’s too short and life’s too long, I reasoned.

So not more than two weeks later, it was announced that Sir Paul would be making an appearance in KC.

Tickets went on sale online on a Monday morning at 10 AM. I had created my account with Ticketmaster and was logged on at 9:59.

I was an online ticket buying virgin, so my co-worker, Kathy with a K, walked me through it. She also revived me when I saw the ticket price. Seriously, I’m going to have to sell a kidney to recover the cost. She also held my hand while I had technical difficulties because of the panic attack I was experiencing while trying to decide whether or not to commit my children’s college funds while the Ticketmaster stopwatch was counting down. But she bitch-slapped me into it, which is why I heart her.

So Saturday night was the big night. I was experiencing some anxiety because of the expense and the crowd. Have I mentioned I have trouble in crowds? Yeah. Not crazy trouble, but enough to skewer rational thinking. Our seats were smack dab in the center of the row, which added to that because I kept worrying I’d have to go to the bathroom which would have caused everyone in the row to stand up to let me by.

But once the lights went down and the first note was struck, I forgot all about that. Because, after all, it WAS Paul McCartney. LIVE.

I’m not qualified to write a concert review, but can relate my experience. The whole damn thing was just surreal. For over 30 years, the only pictures I have in my head of Paul McCartney performing were from movies, television or what I could see on the jumbo-tron at Texas Stadium. But he was LIVE. Paul-effing-McCartney. Live in the same room as me. And 14,999 other people. I’m still trying to process it. And I could see all of him, not just a hand. LIVE.

So I have no regrets about the expense. Totally worth it. I really have the Beatles back now. And I did not lose that part of my growing up; it was just sleeping for a while.

Setlist, so I don't forget: Venus and Mars/Rock Show; Jet; All My Loving; Letting Go; Drive My Car; Highway; Let Me Roll It/Foxy Lady; The Long and Winding Road; Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Five; Let 'Em In; My Love; I've Just Seen A Face; And I Love Her; Blackbird; Here Today; Dance Tonight; Mrs. Vanderbilt; Eleanor Rigby; Something; Sing the Changes; Band on the Run; Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da; Back in the USSR; I Got A Feeling; Paperback Writer; A Day In The Life/Give Peace A Chance; Let It Be; Live and Let Die; Hey Jude. Encores: Day Tripper; Lady Madonna; Get Back; Yesterday, Helter Skelter, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (reprise)/The End.

2010-07-23T07:05:00.000-07:00

This was what I saw when I went outside at work yesterday:
Never in a million years.

2010-07-16T12:48:00.000-07:00

I am officially married.

We set off on July 2 at the ass crack of dawn, because my fear was we’d get to the county courthouse to get the license and they’d be closed because of the holiday. All the girls (The Big One, The Little One, Genius Girl and The Neurotic Dog) were great travelers, and no threats were made toward the general vicinity of the backseat.

We got to the courthouse by 12:30 and began the paperwork process. The first question the clerk asked was, “How did you meet?” I looked at my boyfriend and thought, “Do they need that information?” It turns out, the clerk just liked to keep a running tab on that for her own personal information. I guess when you’re a civil servant, you have to have some kind of hobby. She noticed we had two different state licenses, and asked if we’d met on the Internet, and since she’s started keeping track, in 1999 I believe, she’d had 124 couples. That’s a pretty high number, considering it’s the Tulsa County Courthouse. Anyway, we explained the story and she seemed pleased and decided to count us in her tally. We got the license and celebrated with coneys from Coney-Islander.

Sidebar: I would absolutely kill myself with a veg-o-matic if I had to work in a civil servant workspace. Everything in the Tulsa courthouse was putty beige, and the equipment was ancient. Everything looked so grimy, too. I’d want to paint it all bright yellow or something. The DMV here is the same way. Our tax dollars at work.

The rest of the weekend was great. The Big One, Genius Girl and I went to the Tulsa Flea Market on Saturday morning, then got pedis. I think it was the first time for both girls and two weeks later, my toes still look cute. My mother was generous to provide the food for the reception, so we made a trip to Sam’s and boyfriend picked up the gorgeous cake.

We headed for camp on Sunday, and the festivities began. My concern was that there would be no kids The Big One’s age, and that was my reasoning for taking her BFF, Genius Girl. I was completely wrong. There were many high school and college age kids, and pre-school kids, but only two The Little One’s age, and they were boys, so we had some clingy-ness issues, but she warmed up after the square dancing after the wedding.

There was a threat of rain in the forecast, but we couldn’t have ordered better weather. The ceremony was scheduled for 7:00 PM, and in July in Oklahoma, it can still be brutally hot, but it was just warm enough. We had a few guests come in; mostly old friends and family. One special guest and his wife who drove up from Dallas and another, (who happened to be the first girl BF slept with) drove over from Arkansas. My BGF and his boyfriend gifted us the most beautiful flowers and I had planned the wedding décor around those.

When we got to the altar, the rector whispered at me, “Are you OK?” and I just blurted out, “Everything is just so pretty!” because it was. The light was perfect and the flowers on the altar popped out against the green and blue of the woods. The ceremony went off without a hitch. My brother did a reading from Song of Solomon and Genius Girl sang “All You Need is Love.” We had a cake-and-punch reception at the camp’s lodge covered porch, and campers and guests could eat or square dance.

I’m normally very anal about details when it comes to things like this, but I really just let go of that. In fact, about 4 hours before the ceremony, I was sitting at the pool with one of the campers, and her sister, (old friends from camp, and the sister happens to be The Husband’s aunt by marriage) and the sister asked if she’d like her to play a song at the end and if I had any preferences. I said, no, and made the comment that this was the most half-assed thing I'd ever done. I told her just pick what you like, and she and some of the other campers ended up singing a forgotten favorite of mine, Harry Chapin’s “Circle.” Which really turned out to be the perfect song.

It was really great to be able to enjoy every minute of it, and not have to worry about if the right spoons were out or if there was enough ice. Every wedding should be so easy.

My father has some pre-Alzheimer’s/dementia symptoms, but is still independent. He just gets very agitated and uncomfortable when he is out of his usual comfort zone. We had just walked up the hill from the chapel to the lodge’s porch, and he was at my elbow, wanting a piece of cake. I know this was a casual wedding, but I thought that was something traditionally done later during the reception. But we went ahead and cut the cake, with my dad at my elbow with a plate in his hand, practically wanting the first piece. The Husband and I managed to get in the traditional photo of us eating the cake, then I served my dad the second piece. I didn’t think much of it at the time, just thought dad was REALLY hungry for cake or something. Turns out, Mom told him they could leave as soon as the cake was served.

I wonder if there are any studies linking Alzheimer’s with autism.

Dad did have an interesting story for us, though. I inherited a pin from my grandmother that had belonged to her mother-in-law. My grandfather’s mother had died when he was about nine, and she was a Belt. I remember my grandmother wearing the pin to church and funerals, and it has become a tradition in our family for the granddaughters and great-granddaughters to wear it at their weddings. It’s a very beautiful and a one-of-a-kind piece, but no one really knows how my great-grandmother came to be in possession of it, other than my grandmother’s explanation, “She was a Belt, and they had money.” I had pinned it on to the streamers in my bouquet for the ceremony. Dad came up to us immediately after the ceremony, and launched into a story about how his father had given it to his mother. Apparently, my grandfather went to live with his uncle John (his father’s brother), after his father died when he was a teenager. Uncle John was low on scruples and somehow took possession of it. When my grandfather married my grandmother, he paid a visit to Uncle John, and flat out told Uncle John he wanted the pin and was not leaving without it, even if it meant he had to kill Uncle John for it. I don’t recall any family stories of my grandfather doing jail time for murder, so he must have made a peaceful retrieval. It's also an interesting story how I came to inherit the pin in the first place, and not the oldest granddaughter, but I'll save that for another time.

We all returned safely, and The Husband started his new job the day after we got back, so everything worked out as it was supposed to.

Anyway, everyone got cake and a good time was had by all.

It's the Story...

2010-07-01T08:52:00.000-07:00

I am getting married on July 5.

After my divorce, it took me a long time to realize that even though we'd been together for over 18 years, my ex and I had an unusual marriage. Even without the albatross of his gambling addiction, we had a disconnected relationship from the very beginning. I always preferred to think of it as autonomous, but the truth was, we were two single people in a marriage. We spent very little time together, and to the best of my recollection, the time we did manage to spend together was limited in quality. We were two solitary people living in the same house. Spread this out over 18 years, and it would warp anyone's view on marriage.

Because of my financial situation, at one point I was working one full-time job, two part-time jobs, running my website home business and taking 6 hours of classes. This was the average for about two and a half years, which made it impossible for me to even think about dating, even if I did happen to meet anyone.

From about the fourth grade until I graduated high school, I attended church camp. (Shocking, I know, as I am now an active non-theist.) I truly was a great experience, as it was one of the few places where you were surrounded by peers, but felt little or no peer pressure. At least that's the way I felt. The camp had a wonderful, amazing counselor, "George," who was a schoolteacher, and worked at the camp during the summer, and eventually became its director. She retired two years ago, and married for the first time. When she got married, it got me to thinking about all those I knew back in the day, so I started a FaceBook page for the camp's alumni.

Little did I know what FaceBook had in store for me.

Through the magic of FaceBook, I reconnected with who is now The Boyfriend. We knew each other slightly back then. He's a year younger than me, which when you're 14 and 15 is a big difference. About 15 months ago, we met up in my hometown with some other friends, and a few weeks later he asked me out. I actually was so confused by this, that I thought he thought I still lived in my hometown, but he understood that I lived four hours away.

So long story short, after a year of driving back and forth for visits and job interviews, he moved here for good last weekend. We had already set a date for July 5th, and were pretty much jumping off the bridge on the chance he'd find a job. Thanks in part to a friend of mine, he was offered a job two days before he'd planned to move here and will start three days after the wedding. The girls have adjusted beautifully to these changes and I feel as if we've jumped the major hurdles already. At least I hope so.

We're getting married at the camp, during its Family Camp session, by a priest we knew from our camp days. The Big One, The Little One and The Big One's BFF, Genius Girl, and The Boyfriend's son are all coming with us, and we're hoping to keep it as simple as possible, with the ceremony during the evening Eucharist and square dancing to follow. (We're NOT squaredancers, that happened to be the planned camp activity for the evening.) My BGF is providing the flowers and we've got a cute polka-dot cake ordered. Several friends from camp are planning on coming, as well as family. And if all goes well, Genius Girl will be singing "All You Need is Love," a la "Love Actually." (Which due to copyright laws, I could not link, but just rent the damn movie.) My plans have been somewhat half-assed, but only because I REALLY don't want a lot of muss and fuss.

I feel very lucky to have this second chance. I have many, many hang-ups about living with someone else, since I've essentially lived as a single person since I was 22, but am committed to breathing through them and accepting this gift.

I love you, soon-to-be Husband.

2010-06-21T11:23:00.000-07:00

The disaster in the Gulf just gets more and more ridiculous every day.

The president of BP decides he needs a break and decides to go yachting. And now Larry King is hosting a telethon for clean up efforts.

The Nature Conservatory has set up a fund for cleaning up the mess. I'm sure their intentions are good, and I don't begrudge them that at all. The thing is, why are donations being solicited by anyone in the first place?

BP is 100% liable for this mess and they should be the responsible party for cleaning up 100% of the mess. They are a multi-billion dollar corporation whose negligent actions led to this in the first place. I'm sure they have insurance in place to cover this, however, it is evident that their first priority is to their stockholders, not those directly affected by their mistakes.

T. Boone Pickens is making more sense every day.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do, Part III

2010-06-18T07:17:00.001-07:00

So after breaking up with the self-checkouts, Map Quest and The Today Show, I am breaking up with Wal-Mart.

This story appeared on my FaceBook feed today. I haven't had the chance to research the complaint, but I'm pretty certain the allegations are true. After all, this is the company who put out a 26-page memo regarding its "benefits strategy," that encouraged turnover so that Wal-Mart would not have to pay long-term benefits to its employees. Wal-Mart has a long history of violating employees' rights that I'm sure would have Sam Walton spinning in his grave.

I work for a law firm that specializes in employees' rights. I have learned in the short time I've worked here, there is no such thing as employees' rights. And with the economy going the way it is, employers are taking that to full advantage.

So I'll be shopping at Target from now on.

My 15 Minutes of Fame

2010-06-14T15:54:00.000-07:00

I sent the link to my post about breaking up with The Today show to Lenore of Free Range Kids. She liked it enough to post it to her blog.

I had about 65 comments, some positive, some negative and some WTF? Apparently, I need to work on my writing skills (duh, isn't that the main reason for ALL blogs?) because not everyone is as fluent in sarcasm as I am. One chided me for using the term "Neo-nazi." Hey, my ancestors were moved from their homelands in the South to Oklahoma by forced march. Don't call me insensitive regarding ethnic cleansing. I can beat you by about 100 years.

Plus, most missed out some important details:
1. The recital was OVER. I repeat OVER.
2. I was a participant in said recital, and in fact, still in costume when I came to pick up the kids when the recital was OVER.
3. I was not the only parent picking up their child at that point, because the recital was OVER.

The whole point of the article was that I was sick and tired of the sensationalism-driven stories on my morning show. First thing in the morning, I want to learn the best way to mow my lawn and how to make good icing.

And mark my words - they haven't found what happened to that little boy in Oregon yet, but I'll bet you a Coke someone in his school's administration was involved. Someone he knew.

I really love Lenore's message about looking at the facts and not always assuming that your child will be abducted if they're out of your sight for more than 2 minutes. I am, of course, careful about my girls' safety, but want them to be independent. In fact, one walked to the park on her own today to meet with some friends. I know she's smart enough to be safe on her own.

It just seems that those with the uber-levels of paranoia could be using that energy in much more productive fashions. I know, how about getting outside with their families and actually getting to know their neighbors, so they won't live in fear of them?

And did I mention, the recital was OVER?

Oil Spills for Dummies

2010-06-09T09:09:00.001-07:00

OK, I get it.

The BP mess in the Gulf is awful. I do not dispute that. It will probably take years and years to clean up the mess. I get that.

What I do not get is the fact that, according to current estimates, the oil well is spewing out about 20,000 barrels a day. America's daily oil consumption is somewhere between 20 and 21 million barrels a day.

I'm no math wizard, but even I can figure out that's about 19,980,000 MORE barrels every day than what's getting dumped into the Gulf.

Misplaced outrage, anyone?

More Neo-Nazis at the Door

2010-06-09T06:58:00.000-07:00

The dance school where the girls and I take dance classes runs their annual recital over three nights. There are so many students, that if they did all the classes in one night, it would run until about 4 in the morning.

All three of us performed the first night, The Little One all three nights and The Little One and I last night. After my experience with the "security" at the door the first night (see post below)I had my note in hand the following evenings so that I could take my OWN daughter home with me before the performance was over.

Little did I know that I would have to have a note to get myself out.

Actually, I didn't, but may as well have.

My fellow classmates were waiting for another gal and I to go from the "holding area" (school cafeteria) to the hallway outside the backstage area so we could go onstage. We were headed down the hallway, when one of the Neo-Nazis stopped us, "If you're dancing in the show, you can't use the restroom down here."

"Um, we're not going to the restroom, we're meeting our group, RIGHT THERE." (pointing at group, clearly about 20 feet away)

"No, dancers aren't allowed down this hall."

"Well, we're meeting our group, RIGHT THERE, so we're going to have to go down this hall."

So we went down the hall.

We are so bad.

It had occurred to me that I didn't recognize any of these so-called "security" people. I've been involved with this particular dance school for over 10 years, so faces do become familiar. Besides, most of them were "older" women, so I knew they couldn't have been moms of students.

After the show last night, my class went out for well-earned drinks, and I asked my teacher about them. Turns out they are volunteers from some sorority.

Ah, that explains it. I guess the sorority mentality never leaves, no matter how old you get.

Anyway, Recital 2010 is officially over and the only hiccup was that The Big Ones costume ripped up the seat. But no one noticed except for me.

Breakin' Up is Hard to Do - Part Deux

2010-06-07T18:50:00.000-07:00

I have watched The Today Show for over thirty years. I remember when it was hosted by Jane Pauley, her pony tail, and Tom Brokaw. I started watching it as I'd get ready for school during jr. high, through high school, college and beyond. I watch it with my girls as we get ready for school and work. It always has interesting stories and does it really get any cuter than Matt Laurer. Plus, I'm waiting for the day that NBC actually does kill Ann Curry.

But I feel it may be time to move on.

After the two lead stories were about the man who allegedly killed Natalie Holloway who is now a suspect in another murder and about a boy who disappeared while walking to his classroom in his school, it occurred to me that almost every morning, the lead story is about a child who has disappeared or been murdered.

According to the CDC, the number one cause of death in children is motor vehicle accidents. In the United States during 2005, 1,335 children ages 14 years and younger died as occupants in motor vehicle crashes, and approximately 184,000 were injured. That’s an average of 4 deaths and 504 injuries each day.

Yet those 4 deaths per day are NOT the lead story on The Today Show.

Obviously, the reason is that it is not newsworthy and would not attract ratings.

The Little One performed in her dance school's recital last night. The school has a policy, that if you want to take your child home early after he or she has performed, you must have a note, signed by your child's teacher, that you are doing so. I am aware of this policy, and have complied with it every year I knew I would take my kids home early. This year, both The Big One, The Little One and I participated in the recital (more on my appearance later, if I can get video) and they were scheduled for the end of the program, so I stayed for all the performances. I went backstage to pick up my kids while the awards were being announced. As I was leaving with my girls and The Big Ones two BFFs, who stayed backstage with her during the entire show and are NOT students in this dance school, BTW, the Neo-Nazi stopped me at the door: "Where's your note?"

"I don't have one, because the recital is over."

"NO, they are still onstage, handing out awards and making announcements, you have to have your note."

"The recital is OVER."

"You cannot take them without a NOTE"

It took me a good 2-3 minutes for it to sink in how ridiculous this was. Seriously? She wasn't going to let me take my children, of whom I have LEGAL custody, home from a DANCE recital? Hmmm...wouldn't her preventing me taking them constitute kidnapping and false imprisonment?

By the time I figured this out, and was about to tell her how unreasonable she was being, several other parents came backstage to pick up their children, WITHOUT A NOTE, and were told they couldn't. So the Nazi left to see if it was OK for the parents to take their own children home, and we all left with our OWN children.

Without a note.

We are rabblerousers.

My point is, I really do appreciate the fact that the dance school is concerned for my children's well being. However, I seriously doubt if someone wanted to snatch one of mine or someone else's child, lack of a signed note would not be a deterrent. I know their argument would be "You watch the news, children get snatched every day."

Yes, children do get snatched every day. The majority being snatched by a parent or family member. Eighty-two percent, in fact, according to the Department of Justice.

The Today Show, and other news sources, are to the point where these cases are getting glorified. It feeds the misinformation of what is really dangerous to American children:

Their own parents and riding in cars. Or even worse, riding in cars with their own parents.

So, I'm breaking up with The Today Show. It may not be forever, because I do love Matt and am concerned about Ann.

But I need to start my day with reality, not sensationalism.

The Three Ring Circus in My Mind

2010-05-26T11:45:00.000-07:00

So I had to look up a case for The Cool Attorney. As I was reading through it, the name “Frankfurter” jumped at me from the page. It was preceded by the word, “Justice,” so immediately my brain had to hear, “Justice Sweet Transvestite, from Transsexual Transylvania.”

Then I thought that would be an awesome name for a drag queen, “Justice Sweet Transvestite.” She could wear judicial robes, big powdered wig, pink latex gloves, platform boots and carry a giant gavel. She could spout bon mots such as “I’m ruling for love in your favor,” “Guilty of love in the first degree,” and Here come da judge.” OK, I’m reaching with that last one, but you get the picture.

Is it any wonder I get so few things accomplished?

Happy Redneck Mother's Day

2010-05-10T09:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Mother's Day. I was greeted with breakfast in bed, prepared by The Boyfriend, The Big One and The Little One. The best part about it was that the girls worked with The Boyfriend in its preparation, and The Big One was particularly civil toward The Boyfriend. Baby steps, baby steps.

In honor of Mother's Day, one of my FB friends from church camp posted a sing-a-long to a song we used to sing, Jerry Jeff Walker's "Redneck Mother."

"He was born in Oklahoma,
His wife's name's Betty Lou Thelma Liz
And he's not responsible for what he's doing
Cause his mother made him what he is.

And it's up against the wall Redneck Mother,
Mother, who has raised her son so well.
He's thirty-four and drinking in a honky tonk.
Just kicking hippies asses and raising hell.

Sure does like his Falstaff beer,
Likes to chase it down with that Wild Turkey liquor;
Drives a fifty-seven GMC pickup truck;
He's got a gun rack; "Goat ropers need love, too" sticker

And it's up against the wall Redneck Mother,
Mother, who has raised her son so well.
He's thirty-four and drinking in a honky tonk.
Just kicking hippies asses and raising hell.

Well,
M is for the mudflaps you give me for my pickup truck
O is for the Oil I put on my hair
T is for T-bird
H is for Haggard
E is for eggs, and
R is for REDNECK.

Up against the wall Redneck Mother,
Mother, who has raised her son so well.
He's thirty-four and drinking in a honky tonk.
Kicking hippies asses and raising hell.

He's up against the wall Redneck Mother,
Mother, who has raised her son so well.
He's thirty-four and drinking in a honky tonk.
Just kicking hippies asses and raising hell."

It wasn't until a couple of years ago, I realized this was probably not standard church camp repertoire.

I went to a kick-ass church camp.

Happy Belated Mother's Day all!

Thank God I'm a Country Boy (Girl)

2010-05-05T10:46:00.000-07:00

I admit it. Like many of my FaceBook "friends," I am a fan of FarmVille. And I think I finally figured out its appeal, especially among mothers.

FarmVille is always neat and tidy. You know that when you log off of it, it will be exactly the same when you come back. No errant shoes or dishes left lying around. Everything arranged just the way YOU like it. And you can redecorate as often as you like and no one will complain.

You get presents EVERY DAY. Seriously, how great is that. That doesn't happen in real life.

There are no punitive damages in FarmVille. If you forget to harvest a crop, big deal. You can just always get a do-over. If you forget to tend to the animals or trees, they'll wait. They are there just for your pleasure.

You can be helpful and get rewarded every time. Or not. It's all virtual so who cares.

You can shop all you want and know your account will be replenished with just a few clicks of the mouse.

You can grow things and not get a lick of dirt on yourself.

You can have green or purple hair and no one will think this is weird.

It's truly the one little corner of my world where I have complete control.

Worlds of Fun(?)

2010-05-03T11:05:00.000-07:00

My Cool Friend Linda has this theory that as we age, our brains shrink and therefore are rattled about in our skulls when we ride amusement park rides, and that is the reason that as we get older, amusument park rides no longer hold as much amusement.

After the Saturday 8th grade choir field trip to Worlds of Fun, I can confirm her theory to be true.

I only rode three roller coasters and the closest I came to a spinny-ride was the carousel.

I came home with a migrane as big as the Mamba.(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mamba_(roller_coaster)

I am planning to petition Worlds of Fun to offer a "Purse-Holder Admission Fee." This would be a reduced admission fee for the mom who does not ride anything other than the carousel, and who only goes to the park to hold the purses and backpacks.

Happy Birthday to Me

2010-04-29T14:13:00.000-07:00

So yesterday was the 46th anniversary of my birth, and I was greeted with the following at the breakfast table:

And greeted with this upon my return home:

Both prepared with love by my awesome kids.

So how to I repay them? By spending half of the morning yelling at them that they have no sense because they can't see the dishes that need to go into the dishwasher, are incapable of rinsing all the conditioner out of their hair, and cannot follow simple directions. AND dusting off the old "You're going to end up homeless and unemployed like your father if you don't start acting like responsible human beings!!!"

Went to work feeling like the world's worst mom.

Happy birthday to me.

Mail Call

2010-04-26T13:15:00.000-07:00

We got the following brochure in today's mail:

"CLE - Estate Planning for Pets"

2.4 CLE hours for Missouri! We gotta sign up for this one.

"Imagine if the Tea Party Was Black"

2010-04-26T12:15:00.000-07:00

The following was written by Tim Wise and is beyond profound.

"Let’s play a game, shall we? The name of the game is called “Imagine.” The way it’s played is simple: we’ll envision recent happenings in the news, but then change them up a bit. Instead of envisioning white people as the main actors in the scenes we’ll conjure - the ones who are driving the action - we’ll envision black folks or other people of color instead. The object of the game is to imagine the public reaction to the events or incidents, if the main actors were of color, rather than white. Whoever gains the most insight into the workings of race in America, at the end of the game, wins.

So let’s begin.

Imagine that hundreds of black protesters were to descend upon Washington DC and Northern Virginia, just a few miles from the Capitol and White House, armed with AK-47s, assorted handguns, and ammunition. And imagine that some of these protesters —the black protesters — spoke of the need for political revolution, and possibly even armed conflict in the event that laws they didn’t like were enforced by the government? Would these protester — these black protesters with guns — be seen as brave defenders of the Second Amendment, or would they be viewed by most whites as a danger to the republic? What if they were Arab-Americans? Because, after all, that’s what happened recently when white gun enthusiasts descended upon the nation’s capital, arms in hand, and verbally announced their readiness to make war on the country’s political leaders if the need arose.

Imagine that white members of Congress, while walking to work, were surrounded by thousands of angry black people, one of whom proceeded to spit on one of those congressmen for not voting the way the black demonstrators desired. Would the protesters be seen as merely patriotic Americans voicing their opinions, or as an angry, potentially violent, and even insurrectionary mob? After all, this is what white Tea Party protesters did recently in Washington.

Imagine that a rap artist were to say, in reference to a white president: “He’s a piece of shit and I told him to suck on my machine gun.” Because that’s what rocker Ted Nugent said recently about President Obama.

Imagine that a prominent mainstream black political commentator had long employed an overt bigot as Executive Director of his organization, and that this bigot regularly participated in black separatist conferences, and once assaulted a white person while calling them by a racial slur. When that prominent black commentator and his sister — who also works for the organization — defended the bigot as a good guy who was misunderstood and “going through a tough time in his life” would anyone accept their excuse-making? Would that commentator still have a place on a mainstream network? Because that’s what happened in the real world, when Pat Buchanan employed as Executive Director of his group, America’s Cause, a blatant racist who did all these things, or at least their white equivalents: attending white separatist conferences and attacking a black woman while calling her the n-word.

Imagine that a black radio host were to suggest that the only way to get promoted in the administration of a white president is by “hating black people,” or that a prominent white person had only endorsed a white presidential candidate as an act of racial bonding, or blamed a white president for a fight on a school bus in which a black kid was jumped by two white kids, or said that he wouldn’t want to kill all conservatives, but rather, would like to leave just enough—“living fossils” as he called them—“so we will never forget what these people stood for.” After all, these are things that Rush Limbaugh has said, about Barack Obama’s administration, Colin Powell’s endorsement of Barack Obama, a fight on a school bus in Belleville, Illinois in which two black kids beat up a white kid, and about liberals, generally.

Imagine that a black pastor, formerly a member of the U.S. military, were to declare, as part of his opposition to a white president’s policies, that he was ready to “suit up, get my gun, go to Washington, and do what they trained me to do.” This is, after all, what Pastor Stan Craig said recently at a Tea Party rally in Greenville, South Carolina.

Imagine a black radio talk show host gleefully predicting a revolution by people of color if the government continues to be dominated by the rich white men who have been “destroying” the country, or if said radio personality were to call Christians or Jews non-humans, or say that when it came to conservatives, the best solution would be to “hang ‘em high.” And what would happen to any congressional representative who praised that commentator for “speaking common sense” and likened his hate talk to “American values?” After all, those are among the things said by radio host and best-selling author Michael Savage, predicting white revolution in the face of multiculturalism, or said by Savage about Muslims and liberals, respectively. And it was Congressman Culbertson, from Texas, who praised Savage in that way, despite his hateful rhetoric.

Imagine a black political commentator suggesting that the only thing the guy who flew his plane into the Austin, Texas IRS building did wrong was not blowing up Fox News instead. This is, after all, what Anne Coulter said about Tim McVeigh, when she noted that his only mistake was not blowing up the New York Times.

Imagine that a popular black liberal website posted comments about the daughter of a white president, calling her “typical redneck trash,” or a “whore” whose mother entertains her by “making monkey sounds.” After all that’s comparable to what conservatives posted about Malia Obama on freerepublic.com last year, when they referred to her as “ghetto trash.”

Imagine that black protesters at a large political rally were walking around with signs calling for the lynching of their congressional enemies. Because that’s what white conservatives did last year, in reference to Democratic party leaders in Congress.

In other words, imagine that even one-third of the anger and vitriol currently being hurled at President Obama, by folks who are almost exclusively white, were being aimed, instead, at a white president, by people of color. How many whites viewing the anger, the hatred, the contempt for that white president would then wax eloquent about free speech, and the glories of democracy? And how many would be calling for further crackdowns on thuggish behavior, and investigations into the radical agendas of those same people of color?

To ask any of these questions is to answer them. Protest is only seen as fundamentally American when those who have long had the luxury of seeing themselves as prototypically American engage in it. When the dangerous and dark “other” does so, however, it isn’t viewed as normal or natural, let alone patriotic. Which is why Rush Limbaugh could say, this past week, that the Tea Parties are the first time since the Civil War that ordinary, common Americans stood up for their rights: a statement that erases the normalcy and “American-ness” of blacks in the civil rights struggle, not to mention women in the fight for suffrage and equality, working people in the fight for better working conditions, and LGBT folks as they struggle to be treated as full and equal human beings.

And this, my friends, is what white privilege is all about. The ability to threaten others, to engage in violent and incendiary rhetoric without consequence, to be viewed as patriotic and normal no matter what you do, and never to be feared and despised as people of color would be, if they tried to get away with half the shit we do, on a daily basis.

Game Over."

Tim Wise is among the most prominent anti-racist writers and activists in the U.S. Wise has spoken in 48 states, on over 400 college campuses, and to community groups around the nation. Wise has provided anti-racism training to teachers nationwide, and has trained physicians and medical industry professionals on how to combat racial inequities in health care. His latest book is called Between Barack and a Hard Place.

Seriously? Someone found it necessary to pick on Obama's kids?

Captain Obvious Strikes Again

2010-04-26T12:05:00.000-07:00

Conversation today with boss, after handing him this and next month's to do lists:

Boss: What's the difference in these 2 documents?

Me: One is for May and one is for June.

Boss: How can you tell the difference?

Me: Um...by the dates?

Boss: Smartass.

Questions for the Ages

2010-04-22T10:57:00.000-07:00

The Little One has always been a very curious child, and lately, seems to be asking questions I have absoutely no answer for.

"Why are there nine judges in the Supreme Court?"

Seriously. Hand to God, she asked me this. (She's NINE, by the way.)

I started in, "Well, there needs to be an uneven number so there are no ties when they vote on an issue." Pretty good answer for 7:38 AM, I thought.

"Then why not 5, or 7 or 11?"

"Because 9 is the magic number?"

Next question: "How do birds walk on their legs? They have great big bodies and tiny stick legs."

I had no answer for this one.

Google, anyone?

Starring Layne Aingell, As Herself

2010-04-07T08:05:00.000-07:00

So I'm scrolling through the program guide, and I see that "Pride and Prejudice" is on in a few minutes. I switch the channel to E!. There's about 10 minutes left on the show that is airing, and I'm puttering around the kitchen while it's on. I'm not really paying that much attention, but bits of dialogue reach my brain, and I think, "WTF, IS this?" Turns out, it's a reality show called "Something Wild...Wild Girls...Really Wild..." I don't know, something with "wild" in the title. There are these teen aged girls that seem to have the IQ of two year olds and the bodies of Playmates. Just dumb, pretty people basically doing nothing of merit.

The next day, I tune into the Style Network, because "Clean House" is pretty much on 24/7 and I love me some Neicy Nash. Another reality show I was not aware of, "Jerseylicious," was on. Again, even dumber and not even pretty people.

Seriously, where's MY reality show?

I could have my own camera crew follow me around as I go through my workday. I can show off my negotiating skills in determining what to make everyone for dinner, highlight my prowess at frugality as I cruise the clearance aisles at Target, illustrate how to rise above the pettiness of egos while being chewed out by one of my bosses for one of HER mistakes and provide general amusement for the viewing public at my discovery of a brick in my backyard with the inscription "Do Not Spit On Sidewalk." (True story. I have no idea I was in possession of such a brick, nor how it got there.)

So E! or Style Network, if you're reading, give me a call. I'm available.

Paybacks are Hell

2010-02-08T18:51:00.001-08:00

The Big One is now fourteen and has almost overnight, changed from a sweet girl to a moody pain in the ass.

I'm sure it's not helping that I recently got engaged, she started her period and has discovered boys.

Welcome to the Hormone Hot Tub.

I'm sure I was the same way, maybe worse. But I have a few more tools my mother didn't, namely FaceBook and text messages.

Yes. I admit it. I check my daughter's text messages when she's in the shower. I figure I'm paying for the service, so they're my messages too. Okay. That is a stretch. So sue me.

Anyway, I haven't seen anything too shocking or insightful. Although, the other day there was a message from her BFF's BF, McLovin', asking what second base was. She had to ask another friend. I figure if neither she nor McLovin' knew what it meant, they're okay. But on the other hand, a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.

I told her she couldn't have a FaceBook account unless I was her friend, which I think is fair. Again, she's either really not getting into any trouble, or just hiding it really well.

I'll give it a couple of years, then I'll get my old sweet girl back.

Meanwhile, technology is on my side.

RIP Henry

2010-02-08T18:44:00.000-08:00

The other morning The Little One comes downstairs in tears and yelling, "BAD BAD ALMOST FERAL CAT!"

Her fish, Henry, was floating at the bottom of the bowl. Somehow The Almost Feral Cat was responsible.

Unknown to The Little One, this was the fifth in a long line of Henrys. I hate to admit it, but I was relieved that I wouldn't have to make any more clandestine trips to the pet store and have any more secret burials in the toilet.

"Well," I began, "Henry was a good fish, and had a good life..."

Between sobs she gasped out, "That's NOT helping."

She wanted to stay home from school, but I explained that the passing of the beta did not count as a death in the family. So I took her to school and walked her into class.

The World's Best Third Grade Teacher took one look at her and knew something was up. She came over and gave The Little One a hug and said how sorry she was.

She was still upset after school, so her dad took her to the pet store.

Now she wants a bearded lizard.

Over my and Henry's dead body.

Random Acts

2009-10-13T17:55:00.000-07:00

So I go up to the McD's to get a movie at the Red Box on Saturday night. I was already tired and cranky, just having had a bout of strep and was in sweats with no makeup and I couldn't remember the last time I'd washed my hair, so I really just wanted to get in and get out.

There were 3 people in front of me.

The guy at the kiosk was having trouble deciding, and had to flip through the selections several times. The woman behind him was on her cell, obviously oblivious to everyone behind her, because she was really loud. There was another woman in front of me, then while the first guy was still trying to decide, 4 more people got in line.

This Red Box happens to be at the entrance of the McD's so we were pretty much blocking the door and were in everyone's way.

The guy finally got his selection out, and the woman on the cell moved up to the kiosk.

"OK, so what do you want?...Ummmm...let me see....something scary?...I don't know, I've never heard of it, hang on..." She then proceeds to read the description of several movies to whoever she was talking to. "OK, so what do the kids want?...Well, go ask them...They don't have that one..."

You get the picture.

Then, when she tries to check them out, she's over the limit and has to start over.

Meanwhile, you can just feel the tension build in the people waiting in line, myself included since I'm already tired, crabby and stinky.

When she finally checks out, this guy at the end of the line asks the woman in front of me, "Hey, would it be OK if I just returned this movie real quick?"

I wanted to punch him in the neck.

The woman said OK, and then asked the guy behind HIM if he just wanted to return a movie. He did and so she let him, too.

I was steaming by this time, but instead said to her, "You know, that was actually very kind."

While the woman in front of me was getting her movie, the first guy who returned his went over to the counter, then came back.

He had bought cookies for all of us.

There's a real lesson here, but the bottom line is, be kind, because you might miss out on cookies.

One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish

2009-10-09T14:13:00.000-07:00

We were sitting at the breakfast table when we heard a terriffic crash from upstairs. Before I could get there to see what it was, The Little One figured it out. "HENRY!"

The Almost Feral Cat had finally gotten to The Immortal Fish.

Luckily, the bowl did not break, as it somehow got wedged between the desk and bookshelf, but all the contents had tipped out onto the floor. All the contents including Henry.

I managed to scoop him up, plop him in the bowl and got the bowl filled up somewhat with water. He was still moving and I crossed my fingers he would at least last until we got home for the day.

When we got home, he was at the bottom of the bowl.

So while The Little One was at dance class, The Big One and I headed to Petco for a replacement. As best as I can count, I believe this is Henry V. We had so much drama when her goldfish, Jessica and Jr., didn't make it for 24 hours in our possession, that I keep replacing the betas.

Probably not the best example of teaching the Circle of Life, but one less drama I have to deal with.

Obits

2009-09-25T14:33:00.000-07:00

About 3 weeks ago, one of The Big One’s friends’ dad (“Bongo” Barry Bernstein if you want to Google him) dropped dead of a heart attack. He was only 55, married and had two kids. I did not know him personally, but knew of him, because he was very involved with the band programs at the high school and middle school and was a children’s entertainer. He was also a music therapist with one of the school districts. I was looking forward to getting to know him when we got to the high school level bands.

We went to the funeral at the Unity Temple and it was truly one of the most amazing experiences of my life. There were about 200 people, mostly in tie-dye, because that was his trademark. The opening procession was a drum circle of about 75 musicians. There was a slideshow of his life and about several people talked about him. Both of his girls got up and spoke and were both so eloquent and poised. No tears from either girl, both talked about how much he loved life and making other people happy. There were several performances from his musician friends and the processional was everyone jamming to Buddy Holly’s “Not Fade Away.” Barry was one of those lucky people who found their bliss early in life, was able to make a living out of it, and share his gifts. It is a true loss and so sad that he died so young and left so many people with this hole in their lives, but on the other hand, what a great legacy to have so many people love you. I came out of that service feeling high.

He and his family performed around the state over the summer, and left “Bongo Barry” egg shakers at rest stops along the way. They were passed around for the processional and I keep mine in my purse to remind me that life is short, that I should not take every day for granted and that I need to hurry up and find my bliss.

My aunt died yesterday after a bout of brain cancer. She had had colon cancer in the mid seventies, breast cancer about 8 years ago, and 2 years ago, it metastasized to her lungs in the form of melanoma (she never smoked or lived with a smoker, BTW) and went to her brain last year. She had radiation and it shrunk the tumor and she was doing great until a few weeks ago. Up until then she was driving, taking care of her garden, entertaining with her husband and just about everything she normally did. She was on hospice at her home and died in her sleep in no pain.

Jo had a great life, too. She was married to her husband for 60 years last summer. When he should have been retiring, they took a job transfer to Southern Korea, then to San Diego. They were the kind of people who made immediate, lifelong friends. Jo was also one of those people who love life, and got excited about just about anything. She was also one of the kindest, generous people you’d ever meet. Because she always lived far away from me, I usually only saw her once a year, at the holidays. I made several visits to her and my uncle as an adult, and those are some of the best trips in my life. I took the girls to down to their home in Wimberley, Texas two summers ago, and the last memories I have of her are of her heading down the long, wooded driveway from their house on the hill to the river at the foot of the hill, pulling a kayak, then launching the kayak into the water and giving the girls a quick lesson. At 80, she was in great shape, and I should look so good in a swimsuit at half her age.

Barry and Jo are just reminders that we are here to make the most of the life we have now. I don’t believe in heaven, because what’s the point of using your time on earth as merely a ticket to something that is imaginary. We humans have a choice every day of what to do with our lives. It’s just practical to choose to be happy.

Breakin' Up is Hard to Do

2009-08-16T15:30:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's because I'm a Taurus, but I'm extremely stubborn when it comes to holding on to things. Old clothes, knick-knacks, magazines and especially relationships that don't work.

I really just want to "give it one more chance," because I hate admitting I wasted time on something I was wrong about all along. My divorce opened up a big can of worms in that area.

It showed me that not only can I break up with people I'm not even romantically involved with like my self-righteous former roommate, who has nothing to offer me but criticism, a counselor whose best advice was "get more girlfriends," or concepts like religion, but I can also break up with inanimate objects.

A few weeks ago, Good Neighbor Laura had a showing of her artwork. I MapQuested directions, printed them out and set out with the girls to her opening. I followed the map, and after about 10 minutes of driving around a residential neighborhood, looked at the address I'd put in, and compared it to the one on the invitation. MapQuest had led me to the 9600 block when I should have been on the 4300 block. I set off north, hoping I could get there on time and realized I had no idea where I was going so I gave up, and turned around because I knew I'd just get more frustrated and angry the more lost I knew I'd become.

So I officially broke up with MapQuest.

Keep in mind that almost EVERY time I use MapQuest, something similar happens, but I kept right on using it.

Yesterday, at the Wal-Mart, The Big One, The Boyfriend and I were checking out and the lines on the manned check outs were pretty long, so we used the self-check. I have the same history with self-check outs as I do with MapQuest. Every time I've used one, the red light goes on, and I have to wait for the checking supervisor to clear the machine. Plus, there's never enough room on the bagging table, and the computer always yells at me to check the bagging area.

But we were in a hurry and so we used it.

The red light must have gone off a half-dozen times, and the checking supervisor had to come over twice to key into the register so we could continue.

So I broke up with self-checkouts.

Today while at the Home Depot, there were lines at the manned registers, but all the self-checkouts were free. The supervisor motioned me to the self-checks, but I proudly proclaimed, "No thanks, I broke up with those."

So what if she thought I was nuts.

I think I'll break up with worrying about what other people think of me, too.

True Story

2009-08-13T19:21:00.000-07:00

I went into JoAnn's, picked out my fabric and headed to the cutting table. The sales associate was behind the table, and had no customers waiting. She pointed to the "take a number" dispenser and told me to take a number. I was the only customer there, but assumed there was someone ahead of me, wandering around the store. I got number 78.

She then looked up at the tote board, which read 77, clicked to the next number, leaned over into the intercom, and announced, "Number 78."

I kid you not.

I almost burst out laughing, then realized she was serious. I honestly expected Ashton Kutcher to jump out and let me know I had been punk'd.

I guess some people take control wherever they can get it.

Again, the Bunnies Never Go Away

2009-07-29T10:13:00.000-07:00

The Big One kept trying to charge her phone, and it wouldn't work. It's a fairly new phone, so we checked the battery to see if it was OK, and it seemed to be.

Turns out, the bunny that was under her bed, the one she and her BFF caught, had chewed the bling off her phone which was charging under her bed. Apparently, the bunny also chewed up the cord on the charger.

So thanks to the wildlife in my house, I'm out $15 for a charger and my closet STILL smells like something died in it.

There'll Be Peace When You Are Done

2009-07-22T10:08:00.000-07:00

Well the dead bunny in the closet is still with us.

I took the box that The Ex put on the curb with the remains in it, put it in a garbage bag, tied it off, and put it in the trunk of my car as I backed it out of the garage to go to work. I took it to work to throw in the dumpster. The box was in my car for less than fifteen minutes, and my car still smelled like, you guessed it, something died in it.

After I got all the remains and creepy crawly things out, the smell remained, even after I doused the closet with air freshener and I sprayed everything down with vodka. (it's a theater trick - the vodka evaporates and eliminates the odor)

This morning I took all the clothes and coats from the closet outside, hung them on the table and chairs, sprayed them down with still more vodka, and am hoping the air and sunshine will take care of the remaining odors.

If this doesn't work, I may have to burn them.

Carrion My Wayward Son

2009-07-20T17:23:00.000-07:00

Two evenings ago, The Big One, The Boyfriend and I came home from a show to a really weird smell in the front hall. I had cooked dinner earlier, and given my history in the kitchen, I just assumed it was a leftover cooking smell.

The following day, we smelled it again, just in one spot in the front hall. It was starting to smell like a really dirty garbage can. I thought maybe something had gotten caught inside the vacuum cleaner and rotted, so I cleaned it out and found nothing.

This morning, the smell was REALLY strong. I pushed back the coats and things, and moved the baskets and boxes around and still nothing.

So when I got home from work this evening, I was greeted with, "Mommy, Daddy found what was stinking up the closet."

Apparently, The Almost Feral Cat brought home yet another dead bunny, and instead of leaving it in The Big One's room, hid it under the baseboard in the back of the closet. It must have been in there longer than 3 days, because it was full of other sorts of flora and fauna that I'd just not rather go into right now. Let's just say it looked like something from one of Gil Grissom's crime scenes, and he was really happy about all the visitors who had taken up residence there.

So I scraped out the remains, and sprayed everything down with 1:100 bleach . I washed all the gloves, hats and scarves that were in the basket in hot water and did two cycles in the dryer, just in case.

The upside is that The Ex probably threw up.

So tomorrow I'm making a trip to the pet store for a break-away collar for the cat. With a bell.

Don't you cry no more.

Once Again, Wild Kingdom

2009-07-14T07:04:00.000-07:00

Night before last, The Big One comes into my room at 12:30 AM: “Mommy, The Almost Feral Cat brought a bunny in my room. And it’s not dead.”

Honestly, it’s easier to deal with the dead bunnies than the live ones. The last live one we had got named, and practically moved in with us. I can just scoop up the dead ones and plop them in the trash.

So after about 20 minutes of trying to catch this poor bunny, I gave up. I told The Big One to get in my bed, closed my bedroom door, and figured the cat would take care of the bunny. After all, she’s the one who brought it home, so it’s her responsibility.

I didn’t find anything the next morning, so I figured we had a bunny corpse under the bed somewhere, so I told The Big One to have her dad look for it when he came over.

Apparently, they couldn’t find it, because when I came home from work, The Big One, The Little One and The Big One’s BFF, Genius Girl, were in her room, wearing oven mitts and trying to coax the bunny out from under the bed with brooms and whatever else they could find. There was a lot of screaming and squealing going on, so I left them to it.

After about 45 minutes, they managed to corner it and get it in a shoebox. We took it outside and let it go. I’ll bet that was one relieved bunny.

2009-06-21T18:49:00.000-07:00

Heard from the backseat:

"Mommy, what's the hardest question in the world?"

I started in on "Well, that would depend on who you asked. It could be What is the meaning of life? Why are we here? What's the square root of 2,987,451? Do you love me?"

Then it hit me. The hardest question of the world is, "Who let the dogs out?"

Stupid Smart People

2009-05-31T14:06:00.000-07:00

I had the following conversation with The Big One:

TBO: "Mom, can I use this empty laundry basket?"

Me: "What for?"

TBO: "To put my laundry in."

Me: "Where's your laundry basket?"

TBO: "It's full."

Me: "Um, then that would mean it's time for you to do your laundry."

TBO: "Oh. Yeah."

This is the kid with the 103 GPA. I swear, I'm raising the stupidest smart people ever.

2009-05-04T18:02:00.000-07:00

I started my 3rd new job in the last 14 months today.

I think I learned more today than I have in the last 2 jobs I've had, and when I saw the "WTF?" rubber stamp in one of my new co-workers desk drawer, knew I was going to fit in just fine.

2009-05-03T07:49:00.000-07:00

I made the comment on my Facebook feed that "I am grateful for dandelions, because without them, my yard would be a big brown patch of dirt, filled with dogpiles."

The Little One and I passed an empty lot yesterday, full of dandelions. She said "Look Mommy, a field of wishing flowers!"

So technically, they're not weeds - they're wishes.

Where the Wild Things Are

2009-04-30T08:32:00.000-07:00

The Big One woke me up at 1:17 AM, "Mommy, The Almost Feral Cat caught something and is playing with it on my bed."

I went in her room, turned on the light, saw bird feathers all over the floor, and then something thup, thup, thupped at me.

I was in no mood to chase an injured bird all over the house with a broom at 1:17 AM, so I told The Big One to get in my bed, closed all the bedroom doors, and figured The Almost Feral Cat would take care of the bird.

When the alarm went off, I could hear a peep, peep, peep and followed the sound into the toy/storage room and found TAFC sitting on the windowsill, just watching the bird trying to fly out the closed window. Apparently, TAFC had just been playing with the bird for the past 5 hours.

So I scooped up the bird in a shoebox and let it go outside. It looked like it had an injured wing and leg, so I figure it will eventually be taken care of by one of the neighborhood cats.

The Little One was very upset when she heard all this, and wanted me to take the bird to the vet.

Never gonna happen in a million years.

Something New, 365 Days Later

2009-04-28T06:57:00.000-07:00

It's exactly a year since I challenged myself to try or learn something new every day.

And, I know, I'm about 20 Something News short.

The truth is, I just got lazy about looking and realized, hey, this exercise isn't a REQUIREMENT, and let it go.

But, I'm glad I tried to keep it up.

It is really HARD to find Something New every day, but I feel like I have relearned to use new eyes in looking at the world. Just because you do something the same way 100 doesn't mean you should.

Some Something News I will continue, like not being afraid of buying sushi in a land locked-city, always carrying my camera with me (because you just never know), and adding different things to my coffee. (BTW, Dr. Pepper in coffee - AMAZING.) And I do feel I have improved my writing skills, which is very helpful in my profession.

And I will continue to keep my eyes open, head up and mind aware.

After all, since the women in my family live until at least 90, at 45 years old today, I'm just halfway done.

Something New, #346

2009-04-21T19:57:00.001-07:00

I had an awesome job offer, when I wasn't really looking for a new job. The only thing that was holding me from accepting immediately was the fear of starting a new job. I mean, the first two weeks of any job suck, and this will be the third new job in 14 months.

But it was almost as if I created this job for myself, and it's a 20% bump in pay.

Yeah, like anyone would turn that down.

Because things at my current job are so shaky, and the boss is a little "moody," I was dreading turning in my two weeks' notice for fear she'd tell me to go before the end of the pay period. So I totally wimped out and gave notice by e-mail.

At least I'll have enough on this pay period to cover the mortgage.

Something New, #345

2009-04-17T07:29:00.001-07:00

I taught The Big One how to "legally" download music.

I may never see her without the earbuds again.

Something New, #344

2009-04-13T08:49:00.000-07:00

The Little One has had the eye/nose/throat goop for the past couple of days, and I ran out of the liquid medicine, so she was forced to learn to swallow a pill.

This did not go over well.

I found myself turning into The Other Mother from Coraline, and tears were on the way. So we compromised and I chopped up the pill and stuck it in a breakfast bar. That seemed to work.

Now I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that it's just allergies, and I don't get another call from the school nurse.

Something New, #343

2009-04-09T17:10:00.000-07:00

I was so bored at work today, that I went to the building next to ours to use the restroom.

Freaky thing was, this building is a mirror image of ours, so everything was exactly the same, just backwards.

I felt kind of like Alice.

Something New, #342

2009-04-07T19:32:00.000-07:00

I am not the most patient person in the world, especially when it comes to explaining or teaching anything.

This is a gift I inherited from my father.

As soon as my kids learned to read, they were pretty much on their own if they wanted to learn something new. This has saved us a lot of tears over the years.

But The Little One wanted to finish a latch hook rug her sister started, and the only way she could learn was if I showed her.

Gulp.

But we took it step by step, I took a lot of deep breaths, and she got it, and neither of us ended up in tears.

Something New, #341

2009-04-05T16:26:00.000-07:00

I Enjoy Being a Girl

Even though I pride myself in being low maintenance, I did make an appointment for highlights, because there is just isn't a product in the stores that will cover my grays anymore.

It took a while, but I liked the results. Now I think I'm stuck doing it for the rest of my life, though.

Something New, #340

2009-04-02T07:46:00.001-07:00

I learned that the elementary school has a policy that a student is automatically out for 24 hours if he/she reports to the school nurse with diarrhea.

"It's not really diarrhea! It's just from the drainage from her allergies!"

Nope. Out for another day.

Something New, #339

2009-03-31T07:46:00.000-07:00

I learned that there is really no way to get a molly bolt out of the wall without taking out most of the sheetrock.

I also learned that several thin layers, with ample drying time between them, of spackle, will fill a hole in the sheetrock the size of a saucer.

Something New #338

2009-03-31T07:36:00.001-07:00

We had a freak snowstorm and got 5 inches in about 12 hours. There was no point in going out, so I stayed in my pajamas for 39 hours straight.

It rocked.

Something New, #337

2009-03-27T07:28:00.000-07:00

There's a fancy-schmancy grocery store near my office that is more like a food court than grocery store. I go in there about twice a month to pick up lunch.

I was wandering the cases, trying to figure out what I wanted, when I saw that one of the offerings was sushi.

Now I've had sushi before, but since The Ex worked in the food and beverage industry for 25+ years, and I live in a land-locked area, have never actually ordered it for myself. Someone else ordered for me, or it was an offering at a party or something.

So I figured I probably would not get food poisoning from California Rolls, so that's what I ended up with.

Still probably will not go for the raw offerings in this part of the country, though.

Something New, #336

2009-03-26T09:13:00.001-07:00

I had a telephone conversation with a senator.

Definitely something I've never done before.

Something New, #335

2009-03-25T07:14:00.000-07:00

I read an article in the paper about how to use everyday objects to fix things.

It used my aforementioned cure for drying out cell phones in a bag of rice, using the sticky end of a Post-it for cleaning between the keys of a keyboard and using cookie sheets to help the reception of a router.

My router is an eBay purchase, so probably not the most efficient and it takes a while for the laptop to find the signal. I put an old cake pan under it, and I'll be damned if it didn't pick up the signal right away.

Must be the same technology as putting aluminum foil on the end of rabbit ears.

Something New, #334

2009-03-25T07:12:00.000-07:00

I learned that if you miss the contact lens storage case, and your contact sits on the bathroom shelf all night, you can resuscitate it by soaking it in saline again.

Handy, since this was my last pair.

Something New, #333

2009-03-24T19:18:00.000-07:00

Office Alone

Both attorneys and the other paralegal were out of the office, so I was alone for 2 days.

The difficult thing about where I work is that there are only 4 people in the office to begin with, so I don't get a whole lot of human interaction. I think the only person I saw all day was the UPS man.

Thank Goddess for Hulu.

Something New, #332

2009-03-24T19:16:00.000-07:00

I learned that when two eight-year-olds think it's a good idea to wash the dog without telling an adult, and the tub overflows, it drains through the bathroom floor to the garage below and onto my car.

Something New, #331

2009-03-23T07:27:00.001-07:00

The girls had spring break, and were home alone most of the week, so we drove to my parents' in Oklahoma. When we drive down there, I usually take a half day off, because I hate driving in the dark, but because my counterpart at work was on vacation, we didn't leave until after I got of work. I got off late anyway, so we really had a late start.

This is one of those Something News that I will avoid at all costs in the future. I have terrible night vision, and the back highways we have to take have no shoulder. Plus, I got pulled over in Talala, OK (yes, that's the name of the town) for doing 58 in a 45 zone.

Just what I needed.

Although, because I had the kids and dog with me, I think the cop who pulled me over felt sorry for me, and "only" fined me $89 instead of the usual $212.

When we finally made it to Tulsa, The Big One wanted to go to a midnight release party of the Twilight DVD, so we went to the local Border's. I got in line to get the ticket to purchase the DVD for her, and she said, "I just wanted to get the free stuff from the party. Let's get the DVD at Target tomorrow because it's cheaper."

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or bad, but she did save me $13 on the price of the DVD.

Something New, #330

2009-03-19T19:13:00.000-07:00

I listen to NPR pretty much all day during the workweek.

Talk of the Nation airs in the afternoon, and the host, Neal Conan, fields "tweets" from Twitter. Seriously, how self-important have we become that we think someone else cares about "What are you doing?", but after reading about Christopher Walken's Twitter page on another blog, checked it out and joined.

Just what I need. Something else to waste more time with on the computer.

Something New #329

2009-03-19T19:07:00.000-07:00

I got a reply from the city, regarding the intersection where I got rear-ended.

I assumed it would be a standard "We're taking it into consideration, blah, blah, blah..." but instead it explained that there is actually construction that will begin at the end of the year that will hopefully fix the situation.

Maybe there were enough complaints to warrant a change.

Something New, #328

2009-03-17T18:54:00.000-07:00

More Adventures in the Ladies

I learned that handicapped accessible bathrooms really aren't.

There was an elderly woman in the handicapped stall with a wheelchair. She was standing, and trying to maneuver herself back into her chair. It was stuck in the door frame, so I helped her move it around so she could sit and backed her out. I rolled her over to the sink, she washed & dried and we headed out the door where we really got stuck.

This restroom has two doors at its entrance with a small vestibule between them. I got her through the interior door, but then couldn't open the exterior with her in her wheelchair to get us out. There was no room to open the exterior door with the wheelchair in the vestibule, and there wasn't enough room for me to hold open both doors to wheel her out. I almost had to do an Austin Powers three-point turn to get her out, but her husband heard the racket, and helped us.

Seriously, I may have to write another letter.

Something New, #327

2009-03-17T07:20:00.000-07:00

OK, another Something New, that technically isn't Something New, but Something New I observed.

When I was washing my hands in the ladies, there was another woman next to me, doing the same in the next sink. At the same time, we both turned away from each other to get paper towels out of the dispenser, then we both turned back to each other and said the same thing: "Were these always automatic?"

Apparently, the landlord changed out the dispensers within the hour or so that we'd both been in there. But we both had the same initial question, "Were these always here?" Both of us thought at first they were the same, and we just had not taken notice of them.

What this exercise is teaching me is to keep my eyes open and not to take things for granted or do things just out of habit.