Sunday, November 30, 2008

Analyze This

Far Side cartoon by Dave Larson

Earlier today I stated in a post that I had the kookiest dreams. I said I had three, but I can't remember the third one. I knew I should have written it down when I woke up. Oh well, I brain farted. At least it wasn't a shart! I would have forgotten all of my Thera-Flu induced dreams.


*****************
Riss, the Obamas ... and John Edwards
******************


It's obvious I was in my home, but it wasn't exactly like the place I'm living in now. The doorbell rang, which doesn't work in my current home. I opened the door and gasped at the vision standing before me. Three people stood on my porch: President-elect Barack Obama, his lovely wife Michelle and John Edwards. I welcomed them and stumbled over myself with salutations, "Mr. and Mrs. Obama, it is not everyday the President-elect and his wife grace me with their presence, but add in the Vice President-elect .... ooh, sorry, Mr. Edwards. My bad." With that I screwed up my face and sucked air through my teeth accentuating my error and pity for the now infamous senator.

Upon invitation, they all sat down. Miraculously, a tray with coffee and pastries sat on the coffee table. They all seemed very relaxed and informal. It is there where it really gets bizarre. I excuse myself to shower! Yeah, while Barack Obama is sipping coffee and nibbling on coffee cake, my weird-assed self takes a shower!

While showering, I am thinking to myself how rude it is to leave such dignitaries sitting alone. I rinse, and towel off. I throw on a robe and think it'd be foul to walk out in such an ensemble. So, I put on a bra, then put on my shabby, yellow, terry cloth robe. In the midst of doing this, I hear Man-cub yucking it up with our distinguished company.

I awoke with a chuckle.



************************
Riss and the butcher cut

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


After I fell back to sleep, I had another dream. This time I was sitting in our local mall with my sister Maureen. We were just talking as passers by mosied. For whatever reason, I had a Braun clipper set in my purse and proceeded to give myself a haircut. Maureen looked at me and mentioned that using a mirror was advisable, but I told her, "I'm fine with the feel method." I recall making certain not to put the #4 guard directly on my scalp as I didn't want my hair too short. I was pulling my hair outward and buzzzzzzz. I asked Maureen how it looked and she simply raised her brows unable to speak. I stood up and walked to a store window and gazed at my handy work. This vision is similar to what I created:


Love Thy Self

This morning I awoke from the kookiest dream. In fact, I had three separate, totally unrelated odd dreams. I'm not sure if it's the onset of illness or the effects of doping up on Thera-Flu before bed.
I had intentions of writing about those dreams and allowing you, the reader, to dissect my psyche. I might still do that, but later today or perhaps tomorrow.
Instead, I am going to share with you a quote that had my eyes welling up with tears. This is yet another item shared by a friend on Plurk. Quotesnack is spearheaded by Ablereach. She is a lover of the written word and revels in sharing her love by utilizing CafePress' quotesnack section. I feel it's necessary to give her full credit for today's post. I am not well read; nor am I a voracious reader. However, such quotes always make my hunger for reading increase. I may be 43, but I'm far from completing my education in life.
I will stop my rambling and simply put forth the Ralph Waldo Emerson quote that had me in tears only minutes ago:
Ralph Waldo Emerson Quote on Love and Self Respect -

I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you, or you. If you can
love me for what I am, we shall be the happier. If you cannot, I will seek to
deserve that you should. I will not hide my tastes or aversions

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Recycled for your pleasure

November 24 marked the 1 Year Anniversary of WILDHAIR. I honestly didn't realize the exact date I first embarked on this blog. Prior to blogging on blogspot, I had been writing and posting on Myspace. My hope by writing on blogspot was to gain a greater readership by broadening the spectrum. With over 12,000 hits, I suppose that wish came true. Although, the appeal of my writing hasn't caught on like wildfire. I admit I am not a writer, but I do relish putting my thoughts and perspective out there for others to peruse.

While looking back at my posts for some inspiration, I read a memory that was amongst the first posted on WILDHAIR. It fits in with an earlier query about the traditions we honor each holiday season.

Many of our family traditions unfortunately died when my mother passed away. It's sad, but our emotions and minds had become as scattered as the locales of my siblings. New people were brought into the fold and new traditions began. It is, by no means, a jab at the beauty my mother brought to our holidays. In fact, I hold them so sacred that I can't imagine anyone else, not even myself, doing them justice.

~~Momma's Christmas Eggnog~~
Ever since I can remember I have loved eggnog. While passing Fannie May Candies I eyed a sign in the window advertising their new item: Cheesecake. Like Homer Simpson spying a donut I muttered, "mmmm cheeeeesecake..." I adore cheesecake, too. Fannie May has brought together two of my favorite holiday treats! Eggnog cheesecake! Again, I mentally take on another character; Will Ferrell's Buddy the Elf. I was subconsciously singing in the mall, "CHEESECAKE! I loooooooooove cheesecake and eggnog..eggnog cheesecake.. I-WANT-TO- EAT- IT- NOW!" I'm sure my co-worker was unaware of the scenario blaring through my head. Had this truly happened I'm sure I'd still be explaining to mall security how I managed to escape from my straight jacket.

When did the love affair between eggnog and my taste buds first blossom? I can't recall the first time my tongue lapped up the delicious dairy-nog, but I assure you it was non-alcoholic. I do know that my mother made it from scratch. I cannot tell you how she concocted my most favorite and beloved holiday beverage. The treat she made far surpasses any gunk you can buy pre-made. Her's was smooth, not too heavy or thick. My taste buds were doing the dance of the Sugar Plum Faeries as it slid down my throat. She'd dollop frothy egg whites on top with a light dusting of nutmeg. My eyes would dance wildly with excitement just awaiting that first sip. Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve were the only occasions eggnog was brought to the buffet table. I suppose that made it all that more special to me and still is to this day.

Each Christmas season I am rabid for eggnoggy products. Eggnog to drink. I cut the commercial stuff with 2% milk...too thick. Eggnog Latte' at Starbucks. Eggnog ice cream at Oberweis. I bought a quart of Oberweis eggnog to add to my coffee in the morning. And now, Eggnog cheesecake at Fannie May. I'd probably use eggnog flavored toothpaste if it were on the market.

Eggnog brings me back to the happiness that was my childhood. The thrills of traditions created by my beautiful mother. Her image in the kitchen; singing her favorite Christmas songs. Her voice a sweet sound. Her song erased any sadness or disappointment I may have felt. Momma's Emeraude perfume lofting in the air. It's melodically stuck in my nasal cavity.

You see, drinking eggnog is more than just consumption of a holiday beverage for me. It's chocked full of beautiful memories. It's not only a memory of a punch bowl filled with a creamy concoction; it's recollection of admiration and love. Not only my regard toward my mother, but her regard to me as her child. She created memories that are sacred.

Everything was perfect at Christmastime. She taught me that wrapping a gift wasn't just a means to keep it secretive, it was to be done with loving care. Each fold of the paper was her way of giving of herself. Every gift inside was a piece of her heart and soul. My mother didn't haphazardly slap on wrapping, sloppily apply the tape or smack on a bow without care. She was an artiste.

She worked in customer service at Montgomery Ward when I was a wee tot. I loved going to see her there at Christmas. She was the master gift wrapper. I think people came to know she'd not only don their package with the shimmering foil paper, but she'd treat their purchases as if she'd bought them herself for someone special.

There was a lot to learn from my mom. I often wish she was here to counsel me in my day to day life. I suppose in many ways she does. She had far more patience than I. Mom could turn around any one's frown, sadness or dismay. I think over time it became a curse. No matter who she encountered, people loved her.

My Dad wrote a short Christmas story with my Mom as the main character. I hope to find a copy of it and share it here. After years of observing how my Mom pulled together Christmas (even if the money wasn't there), my Dad speculated that Santa had to be a woman; his wife. Mom created magic at Christmas. It was truly the most incredible homage any man could pay to his wife; the mother of his 8 children (after her death he remarried an extraordinary woman; through that union 2 more children blessed our family and new traditions would be made.)

Christmas is a glorious time overflowing with memories. Love is what abounds in my heart because of the unconditional love bestowed upon me by my parents. My enchanting mother taught me that Christmas is magic. It's not magic that comes from a wand or a potion. It's the magic you feel in your very soul.

Friday, November 28, 2008

ACK! Friday

Black Friday. Daunting term. I realize it supposedly marks the first massive spending day for the holiday season. This day, in theory, will stimulate the economy and encourage everybody to shop and spend their children's college fund (if they are so fortunate), or yank money out of their 401k to shower their family and friends with tons of gifts. If you're like someone I call Blondezilla, you buy loads of goodies for yourself to and you, at age 44, call your daddy and ask him to put more money in your account to cover the checks you wrote *giggle*. Barf!

Black Friday. Black Plague, Black Flag Ant & Roach Killer. Black Bart, Black Pearl the Pirate Ship. You get the point. The biggest day of shopping has an ominous tone in my world.

I do not enjoy shopping. I might splurge from time to time at Bath & Body Works when they are having one of their mega clearance sales. I will partake in a ridiculously marked down pair of shoes or boots. I am not a brand or designer name devotee.

I enjoy my sleep. It's a beautiful thing for me to sleep in. Hanging out at 4:00 a.m. with cranky, bitchy, rude women and their children who, in their anxiousness to save $30.00 on a PS3 or a ridiculously overpriced pair of jeans at Express, are still in pajamas and slippers! Oh.my.gah.!

Yes, the one year I braved the insanity with my sister and her daughters I saw just that. The clerks in the stores are not as overjoyed by the madness as the shoppers. Do the store associates get extra money? It's highly unlikely.

I'm not a fan of Black Friday. I applaud those of you who get a rush from waking up when most of us are just hitting our REM phase of sleep. I don't understand you, but I will give you kudos. I hope the economy benefits from your bravery. As for me, I'm in the comfort of my home (in my pjs) and watching a Starter Wife marathon while searching Amazon.com for deep cut discounts.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Hump Meme!

Thanks to the hilariously creative ladies at Plurk, I have this meme to occupy me. Yeah, I'm looking at you Cajunvegan, CitizenJaney and AsKatKnits.

TEN things you wish you could say to TEN different people right now:
1. Maybe if you hadn't lied you wouldn't be in this predicament.
2. Hypocrite! Party of YOU!
3. I hope karma bites your ass hard, you vindictive bitch!
4. Please, stop breaking my heart.
5. Seriously, get over yourself.
6. When I grace you with my presence, it has nothing to do with liking or respecting you.
7. My life would be meaningless without you in it.
8. I thought you were a compassionate guy. I realize you're nothing more than pathetic.
9. I might be fat, but you'll always be a c**t.
10. You really do enjoy the sound of your own voice, don't you?

NINE things about yourself:
1. I like very few people.
2. I got hit in the head by a merry-go-round when I fell off. I have a dent in my skull as a result.
3. I was 18 the first time I flew on an airplane ... and I was alone.
4. I can curl my tongue.
5. Math classes (and my density) have kept me from acquiring my degree.
6. When I laugh heartily I have been told I sound like a turkey.
7. I am remarkably shy around the opposite sex.
8. My ex husband left the hospital to eat and didn't return for well over an hour when I was in the worst phase of my induced labor. The cafeteria was across the hall. Maureen was there to save the day.
9. I want a huge party thrown in my honor when I die. Dance, laugh and love.


EIGHT ways to win your heart:
1. Be honest.
2. Accept me even when I show you all my warts.
3. Be dependable.
4. Treat me as if I've hung the moon and the stars.
5. Encourage me when I feel defeated.
6. Don't make fun of me when I cry.
7. Sing along with me in the car even if we don't know the words.
8. Listen.


SEVEN things that cross your mind a lot:
1. This would make (friend name) laugh really hard.
2. Don't eat that.
3. Why am I surrounded by people who clearly have no concept of respect.
4. I think God gave you an extra helping of stupid.
5. I should really clean house.
6. I can't do enough for her.
7. I'm not pissed off. What's wrong with this picture?


SIX things you do before you fall asleep:
1. Turn off the computer.
2. Check that the cats have food and water.
3. Urinate
4. Pray
5. Stretch.
6. Brush.


FIVE people you couldn’t live without:
1. Spenser
2. Maureen
3. My collective family
4. My friends
5. My online friends

FOUR things you’re wearing right now:
1. Red specs
2. Eggplant hued sweater
3. Black yoga pants
4. Boring white bra and undies


THREE songs that fit your life perfectly:
1. Defying Gravity -- Wicked Soundtrack
2. Walking On Sunshine -- Katrina and the Waves
3. You Don't Know me -- Jan Arden

TWO things you want to do before you die:
1. Watch my son graduate from college and lead a successully happy life.
2. Just ditto the 1st choice.

ONE confession: They say confession is good for the soul. I have found that confession, depending on whom you are telling, can lead to lonliness, abandonment and judgement.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

No bones about it

The following is a recipe our doctor at work shared. I'm pretty certain his wife made it the day he brought it in, but oh wowsers! I could have eaten the entire thing. I think with larger pieces of chicken it would be a most scrumptious casserole.

The Ingredients for No Bones Chicken Wing Dip



    • 1 pkg (8 oz.) cream cheese, softened

    • 2 cups (16 oz.) sour cream

    • 1 cup blue cheese salad dressing

    • 1/2 cup buffalo wing sauce (Louisiana)

    • 2 1/2 cubs shredded, cooked chicken

    • 1 block (8 oz.) provolone cheese, shredded

    • crackers, pita chips, celery, carrots -- whatever you like for dipping

  • In a large mixing bowl, beat the cream cheese, sour cream, salad dressing and buffalo wing sauce until blended.

  • Stir in chicken and provolone cheese

  • Transfer to a greased 2 qt. baking dish.

  • Cover and bake at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes or until hot and bubbly.

  • Serve warm -- yields 6 1/2 cups.

Driving Down Highway 40

I was checking out the vids on youtube because I was avoiding kitchen duty. The chili I made in the crock pot and consumed is settling heavily in my gut. Perhaps it was the second piece of corn bread. No matter, I have no desire to move.
While on the most popular video uploading site known to man (perhaps just me), I thought I'd find inspiration for a Thanksgiving post. My initial consideration was to share a pictorial montage set to the tune "Over the River and Through the Woods ..." You know the old standard song. No one knows the words beyond the introduction. The rest is just hummed or, in my case, made up to suit the mood.
With consideration to the knowledge that I am, by no means, a standard kind of girl, I thought of this little catchy song:
Now, before you go screwing up your face and say, "Marissa, what the hell does that song have to do with giving thanks? You screwball woman!" Let me explain. Man-cub and I are compadres. We travel together often. And in those times it's usually just the two of us. I had a coworker who downloaded a bunch of kooky tunes for me and "Driving Down Highway 40" happened to be on that compilation CD. Mancub was a mere 6 years old when I unleashed the sublime qualities of Brak. Oh, we'd seen Space Ghost Coast to Coast. But never had we heard that catchy sing-a-long ... and boy do we sing along.
We no longer need the accompaniment of the CD. Man-cub is well versed in all the verses. He has the voice characterizations down to a science. It's magical.
Without fail, when we're driving down highway 80, we break out into song. Yes, this song. It's our tradition. On Thanksgiving we'll be making our way to grandmother's house. There's no river or wood or snow to drive our front wheel drive sleigh through.
We don't have a big ol' pick up truck, but there's no doubt we'll be singing this at the top of our lungs until we're in a fit of laughter. It's a never fail remedy to the highway doldrums.

I'm thankful for Schweaty Balls

All day I haven't been able to get Schweaty's Balls out of my head. I blame Not A Mean Girl. On plurk, she informed us how she'd been up until 2:30 a.m. making various candies. That includes peanut butter and coconut balls. To which, I replied in that plurk "Schweaty Balls?"
On NAMG's blog post for today, she talks about how this exhausting tradition is what gives the holidays meaning. Without all the candy making there'd be an element missing. She inquires as to what traditions we hold dear around the holidays. I had to really think hard and I still came up with only one reply:
I show up for dinner and drinks when invited.
Pretty stellar stuff, huh?
My childhood memories always involve traditions or expectations put forth by my mother. Every Thanksgiving our family alternated being host with our aunt and uncle. I preferred going to their house because 1) it seemed like we were really going somewhere even though they only lived across town 2) my cousin had vintage Barbies with oodles of ensembles. 3) their basement was finished so we could separate ourselves from the adults. 4) new neighborhood kids to run around with when the adults grew tired of us making so much noise that the football game was interrupted and we were threatened within an inch of our lives.
Our present and not so distant past holidays have always (usually) been spent in the ease and comfort of someone else's home. While we lived in Georgia I would make a small feast for the Man cub and myself. I invited those who were singles, but they usually had previous invites. We would manage a return trip to the hometown of Kankakee to be with family, but finances prevented that from happening often.
Currently, there is never a doubt where we'll go for Thanksgiving: Grandma's in Plainfield. We pig out; we veg out. Typically games are played after dinner has cemented itself to our colons. Grandma is prone to corrupting the youth by teaching them how to play poker. She even doles out the dough to make the game more interesting. I, on the other hand, am completely and uttering incapable of learning any card game beyond Old Maid. No, wait. I am an old maid. I can play Go Fish. While the kids and some adults play Texas Hold 'Em, I'm in the living room searching for a musical or old movie to enjoy while I sip on wine.
I don't think my tradition is so awful or nearly as superficial as it might have initially seemed. It's well spent with those I love.
Please don't forget about the fabulous contest being sponsored by the incredible bloggers of plurk. I should mention, and I hope I'm not speaking out of turn when I say that this inspirational and selfless contest is the brain child of the beautiful woman I mention in my post today: Not a Mean Girl. ::applause::

As Kat Knits

Passion Parties by Alana

PQ Nation

Confessions of a Middle Aged Surburban Diva

Popping Bubbles

SU Comments

Random Ramblings of a Stay At Home Mom

I Read Banned Books

The Daily Douz

Puntiglio

Puntiglio Bookshelf

Three Ring ‘Surf’Ace

and Andrea’s Internet Cafe

Monday, November 24, 2008

Maybe, just maybe ...

This was sent to me by my sister's dearest friend Kris. I'm fortunate to have her as a friend and confidante, too. She never fails to send me such things on days like today.

Today was a very frustrating workday. It seemed those who are expected to be informative and professional lost all comprehension and ability to serve the customer. Perhaps it was just my perspective and I'm being a bit harsh. I can only say that from my point of view, I was asked inane questions and interrupted numerous times. This, in turn, caused my own work to be delayed and I was left rushing. When I rush and can't concentrate, mistakes are made. When I am derailed, and keep in mind I'm a slave to the clock ticking away, I get irritable and unfriendly. I'm curt and dismissive. My psycho vein visible throbs on the left side of my head. It's not pretty and people eventually get the idea that it's best to seek the help of someone who isn't me. I have a job to do. One hour to do it. You might recall that I've been trying to maintain calm at work. I think last week's perkifest was just too much.


Maybe . . . We were supposed to meet the wrong people
before meeting the right one so that, when we finally
meet the right person, we will know how to be grateful
for that gift.

Maybe . . . When the door of happiness closes, another
opens; but, often times, we look so long at the closed
door that we don't even see the new one which has been
opened for us.

Maybe . . . It is true that we don't know what we have
until we lose it, but it is also true that we don't
know what we have been missing until it arrives.

Maybe . . . The happiest of people don't necessarily
have the best of everything; they just make the most
of everything that comes along their way.

Maybe . . . The brightest future will always be based
on a forgotten past; after all, you can't go on
successfully in life until you let go of your past
mistakes, failures and heartaches.

Maybe . . . You should dream what you want to dream;
go where you want to go, be what you want to be,
because you have only one life and one chance to do
all the things you dream of, and want to do.

Maybe . . . There are moments in life when you miss
someone -- a parent, a spouse, a love, a friend, a
child -- so much that you just want to pick them from
your dreams and hug them for real, so that once they
are around you appreciate them more.

Maybe . . . The best kind of friend is the kind you
can sit on a porch and swing with, never say a word,
and then walk away feeling like it was the best
conversation you've ever had.

Maybe . . . You should always try to put yourself in
others' shoes. If you feel that something could hurt
you, it probably will hurt the other person, too.

Maybe . . . you should do something nice for someone
every single day, even if it is simply to leave them
alone.
Maybe . . . giving someone all your love is never an
assurance that they will love you back. Don't expect
love in return; just wait for it to grow in their
heart; but, if it doesn't, be content that it grew in
yours.

Maybe . . . Happiness waits for all those who cry, all
those who hurt, all those who have searched, and all
those who have tried, for only they can appreciate the
importance of all the people who have touched their
lives.

Maybe . . . You shouldn't go for looks; they can
deceive; don't go for wealth; even that fades away! Go
for someone who makes you smile, because it takes only
a smile to make a dark day seem bright. Find the one
that makes your heart smile :-)

Maybe . . . You should hope for enough happiness to make
you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough
sorrow to keep you human, and enough hope to make you
happy

Maybe . . . You should try to live your life to the
fullest because when you were born, you were crying
and everyone around you was smiling but when you die,
you can be the one who is smiling and everyone around
you crying.

Maybe. . . You could send this message to those people
who mean something to you, to those who have touched your life, to those
who can and do make you smile when you really need it, to those who make
you see the brighter side of things when you are really down, and to all
those whom you want to know that you appreciate them and their
friendship, and even to those who just simply need to hear these
Maybes... in hopes that it changes their lives in some positive way.



Sunday, November 23, 2008

Christmas + Plurk + Bloggers = WINNERS!




I have mentioned a little social network site called PLURK fairly often. I have met some of the most interesting, diverse, whip-smart, witty, compassionate people via that site. It's proof that there is more to the Internet than porn!

Some of these fabulous pleeps (as they are referred to plurk + people = pleeple) have put their amazing noggins together to come up with this fantastic contest. It's easy. I know I'm behind on the draw to get the word out, but it's not too late! Just follow the rules below. You'll discover some truly interesting blogs while getting a crack at winning prizes! WOOT! Win/Win!



Now, the rules. You can enter once per participating blog per day. Entries are simple… just comment on our post for the day. If you blog and would like to post about our contest, doing so will get you 5 extra entries. There will be 2 winners. Each winner will need to give us a mini bio of your family. (Ages, genders, wants, needs, likes) and we will buy prizes accordingly. Prizes will be wrapped for under the tree and sent post haste! Comments and posts from Sunday November 23 through November 26th will be taken as entries. Black Friday we will announce the winners!!!!
The following Blogs are participating in this prize package!
As Kat Knits
Passion Parties by Alana
PQ Nation
Confessions of a Middle Aged Surburban Diva
Popping Bubbles
SU Comments
Random Ramblings of a Stay At Home Mom
I Read Banned Books
The Daily Douz
Puntiglio
Puntiglio Bookshelf
Three Ring ‘Surf’Ace
and
Andrea’s Internet Cafe
Go. Comment. Blog! Two folks are going to get one fabuloso prize package!

Hear ye! Hear ye!


This might become a regular Sunday event on this here little Wildhair thing I present. I'm fairly inconsistent, but I might be able to pull off one thing that's an expectation.
For whatever reason, when I was a regular attendee of church services, I enjoyed reading the announcements and happenings within the community. Deep down I think I was hoping for some hilarious typo or poorly worded phrase to send into Jay Leno.
So, without further ado, I give you a synopsis of my week and upcoming events:

Monday wasn't too eventful. However, I was discussing, with co-workers, an unfortunate situation for Mancub at school. A near crisis had arisen the week prior. It's a difficult place for him to be. He is a minority in his school. He's also soft-hearted and bigger than the rest of the kids. They seem to enjoy toying with him. He tries hard to keep cool, but it's not easy when other animals join in the frenzy. Last week he called me from school. Apparently, some nimrod called him a 'fat ass' and others joined in the barrage of insults. He immediately went to the office terribly upset. His counselor was available and allowed him to call me. He is slightly overweight. He's 6'1" and 225 lbs. Regardless of that, he shouldn't have to endure daily harassment. I'm upset by it all and admit that neither of us are exactly active people. I've battled the bulge every day of my adult life. With that, and to make a short story long, I expressed my longing for a treadmill or some indoor exercise equipment. My co-worker, Donna, perked up and announced that she had a treadmill sitting in her shed unused. It was given to her and now she would like to give it to me. It's a Nordic-Track, but not motorized. I told her, "My butt isn't motorized, either. I think I can handle it." So, we are getting a FREE treadmill. YEA!!

On Tuesday, November 18, I took my sister Maureen to Oakbrook for a C-scan. This was to determine the size of the tumor for which she has been receiving chemo. Thus far, she has endured four rounds (back to back-2day treatments.) It took longer to drive to the location than it took for the technician to do their thing. Lunch at Burger King followed. She was jonesin' for a fish sammy. I had the Whopper sans cheese. I should have forgone the onions *burp*

Later that day, Mancub and I ventured into the big city aka CHICAGO to finally see Wicked. I'm certain we are the last to see it in our circle of family and friends. I hadn't been given great detail about what took place on the stage other than, "you just have to see it and experience it." That was good enough for me. It's due to Maureen's generosity and graciousness that we were able to possess tickets in the 11th row, orchestra section. I could see Fiyero's thigh muscles, Elphaba's facial expressions beneath the green make-up, and the intricate quirkiness of Galinda's fair face. We experienced together, the Mancub and I .... with laughter, tears, awe. I've had difficulty writing about the manner in which this show affected me. I well up with tears. That's all I can say about that for now.
Two days of little to no excitement. Sorry. But wait! Friday gets better.
I texted Maureen on my way to work. I knew she was going to Loyola for the results of the C-scan. Although she feels the tumor is shrinking, it's the oncologist's final call. "Good vibes for today. xoxo" with that she returned "thnx." I knew she was nervous. I was nervous. She's endured nausea and so many days of just feeling like shit. There is no other way of expressing it. So, pardon my lack of eloquence.
I was working. My day was normal. Slow and I was about to leave for the day when I spied my sister and Kris waving at the lab window. I met them on the retail floor. Their faces weren't glum when I asked about the appointment. It's shrinking. That bastardy son of a bitch muther fucking tumor is decreasing in size!! It's not huge shrinkage, but it's significant enough that they know the chemotherapy is doing its job. PRAISE GOD! PRAISE GOD!
With the news relayed, I threw my arms around my sister and hugged her as I wept. I couldn't speak any other word than, "yea!"
The three of us stood beaming as business went on as usual.
It's been a good week. Go forth. Be green. Praise God. DEFY GRAVITY!
Defying Gravity - Idina Menzel

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Insert Charlie Brown's teacher's voice here

There are days when that's all I can muster. Charlie Brown's teacher never said anything other than, "Wah-wah-wah-wah." Today, that is all I have the spirit to say.
I think I worked too hard being perky and chipper at work this week. It's not that I'm miserable and always spitting venom. It boils down to me making a grand attempt at making myself happier by exuding a more positive energy. In doing so, I feel spent.
With great sincerity, I am working toward being a kinder person. It's not often an easy task seeing the positive in the people you absolutely do no respect. I look to the heavens for guidance and patience -- and forgiveness.
I'm still mumbling under my breath, but doing so far less. I've been singing again. At work, that is. That is my tactic for reducing how much negativity I hear. I go to my happy place when I'm singing. I find joy when people laugh at my fractured lyricism. It's grand to have them beg me to shut up. All the while they are giggling in their pleas.
Rather than sitting back and watching crap hit the fan, I have taken active steps at becoming part of the solution. It sucks. I don't want to be a responsible adult. However, I have little to no respect when I hear the words, "Not my problem." or "Not my job." Or "Not in my job description." or "that's not within my pay scale."
::grumble grumble::
On a brighter note I was able to obtain MP3s of one of the most brilliant and delightful CDs ever produced. Dude, on this gem you get Steve and Eydie singing Soundgarden's "Black Hole Sun." Righteous. I would tell you where I got them, but I'd have to hold you down and, one by one, pluck out your nose hairs. Torture. You'd be crying like a little girl and wish you'd never asked.
The CD in question is ... Lounge-A-Palooza. Big secret when I have the cover photo right over there. Yeah, the cd is brilliant. I, on the other hand, am tired and not feeling clever. Anywho, if you don't know what I'm talking about, then I think it's time you got schooled. My imeem profile has all the tracks perfectly nestled in a neat playlist. It's all there for your listening pleasure.

Friday, November 21, 2008

My Joyful Heart

My son is 14 years old. When I overhear other parents discussing the tribulations of having a teen, I can only beam with pride. Like his mama, Man-cub is content being a solo artist. Much of that has to do with him being diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome when he was in 2nd grade. He's social enough to satisfy his need for communication. Should he encounter another kid who is into Yu-Gi-OH! trading cards and games, he'll relish the moment and beg for a rousing card duel. Otherwise, video games and his love of cartoons is all he needs.
Due to having Asperger's, he has struggled with school. He's never failed a subject, but he requires extra attention and focus to complete the daily work. If it's a writing assignment, he flounders because it requires so much focus to keep his mind on the subject matter. His teachers tell me when it comes to oral essays he is brilliant. His mind and body work in unison. When it's a written essay, the thoughts become jumbled and deviate by the time it reaches the tip of the pencil. As a result, his answers are short.
The last time he managed to be on the honor roll was 4th grade. He is now in 8th grade. Although his grades in the past few years have been acceptable and I've been mighty proud, he has maintained them well enough to be on the HONOR ROLL.
Last week I picked up the mail and, in my box, was a letter sized envelope with a return address from his school. I sat in the car with the Man-cub in the passenger seat. I showed him the envelope and asked, "Will there be any surprises in here?" With that he shot me an unknowing look.
I peeled back the flap and slipped the single page from the envelope. With one eye opened I spied the contents. My jaw dropped. As a child of two parents who struggled desperately to get passing grades in mathematics, I am in awe that we produced a child who, without effort receives a B+. With the exception of one C+ in Language Arts (lots of writing required), he is all A's and B's.
Tears. Tears. Tears.
His face fell when the tears streamed down my cheeks, "Mom, I'm sorry."
"No... these are tears of pride! You are so awesome!"
Without me sitting and helping him each night to complete his homework assignments and without resource class, he has achieved grades I only dreamed of earning. He's become responsible for his grades. He has gained more control over his own mind. He's harnessed the energy. He's become focused. Without medication and only relying upon behavior modification, he is finally reaping the rewards of his efforts.
His unique qualities and the manner in which he sees the world hasn't been stifled. His teachers have embraced his quirks and managed to guide him to a higher level of education.
Two days after receiving his phenomenal report card, he was going through his back-pack. Oh, this is for you. He tosses a bumper sticker my way that reads "(his school name) HONOR STUDENT"
Yep. More tears of joy. My son rocks.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Infatuation Junky?


"The essence of love begins when infatuation ends." ~ Unknown
As elementary school children, we develop likes for boys or girls. When it's unrequited these likes are referred to as crushes. Or, when the other person is unaware of your affections it's a crush or secret crush. Unfortunately, as we age, the premise doesn't change. Oh, we might have more courage in expressing ourselves, but the bottom line it's downright frightening to embark upon the unknown and risk having your heart torn to shreds.

When I was married, I'd get crushes on his friends, male acquaintances, or co-workers. The expectation was that the lines of decency would never be crossed. After all, what might the point be? I surmise that their flirtation and attention filled a void. Had I accepted or invited their advances, it would create a seriously disturbing situation. I admit that in the back of my mind I felt my (ex) husband would resent me for fouling up his friendship more than it would concern him that our marital vows had been mutilated.

It's nearing the end of 2008 and I'm single. Still. The document of divorce was stamped in December '99. Is something amiss? There's no doubt that I am free to pursue whomever might strike my fancy. Sure, there are limits. Married men and men who are otherwise engaged are respectfully out of my grasp. Should I develop a crush on such a man, I consider them harmless and they are painlessly unrequited. I can easily deal with that.
Currently, I do not have any serious infatuations. Oh sure, I participate in the sportive suggestion that Gerard Butler or John Cusack is my boyfriend. That's not the sort of fondness with which I concern myself.
The Internet provides us the ability make introductions with someone on the other side of the globe. For whatever reason, I manage to find those guys. The unattainable. It's highly unlikely that anything will mature out of that exchange. Right? The interim of flirting and friendship satiates my ego. Is that so bad?
In the past several years, I've had countless long distance crushes. Obtaining a relationship status, for the most part, was merely discussed, but left to flounder and eventually fade. By the same turn, many have evolved into friendships because the object of my affection found a woman nearby who aptly suited his needs. The emails and/or phone calls would subside and we'd ease into acquainted pen-pals. The sexual undertones of the correspondence and conversation would be replaced with tales of children, pets, jobs and mortgages.

Here's the crux of such an entanglement. My penchant for long distant infatuations: Does it really say more about me than mere whimsy. I've often questioned my ability to commit. I'm not saying that I don't put my all into a relationship. I do. When I'm in it, I sincerely and wholeheartedly give myself to him/us/it. Yet, I've never had one remarkable, long-term relationship other than my marriage. I am a serial dater/serial crusher. I think it says a lot less about them (the men). It's about me. This begs the question: Am I sporting a serious emotional defect? It seems that I'm drawn to impossible relationships like a moth to the flame. And you know what happens when a nocturnal lepidopteran insect flys into the fire? Sizzle. Unlike the scorched moth, I blister a little, heal and get back in the game.
"No matter how lovesick a woman is, she shouldn't take the first pill that comes along." ~ Dr. Joyce Brothers
Yes, yes. I know. Love will come to me when the stars are in alignment and all that jazz. I ought not think about it so much and love will find me. I'm not inclined to continuously lower the bar. Playing limbo was indeed tempting back when I had greater flexibility. And hoo-boy! Let me tell you, that bar often dropped mighty low; yet, I foolishly stayed in the game.

Here's the bottom line: With each attempt and failure, I haven't been deterred from being hopeful. I have momentary declarations where I start singing a la Dionne Warwick. Discouraged? Sure. Human girl here. Even if I am one with the emotional defect, I figure there's someone out there who'll match me.

Wicked busy day

Yesterday I was wicked busy. I can't get into it all right now because the work-a-beast is sneaking up behind me and it's necessary that I get my fanny in gear. Lydia, I am not shirking my responsibilities as a NaBloPoMo participant! I'll write double today for what I missed yesterday.

In the meantime, I leave you with this image:


Monday, November 17, 2008

Oh, my achin' head

I have serious noggin' throb. I blame the barometric pressure. It seems to have an effect on my cranium. Temperature change? Thump thump thump. I'm sure I need a new mattress. I could use a chiropractor. A massage wouldn't hurt. I have Advil and a heating pad.
Sunday was a day of feeling puny. So, much of it was spent on the couch. I was feeling Christmassy for some bizarre reason. The Man-cub and I selected CHRISTMAS VACATION to watch while I zoned out. Boy, did I zone out! I swear the couch injected me with a sleep serum the minute Chevy Chase got the blasted lights to illuminate. I awoke in time for Aunt Bethany to belt out "play ball!" Zoinks!!
This morning I awoke feeling relatively well. I sent the boy off to school and got comfy. Where? On the couch, of course. I was cozy with my two faux fur throw blankets and watched Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story. I could have gone the rest of my life not seeing it. The next flick on the mini-screen at casa de Riss? WAR, INC. That's the semi-controversial John Cusack movie. Hilary Duff makes a screen appearance totally opposite her Lizzy Maguire period. She's good. The movie is awesome. I love THE Cusack, but there's more to that movie than his presence. I need to watch it again to catch more of the subtle messages. I'm not politically savvy.
Prior to viewing WAR, INC. there were previews. I normally zip through those; paying no attention. However, this time I let it go because my head started to throb and I realized I hadn't injected myself with caffeine (what was I thinking?) An Aaron Eckhart movie called Meet Bill caught my eye. Immediately, I added it to my Netflix queue. Indie films are rapidly becoming must sees in my domain. I picked up something from the post office today, but I haven't opened it. I love the surprise! I think, however, it might be a Johnny Depp/Christina Ricci film: The Man Who Cried. I'll let you know how that one impresses me.
It's time for me to turn in. How do I know? My shoulders and middle back are aching. This is a common occurrence after working. I'm tall. The machines I work with are not. Well, they are not raised high enough for my height. I crouch or slouch all day. I'm constantly rolling my shoulders back and trying to relieve the stress between my shoulder blades. Sometimes i have no problem. Throw in the chill in the air and voila! Instant back tension. Sitting here typing only makes matters worse.
In honor of my aching head and back, I will leave you with this homage to pain:

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Charleston Elves

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

DO IT! Go Elf Yourself!

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Sunday Stroll Down Memory Lane

If you don't already know it, I was one of eight children growing up. I was the baby. By the time my memory of childhood kicked in, the two eldest children were on their way out the door and the third in line was about to get married. I have vague recollection of life before Kindergarten.
I know my sister Maureen would be able to clarify how old I was when Dad built an ice rink in our backyard. That would be the same year where I got double bladed ice skates for Christmas. My trainer skates. I would dream of taking figure skating lessons and being able to gracefully twirl and leap like Peggy Fleming.
Our community park district used to freeze the tennis courts at the park less than a mile away from our house. It sat along the Kankakee River which provided a picturesque backdrop in the snowy winters. We'd bundle up and sling our skates over our shoulders and make tracks to join the neighborhood kids. The older boys would line up barrels and attempt to jump them. I would stand off to the side to cheer on my big brother Mike.
The park district also provided wood and fuel, I assume Kerosene, for a bonfire. The fire was always unattended. It was left to the skaters to stoke the fire and throw more wood on when necessary. Oh, I'm sure there was a park worker or recreation director that would check it from time to time. Because I was with my older siblings, I was at their mercy of when I could return home. Despite being bundled up like Randy in "A Christmas Story," I would get chilled if I wasn't in motion.
I distinctly remember one occasion when I realized I had the best guardian angel ever! All the kids were on the ice jumping barrels, practicing their spins or just lazily skating along socializing. I wanted to go home, but my big brother was in the heat of barrel jumping. The fire was dying and wasn't radiating enough heat for me to feel the warmth. I sat on a large log waiting for a grown up to come stoke the fire. As my shivering increased, so did my need to be resourceful. I spied the can of Kerosene. I had watched the older kids do this plenty of times. It was a piece of cake! Making sure no one was around to see me, I lifted the big can and unscrewed the cap. The smell was overwhelming. With my wool mittens still on, one hand on the handle and the other on the base stability .... I made a sweeping motion to hurl the liquid from the can to the dwindling fire. With a big slosh, the liquid went onto the fire and on my mittens, boots, snow pants. WOOOSH! Flames rose to the tree branches and I dropped the can. Fortunately, it didn't topple over and spill. I gasped and denied ever doing a thing when I was asked what had happened. I know I reeked of lighter fluid or Kerosene or gas. I can't recall what happened afterwards. I only know that I was scared back to my senses and never touched another fire like that again.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Tag Teamed

The social network known as Plurk has afforded me the opportunity to encounter utterly fascinating, intelligent, diverse individuals. Today, I have been tagged by two particularly lovely women. First up, Not A Mean Girl. She is genuinely kind and warm. She's the person who puts her heart and soul out there for all to see. For that, I admire her.

Second tagger is Yoonamaniac. She considers herself a misanthrope. I can respect that self-label. However, I just see her as someone who is very discerning with whom she lets in her life. I can totally dig that.

Here are the rules:
Step #1 - Link to the person who tagged you. See above.
Step #2 - Write Five Fun/Interesting Facts about yourself. This gives fellow bloggers (and your readership) a chance to actually get to know you better.

1. I was cursedly nicknamed Sarah Heartburn when I was a little girl. It's a name play on the silent film actress Sarah Burnhardt. Apparently, I was quite dramatic and cried easily. I'm sure it was earnest emotion, but they figured I was an attention starved little girl. I'm the youngest of eight kids. Attention wasn't always easy to come by! To be honest, I still cry easily, but not at the drop of a hat or for attention. I blame my marriage and its demise as a contributing factor in hardening my heart a little bit..


2. I suffered frost bite in my fingers when I was a about 7 years old. I had gone sledding with my older brother and cousin. Back in the early '70s there was no such thing as waterproof mittens. My wool mittens were soaked and the temperature dropped. I recall waiting in a phone booth and calling my aunt to come pick us up. While waiting, I took off my right mitten and noticed my middle finger was white and numb. I stuck my finger in my mouth in an attempt to warm it and, with my pointy canine tooth, I accidentally bit the frozen flesh. I can still envision the blood surfacing. When I finally got home, mom took me to the bathroom and I soaked my hands in cool water. Then, luke warm and finally I regained feeling. We never went to the hospital or doctor for it. To this day I have circulation issues. My hands turn ghastly, corpse like white when I'm chilled. Sometimes, it occurs when I've simply been idle for too long. Creepy.


3. Every piece of furniture in my home is second and third hand. There is nothing other than my computer desk that is first hand-purchased by me. Even the computer I use is second hand. If not for the generosity of family and friends I would not have the creature comforts of couches, chairs, beds and television. Yep. Even my TV is a throw away. MY former brother-in-law found it sitting on the curb. He asked the owner if she was tossing it and for what reason. If memory serves me correctly, she told him they broke or lost the remote for it.

4. As a teenager I was often told I resembled Brooke Shields. I never saw it, but I had no problem hearing it.

5. I can't remember hearing my mother say "I love you." I have no doubts that she did and said it, but by the time she passed away, she was in severe pain (cancer) and unable to handle much. The last time I saw her was in ICU. When I hugged her for the last time I caused her physical pain and she pushed me away and asked me to leave. In her defense, she was heavily medicated with morphine. I was 15.

Bonus: In spite of what interesting facts you just read, I am a happy girl. I love my life and I cherish each moment I am blessed to be on earth. My son is the greatest joy ever brought given to me from God. I wouldn't trade my past because I find no use in wishing for do-overs. I know my parents did the best they could in raising me with the resources they were given.

Have no fears readers and bloggers and friends ... oh my! I am not tagging. I think I'm the last of many to have been given this challenge. Feel free to comment and tell me something groovilcious about yourself!

Friday, November 14, 2008

For Those About to Rock!

Here are the fantabulous results of the album cover meme:

~pritcharddesign ~






~kevin~


~robyn~

Thanks for playing along, kids!

Hmmph. I really had hoped more people would have done this exercise in easy creativity. But nooooo. Criminitly! I guess I'll try the "tag! you're it!" method of intimidation and obligation next time.

Ass Ass Baby

This week has been weird. I'm pretty much in full on snark, kiss my ass mode. I've had to refrain from expelling it at work after having taken an online human resource course. Mandatory, mind you. Apparently I'm considered a supervisor. Go me. I'm a supervisor when it's convenient. Again, go me.

Needless to say, due to said HR seminar, I am watching my p's and q's. Man, it's hard. For a girl who consistently mutters the f-bomb under her breath, I'm a freakin' atom bomb waiting to explode. I rattle off a stream of expletives when people get on my last nerve. At work, that doesn't take long. I keep it low and I'm pretty sure no one actually hears me call them asshatmoronstupidmutherfuckingdipshit. I know, I know. My blog is usually very family friendly. Well, it's at least mostly PG-13 to PG. But damn it, I'm sick of holding my tongue.

I am comfortable stating that my workplace is the antithesis of Disney World. Happiest place on Earth meet the most pathetic and dismal place of all. At least if you listen to the people with whom I work you'd think many of them were seconds away from washing down a bottle of prescription pain killers with a fifth of Drano. I pray none of them are actually to that point. I'm simply stating that it's rare to hear something positive and blessed ooze from their pie-holes. I find it really unbearable. So, my therapeutic release comes in the form of puking vulgarities. I just wish someone was around to hold my hair back when I'm in full Linda Blair mode.

Obviously, the world is filled with asshats. If not for them, people like me might appear to be less even keeled and thoughtful.

Yesterday while driving to work my friendly gas indicator light went on. It makes this delightful chime, too. Great! I'm pretty sure I can make it the 10 mile commute to work without issue, but I'd definitely have to fill up after work. There's a Shell gas station across the road from where I work. I figured at 5:00 pm it would be busy. I anticipated having to wait behind other people filling up with the newly reduced gas prices. Groovy. I can be patient for Joe the commuter to fill his tank. What I had no patience for was the Michigan travelers who were not filling up, but checking their oil while parked in the gas lane. This was not one lane they were blocking, but TWO! While I sit there waiting along with the other unlucky fool who chose the other blocked lane, other people are zipping in and out with smiles on their faces because they had the good fortune to pull in behind someone using a credit card and not requiring routine maintenance on their 1987 Chevy P.O.S. Son of a ...!!

I ended up heading toward another gas station about 2 miles away. I cursed venomous things. I'm certain by that point I had begun speaking in tongues. Remember, I had just left work where I'd been biting my bubblegum tongue to a point of nearly bleeding! OY! The benefit of going to another gas station is that it was 5 cents cheaper. I felt like a victor while my blood was boiling. I calmed down by the time I arrived home to be greeted by the adorable Man-cub. He knows I need chill time before he starts bombarding me with questions and inquiries of what we'll be having for dinner. **deep breath**

Tonight on the way home from work I was listening to the radio. Normally I listen to music on my iPod. The radio station I had on is something new. It comes in clearly and that's about all I require. Well, that and it can't be country or hip hop/dance crap. The DJ had some feature "Five things you need to know before the weekend." Number five (I can't remember the other four) was announcing that Rob Van Winkle aka Vanilla Ice will be releasing a 13 track CD. One track will be the original "Ice Ice Baby." Three more will be RE-MIX version of "Ice Ice Baby." This is just another who, why, what the f*ck!?! moment. Seriously, is it necessary?
I look at it this way:

In a week where douchebaggetiness has been sprinkled about like Tinkerbell's fairy dust, I'd say the news of Vanilla Ice making a return is quite fitting ... kick it!

Thursday, November 13, 2008

What to do? What to write?

There comes a time when I actually run out of thing to say or comment about. Sometimes I'm outrageously observant. Today is not one of those days. I'm highly irritable for no profound reason. I guess my inner child wants to sulk.
For the past few days I've been playing a low-energy cat and mouse game with Savannah Blue Eyes. It's just something we do a couple of times a year. It makes no sense, but we're only hurting ourselves. Neither of us is dating. He'll never follow through on threats he makes to just show up on my doorstep; I can't afford to show up on his. Not only that, but the time I actually get my poop in a group and try to pull off the romantic move of my century, he'll have a girlfriend and I would have flown on El Cheapo airlines to be rejected. No thank you.
Blue Eyes and I hung up the emails and talked on le telephono. We caught up with what our children are doing. He shared his cavemanesque political views and I laughed at him. He forgets I'm not a conservative Georgia girl. He was born and raised in New York. His love of hunting and gun possession has him always voting Republican. Oy!
What can I say? I fell for his handsome looks and charm. Plus, his hands are so big they could easily cup my boob like Shaq palms a basketball. I felt petite in his presence. For anyone who knows me or has been in my presence, you know that's not an easy feat.
Oh-bla-dee. Oh-bla-dah!

About two weeks ago I decided my spare bedroom needed a severe cleaning. The fact that I could barely open the door was shameful. What truly inspired the clean up was the atrocity I like to call my closet. I live in a very old house. The master bedroom closet is an L shaped walk-in. I think it had been a changing room at one point because it isn't equipped with an organizer doo-hickey. There's a rod where I can hang clothes. An over the door shoe organizer There were shoes strewn about the floor. Seriously, it was disgusting.
There were shoes that I'd long forgotten about. Many pairs of shoes were clearly purchased for their low, low price. I'm sure I rationalized that even if I only wore them once they'd be worth the price. WRONG! The photo to the left is proof of such an atrocity. The appear to be moccasins, but they are equipped with a kitten heel. Ooh, sexy. Nothing says 'take me sailor' like a bejeweled pair of suede, kitten heeled shoes in black, hot pink or neon green. OY! Not to mention they were terribly uncomfortable.
By the time I finished my clean and reorganize project, I had 2 huge boxes of shoes and a large green garbage bag of clothing ready to be donated.
The spare bedroom is now a teen lounge for Man-cub. A twin sized futon and a clam shell chair provide seating. His 13 inch color TV and video game units are all set up. The only thing missing is a lava lamp. Oh, and ridding the walls of the hideous 70s green and yellow flower wallpaper. Sadly, that nightmare has to remain as I only rent this joint. Little Dude doesn't complain. He's just glad he has a place to retreat when I'm watching Marx Brother's movies or other black and white movies that "just don't do it for me, mom."
So, I guess I had a little bit to blather on about after all. Have a groovy day.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Anal bum covers for $500.

This is a fun project I did earlier this year. If you're curious, you can back blog to view it. I felt the need for random creativity. I hope you'll participate and reveal your creation for all to see.
Ready? Set? Start clicking!


1. Click on this link. The title of the page is the name of your band.
2. Click on this link. The last four words of the final quotation on the page are the title of your album.

3. Click on this link. The third picture is your album cover.
4. Take the pic, add your band name and album title and tada! (this final step requires photo shop or other image editing software)Let me know in the comments if you created one. If you don't have the software for such time passing leave your results in the comments. Tell me the name of your band, the album title & describe your cover art. We'll have an imaginary blogapaloooooza.
Here is the beautimus result of my randomosity:

Tickled Pink

Today was a very dreary, cold day in Kankakee, Illinois. When I walked to the garage sleet was pelting me in the face. Thank God for my smelly mousse application. It made my hair poofy enough that my skull wasn't damaged by the ice particles falling.
For a reason totally unknown to me *coughplurkingcough* I was late to work by twelve minutes. I'm usually Jenny on the Spot when it comes to getting to work. I was so surprised by my own tardiness that I exclaimed, "whoa! I'm really late!" To which my co-worker nodded and said, "Yeah. You really are." I felt scolded. But not to worry. She didn't care and due to it being Veterans Day, a trip to the bank wasn't required.
Many customers were waiting outside the gate like the zombies in Dawn of Dead. It's a nightmarish sight for us. It's especially frustrating when they over exaggerate the motion of looking at their watches. Our clocks are computerized and we go by that time, grandpa.
With the onslaught of customers comes glasses needing to be made in about an hour. I was the only tech in the lab. So, I was on my A-game but really feeling less than humored. A holiday, people. Home office sends out a big honkin' memo stating MAKE SURE YOU STAFF UP FOR VETERANS DAY. Unhuh. I guess I'm staff enough.
It was when I heard the local radio station's news report that everything took a turn for the giggly. Typically, news of car accidents and DUI arrests don't amuse me. Hearing "Taps" being played while they reported about the local Veteran's Day celebration made my stomach churn. Having experienced a military funeral this summer, it was almost more than I could stand this morning.
I felt as dreary as the weather. That is, until the newscaster told this story: A young man, aged 28, was arrested for suspected drug possession. It was discovered that he had a previous drug charge. During a search, they found crack in his pants.

Bonus Tickle: HONEYBAKED HAM'S radio ad catch phrase: "It's a shame you have to swallow"

Monday, November 10, 2008

Super Wal-Mart; Major FAIL!

I avoid going to Wal-Mart as much as possible. There are times,however, that necessitate embarking on a courageous endeavor to the Land of Sam. Yesterday was one of those times.

Man-cub is a collector of Yu-Gi-OH! cards. If you don't' know what they are; please don't ask me. Think baseball cards for the anime' age -- sans bubblegum.

Anyway, the boy wanted to pick up a new set and Wal-Mart, he was certain, had the cards he wanted. So me, being uber cool and very accommodating, figured I'd pick up some toiletries, groceries, window washer fluid, a tire gauge and anything else that caught my frugal eye. WOO! Wal-Mart, after all, is the sink hole of dancing smiley faces guaranteeing something or other involving value.

Man-cub quickly located the desired cards and found me perusing the less than impressive meat selection. He plopped them in the cart and, per the norm, asked if he could go to electronics to play games. "I'm not going to ask to buy a game. I just want to kill time while you shop." Who can argue that? And he's a young man of his word.

My choices for Sunday's dinner were growing slimmer and slimmer. I wanted pot roast, but refuse to pay astronomical prices for cow. I settled for pork chops. They'll do fine in the crock pot. I didn't fill my cart, but I got the essentials. NO! Nutella isn't absolutely necessary, but I've heard so many people discussing their orgasmic experiences with the stuff that I needed to put it in my cupboard. Goodness knows there ain't nothin' else hap'nin in my dusty Old Mother Hubbard (if you know what I mean.)

I digress.

The boy likes to have popcorn to snack on. I prefer a specific brand of microwave popcorn. Wal-mart SUPER CENTER would surely have a vast variety, right? WRONG. W-R-O-N-G! They had two kinds. TWO. Dos. Deux. Orville Redenbacher and weird named stuff. Uncle Willie's? Uncle This Ain't the brand I like! We prefer ActII or Pop Secret. Neither were staring at me on the shelf. I walked away. I searched high and low for my preferred brand. What the heck? I used to buy it all the time in the value box at the old non SUPER Wal-Mart.

FINE! I'll buy a bag of popcorn and make it the old fashioned way. You know, the kind you put in a pan with oil. Shake, shake, shake -- spark, spark, spark -- the way my dad made it. Hells yeah! Good stuff. The only problem is that the Man-cub can't stick that in the microwave. Such is life.

The next disappointment of my Wal-Mart venture was hair products. I'm not too particular on brands. I am one who chooses mousse or hair spray based on smell. I had picked up a styling product that I knew worked well with my hair type. It's part of the Hairapy line. Then, my thrifty arsed self spotted a cheaper line with "salon quality" promises. I put back the smell good stuff and grabbed the black can solely on the price. Ugh.

This morning when I applied the poof of mousse to my hair I was immediately reminded why I do not buy this product on a regular basis: The scent. It gave me a bit of a headache. Damn me for not remembering why I stopped using it in the first place. GIVE ME MY AUSSIE!! Shoot me in the toe!

My hair looked great, but it surely didn't smell terrific. Mind you, I didn't emit the stench of a hundred camels in the desert, but with each head movement I got a whiff of the overpowering aroma of old lady perfume. Old version Avon cologne. Yuck! Headache city. I seriously had a gnawing pain in the cranium all day. Boo-hoo. Now, I will end up spending twice the amount on hair product because I'm buying the fruity, beachy smelling stuff tomorrow.

Stupid Wal-Mart and their alluring falling prices smiley face.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

If I could punch a movie in the face ...

There are some movies that have been incredibly popular. They've even won awards. Some star phenomenal actors. Many have spectacular special effects and soundtracks. However, in spite of all the hoopla and and stellar names on the screen, I want to punch them in the face for being predictable, stereo-typical and filled with eye rolling catch phrases or one liners. Overall, I just want to punch the movie right in the kisser!

Here are my choices. Feel free to disagree. I respect your love for the movies and actors I discuss. I ask that you keep your comments respectful, as well.

St. Elmo's Fire -- I'm a major league lover of all things 80s. With the exception of this movie. The Brat Pack is assembled to share with us life after college. Puh-leez! There's not one character in this movie I would have wanted to hang out with during or after college. Spew! Totally. Gag me with a spoon. There's not enough tequila in the world that makes this movie palatable for me. "Man in Motion" is right...motion toward to the bathroom to toss my cookies.

Jerry Maguire -- GAH! I watched this movie because everybody was telling me I had to. I never went to the theater because paying $8.00 to see Tom Cruise is just not my thing. Beyond "Risky Business" I barely tolerate him. So, on a very boring Sunday when it was first released for home viewing it queue it up on pay-per-view. blah. What's with Renee Zellwegger's sour-puss mug? (I like her in Bridget Jones' Diary, mind you.) I try to overlook it. The whole. "SHOW ME THE MONEY!" scene is way annoying. Over the top even in the context of the scene. I was screaming SHOW ME THE MUTE! SHOW ME THE MUTE!! The clincher on me giving this flick a thumbs down rather than a TOUCHDOWN! was this line delivered by Dorothy: I love him! I love him for the man he wants to be. And I love him for the man he almost is." And "You complete me."
There are some poignant moments in the movie, but sadly, for me, they are overshadowed with the presence of Tom Cruise.

Titanic -- We all know how the movie will basically end. The ship sinks. Much like Jerry Maguire there are fantastic moments in this film. The special effects are nothing short of extraordinary. Kate Winslet is breathtakingly lovely. Frances Fischer devilishly plays the mother of Rose. I want to punch her in the face for the right reasons. The woman you are supposed to hate! Billy Zane is a controlling jerk and it's OK to want to punch him in the kisser. There were points that were supposed to be serious and I was holding back laughter in the theater. I wasn't buying Leo DiCaprio's portrayal of a world traveler who had supposedly been in serious scuffs with the lowlifes around the globe. He's far from being a rough and trouble fella. The kicker for my final dislike of this film is when the ship finally -- FINALLY -- sinks in the Atlantic and Rose is hogging the headboard. Why in God's name didn't she scoot over an inch and let Jack up there? What a dolt for not trying to pull himself on there. C'mon. Oh, and old lady Rose .. idiot. You could have supported a third world country on that gem you tossed overboard. You crazy old bat! Sentimentality my arse.

Silent Sunday - Kitty's Corset

My plurky friend Mahala plurked this only moments ago. Thanks for making my blog post easier!

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Selfish Saturday. It's ALL about meme!

1. What do you add to your coffee? Hazelnut creamer
2. What are you reading now? The questions to this meme
3. Do you own a gun? No, and it's probably a good thing.
4. Are you registered to vote? Yes, but I've not been consistent -- take me out back and whip me with a soggy noodle.
5. What do you think of Hot Dogs? Dig em if they are Kosher!
6. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments? Nope. I get nervous paying the bill.
7. Favorite Christmas Song? O Holy Night
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Water then coffee
9. Can you do push ups? I can do push aways
10. What was the name of your first boyfriend? David
11. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? Jewelry isn't my thing
12. Favorite Hobby? Holly
13. Do you work with people who idolize you? Hell no. I think they are plotting my demise.
14. Do you have ADD? I don't think ... ooh, shiny!!
15. What's one trait that you hate about yourself? Lack of self-esteem
16. What's your middle name? Lynn
17. Name three things you brought yesterday? printer paper, oatmeal creams, fabric softener.
18. Name three thoughts you had just now. "What did I buy yesterday?" "Why did I eat so much?" "I wish my back would stop aching"
19. Name 3 beverages you regularly drink. Diet coke, coffee & water.
20. Current worry right now? Finances.
21. Favorite place to be? Home.
22. How did you bring in the New Year? Hung out with Man-cub and live chat/blogging on Sean Daly's Pop Life. Thrilling, I know.
23. Where would you like to go? CALI!
24. What color shirt do you have on? Pink shirt under a black sweater under my Beauty and the Beast hoodie (i'm freakin' cold!)
25. Can you whistle? The tea kettle's got nothin' on me!

Friday, November 7, 2008

Freaky Friday!

cat
more animals

For Easier Reading -- Ah-Dumb

National Blog Posting Month. I'm participating. I figure it'll be a challenge. The challenge for me is remembering that I signed on to do it. OY! I'm not going to post everything I write there on here, but I am going to share with you a very short lived saga of Ah-Dumb. Here's how the memory of this man came to coincide with NaBloPoMo. I must stress that I am a bit wiser regarding dating ...particularly those men I've met on the Internet.



I wasn't sure if I wanted to join in on this phenomenon called NaBloPoMo. I'm not one who lives up to committments to non-living things. When it comes to writing on my blog I consider myself whimsical. I don't plot out what I'm going to do daily. I write by inspiration. I've gone countless days without putting up a post. I like being unpredictable in my writing because I'm so predictable in my daily life.


This will most certainly be a challenge. When I awoke this morning I had someone on my mind whom I'd not given thought to in years. In addition, I had the need for ibuprofen. My head was throbbing for whatever reason. Perhaps the memory of that person was cause.


He is, without a doubt, a ship that passed in the night. As soon as the romance began it ended. Yet, he obviously left me with an indelible mark on my psyche. I suspect he came to the foreground of my brain because he was an aspiring writer. As a gift, he'd given me an exerpt from a novel he was writing.


I think the tale of Ah-Dumb (as he signed everything) will necessitate continuance. Yes. I think this will provide me with a few days of blogging.

His real name was Adam. However, he signed as Ah-Dumb. We met in 2000 when I was newly divorced and living in Georgia. The place was an AOL chat room. He wasn't a frequent visitor of the chat room scene, but he had made an impact in the times that he had. A couple women who were regulars of the 'room knew of him and assured me he was safe. Initially I had ignored his advances because it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or sincere.


I had my instant messaging preferences set for friends only. Receiving unsolicited messages from random chat junkies had little appeal for me. Ah-Dumb had a mutual friend send me a message asking me to open a line for him so we could speak more privately. I obliged and quickly learned that he was charming and interesting. We did the typical picture exchange. Much to my delight he was attractive and tall. A man being tall is a prerequisite for me as I am a tall girl.


We had several online conversations that eventually moved to the telephone. His voice was only slightly twanged by a Georgian accent. He told me about his strange living arrangement with his ex-wife. He, being an aspiring writer, was a stay home dad. A Mr. Mom. He resided in the finished basement. I realize by this time I probably should have asked for some sort of verification that his marital status was, indeed, null and void. However, I was naive and trusting that everybody was as honest as I.


All that nonsense aside, we arranged for a time to get together. The only catch was that he would have to bring his 3 year old daughter. I thought this an easy buffer for anxiety and aggression. Who, after all, would be an animal with their toddler running about?


Ah-Dumb and his toe-headed daughter arrived at my home mid-morning. My son was at school. This mystery man was more handsome than his pictures. His shoulders broad and arms muscular. Refraining from visibly drooling was difficult. His daughter was shy as they made way into my little home. He asked me to hold her as he retrieved gifts from his truck. Gifts? The man I only just met moments prior brought me presents. I felt this was off to a glorious start.

There I stood on my porch in astonishment of the gifts bestowed upon me. Adam, his toddler and I adjourned to my living room. It was clear she wasn't sure what to make of what to make of me or this new surrounding. She plopped herself in the safety of her father's lap as we sat on the floor. He grabbed the bag he brought in and one by one started handing small tokens to me with explanations of why he wanted me to have them.


First, was a box of chocolate covered cherries. He remembered me saying how much I loved them, but they were such a rich indulgence. Second, a pair of silver drop earrings. They were simple and perfect for everyday. He thought they'd be ideal and not get in the way when he nuzzled my neck. Third was a book. "365 Days of Kisses." He inscribed the inside front cover. "Let's work our way through this -- Ah-Dumb."


It goes without saying that I was immediately smitten. Oh yes, I was deep in smit!


The day continued with conversation and a light lunch. Eventually his little one would take a nap leaving Adam and I to our own devices for amusement. We'd not kissed in the presence of his daughter. However, that all changed once she was soundly sleeping. He wasn't a voracious kisser. It's as if he was wanting to savor each and every lip lock; committing each one to memory.


We discussed our plans for the following day. I was ecstatic that he was so enthused about me that he wanted to see me again that quickly. I'd been accustomed to men keeping me hanging on for the next date.


He collected his sweet child and they traversed back to their home 30 minutes away. I retreated to my home and allowed myself to bask in the afternoon's delight.


Adam and I talked that night about our hopes and dreams. We discussed how well we got along. He spoke of kismet. My heart swelled that such a lovely man could possibly be falling for me.

We made plans to see each other the following day. In that conversation we discussed my house ware needs. When I divorced I left behind many things. I took what was mine. I took what my son required. Adam wanted to help me rebuild what I had lost. I needed a vacuum (I borrowed a friend's.) I needed a dinette. I needed a washer and dryer. I had those to take at my ex-husband's home, but transporting them couldn't be done without assistance.

The following morning Adam called requesting my presence at the local Super K-Mart. He stated that he knew it wasn't high end goods, but it was a start. I happily complied and met him and his little girl. We had a fun time while we looked for bargains that would help me make my home more homey.

Dining table sets were just too pricey and I couldn't allow him to spend a king's ransom on me. He did buy a Red Devil vac, extra bags and offered to move the washer and dryer to my home in the next weekend. In my mind, I was thrilled that 'next weekend' was a possibility. He grabbed various other small items that he felt I'd find useful. I'd discussed wanting to get in better shape. Kathy Smith's Workout Guide made its way to the cart. We would also make a detour at a used sporting goods store for hand weights and, if it had been less pricey, a treadmill.

I felt very uncomfortable letting this man I just met buy me things. He insisted that I hush and let him do something that made him feel good.

We went back to my house for lunch and nap time for his daughter. During that nap Adam took pleasure in snapping a few photos of me. I wasn't comfortable posing. He laughed at my efforts to relax enough to allow the camera to see what he sees when he looked at me. I remained full clothed. He said he'd upload them on his computer at home and send them to me.

We kissed. A lot. We talked even more.

His little one would awaken and my son would unboard the bus to be greeted by a man I hoped would be part of our lives for a long time.

Sadly, the time for him to depart came. This time we didn't make solid plans for the following day, but the promise that we'd move the washer and dryer was made.

I had errands to run once they made their way back home. On cloud 9, I set off into town to take care of some personal things. We were gone for a couple of hours. In that time I hoped my cell phone would ring. It didn't. When we got back home I looked to see he hadn't left a message on my home phone. I turned to the computer to see if he had sent me the photos as promised. He had ... along with a message that went something like this:

"Here are the photos I took and promised to you. I know this will come as a surprise, but a woman whom I'd been pursuing for the past year has communicated with me that she is available and ready to make a step toward a relationship with me. She's part of the writing group where I am a member. I'm going that direction. You're a wonderful woman and I wish you happiness. The pictures are sexy. I hope the come in handy."




Ah-Dumb dropped a big bomb on me. Naturally, I wasn't going to just roll over and take such a pathetic email to end things. I called him and he was patronizing and rude. When I asked what made him think an email would suffice. How RUDE! He had the audacity to chortle at my 'inability to be mature and accept the nature of things." Yes, he said that. I erupted! That didn't help my cause any.


I reminded him that I was counting on him to help me move the washer and dryer from my ex-husband's residence to mine. He said he'd still do that since he knew I needed the units so I could stop wasting money at the laundromat. Plus, I'll admit I was making a desperate attempt at seeing him again. I've never managed to keep a man with my wiley and feminine ways. I'm too earnest for such antics. I would, however, not stoop to trying to seduce him and leave him hanging cold. He'd shared that he wouldn't see his preferred choice for a couple of weeks. He deserved blue balls if not a black eye.

On Sunday he was to arrive. He called to inform me that he'd be coming straight from church. So, he'd be in a suit and required changing before we set off to our task of moving the laundry units.

He arrived looking deliciously dapper. He wore a nicely tailored navy suit with a yellow shirt and tie. I felt compelled to ravage all 6'3" of him, but I acted disinterested. I wore a very snug white t-shirt and loose fitting Levi's. He made the comment that he thought I was trying to tease him. It was a bit chilly that day, if you get my drift.

I made my way through my bedroom to get to the bathroom. It was the only way to the bathroom. While I was doing my business he began to change in my bedroom. When I emerged from the bathroom he was standing there in boxer briefs. "You could have warned me you were coming out. I don't want you to get your hopes up." Bastard. I insisted I was capable of resisting his near nakedness. When I went to pick up my shoes he stopped me in mid-bend and pulled me to him. As if! I let him kiss me. I let him get worked up.

"We have things to do and you didn't choose me. Get dressed."

I will add that after the washer and dryer were moved, Adam hung around for a bit. We talked and he seemed determined to seduce me. I did everything in my power to tease him without going too far. I cried when we hugged for the final time. I felt defeated. He dried my tears and assured me that it wasn't because of what I couldn't offer, but more about how he'd yearned for this other woman for so long that he had to see where they could take their relationship.

A month after he pulled out of my drive-way Adam called. He wanted to see me. He must have gone insane in his absence because he wanted a booty-call. A request for my booty which he'd never had to begin with. A man who led me to believe he had respect for me was calling with hopes of getting the sex from me when his long awaited love wouldn't provide. She apparently had "issues in the sex department and couldn't do more than lie with him naked."

Rather than acting like a beaten puppy I managed to gain control. I denied him and told him he was a pathetic excuse for a human and he got what he deserved ... and I was no longer on the menu. He was never heard from again