When did I become a TV Mother?

Lots of kids stuff this week- sorry but I write what I'm living and this week I'm living kids.

I took the kids to Dave and Busters yesterday- my two plus my goddaughter- the Princess. Not the easiest thing to entertain 3 teenagers even the middle of Suburbia. Hence our foray into bowling and Dave and Buster's and God only knows what's next. We're trying all kinds of crazy things this week. Hell today might be SkyZone- Indoor trampolining. You never know.

So anyhoodle...I take the kids to Dave and Buster's- for those of you who never been it's an indoor arcade for people and pedophiles too old for Chuckie Cheese.

Holy Smokes- I'm not sure I can do that again anytime soon at least not until I take out a second on the house. Fastest hundred bucks I've ever spent, which would have been fine had the food not SUH-ucked. How do you screw up a steak salad people? It's not hard. A little lettuce, some steak, a few other veggies and you're golden. But no- you have to throw on the most god-awful dressing I ever tasted. What the hell was that? Egg? Garlic? Fresh beetles?

We get out from our 15 minutes of entertainment (just kidding) and I announce I want to run over to Borders to grab a book. Of course everyone in my family knows what that means. We aren't a run into the bookstore and pick up a book kind of people. We're a peruse thoughtfully, grab a few we're considering, sit in the cafe, order a beverage and mull over our options kinda people.

Ex-Librarian- our colors run deep.

Before the words even leave my mouth the Princess pipes up in her most snotty tone she muster, "I don't want to go to Borders. TAKE ME HOME."

Every parent has a button. A button once pushed, automatically causes the parent to see red. Self-centered, snotty, disrespectful kids is mine. If kids are smart they avoid this button at all costs. The Princess- having been in our lives all this time should know by now.

I literally saw red.

I held it in. Although I tell you my internal monologue was going a mile a minute. Starting with you spoiled, self-centered little brat, ending with...well it's really not worth repeating.

I held it in till I got to the car. I didn't scream. I didn't yell. I calmly looked her in the eye and let her have it. Starting with "Don't ever talk to me in that tone of voice again...." I'll spare you the rest.

It's always iffy, disciplining other people's kids. I hope to hell I've done my job right so no one else ever has to discipline mine but I also hope if needed someone else cares enough about my kid to do so.

It takes a village people, it takes a village.

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Stuff is Awesome

So all members of the Right family are off this week. Off our rocker that is-Ha, ha, ha, ha, heee, teee, heee. Just kidding. I'm sorry. Deeply, deeply sorry.

Off school, off work. Off our medication. Not true-if anything we are on our medication. Every damned member of this family is sick this week. All even down to smallest Kitty Right.

Doesn't that just figure- first time in at least six years I have both time off and actual cash in the bank and no one feels well enough to do anything.

Except we did sneak off yesterday for a little light bowling. We've never bowled before and if SuperGirl has her way we never will again. I didn't know you could actually score in the single digits in bowling. Now I do.

I've also taken this time to embrace a new joy of entertainment in my life- that's right. Angry Birds. The ultimate time suck. Perfect for when you're stuck in bed, littering your floor with a virtual cornucopia of bath tissue. Something so soothing- better than NyQuil.

Either we need to be better by tomorrow or someone may need to surgically remove this game from my hands. 

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Just when I think I have this figured out

Where's Bill Cosby when you need him? Mr. Rogers? Hell I'd settle for Mr. Snuffleupagus.

My dear and darling readers, come close because I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Closer, closer, OWWW. Too close.

mychildrenaren'tperfect. 

I SAID- my children aren't perfect. I said it. It's been said.

Not only are they not perfect, they're only tolerable 85% of the time. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know they're supposed to be pulling away, becoming more independent, doing crap that quite frankly has me scratching my head in wonder. And not the good kind of wonder. The kind of wonder where you're like seriously I don't remember dropping you on your head that hard when you were a baby. I didn't feed you lead chips. WTH-mate?

I know in the grand scheme of things it's not that big of a deal but I swear to Josaphat just about the time I'm patting myself on the back for keeping all the many balls in the air, one of the little hellraisers does something that genuinely would have me lighting a candle. If only we were Catholic.

Of course the two never act up at the same time. Months will go by. We going through our day, up, breakfast, school, home, dinner, weekend, movie, wash, rinse, repeat. Then WHAMOOO! Right upside the head.

I know in ten years I'll look back at this time as a blessing...

Won't I? *wimper

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Because I'm crazy that's why

Somehow, someway I'm having 27 people at my house tonight. I don't quite know how it happened- all I know is that it did.

After working all day, after volunteering at a food bank- somehow I'm coming home and preparing a full dinner plus hors d'oeuvres.


All I know-it has to look like this...

and not this 

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Just because I love you

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Just a quick How-dee-do

I blew it this year.

I look forward to NaBloPoMo all year (yes, I know I need a hobby) (and maybe some serious time away from the Internet) and in the ultimate irony, the instant I committed, life said um, no I don't think so.

I guess I should have known better. November was the last real month of school. The last month when any serious work would get done. Work- well, work is work. I'm trying not to get too committed. Just enough to do a great job and not a bit more. No more 170%, no more utter commitment to work to the occlusion of family or having a life. If there is one thing I've learned from our recent economic downturn, it just doesn't pay to get too involved.

Speaking of work. We had our Christmas party on Friday. Work parties are a blast- not because of the party itself. Sorry- never matters how good the locale, or the food, or the event- all that really matters is the people watching. Take the people you spend hours and hours with on the daily basis, those who ream you out, those you want to ream out, add some spouses and just a little social inebriation and watch how the barriers fall.

I always like to place a bet, sometimes just with myself, sometimes with one or two select people. The- who is going to go too far- bet. Who is going to sleep with the wrong person, who is going to take just a few minutes to tell off the person that's been torturing them for the last six months.Who is going to get falling down drunk and then insist they're fine to drive.

This week's Christmas party was a little too tame for my liking. Everyone is still new, still on their best behavior. Of course I left at eleven so who knows what happened once I left.

I suppose there's always next year.

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Two hands on the wheel, One foot on the brake

Somehow, someway both the teens in my house have ended up in driving school at exactly the same time. The man-child had his first appointment this week. SuperGirl will start next.

You know the best thing about having two kids in driving school is? No- not the never-ending terror of seeing your life flash before your eye 2.3 million times in the space of a half an hour drive.

No, not calmly telling your lovely man-child that perhaps it's best to brake and wait for the car to completely stop rolling before throwing the manual transmission into park. Or the never-ending- Here in America, we drive on the right-hand side of the road or No, we wait for all the cars to finish passing us, before we pull out in traffic or BRAKE, BRAKE, BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKKKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's the newly discover technique to drive me crazy! Back-seat driving. 

Mom- I noticed you didn't look over your shoulder completely before you made that right turn. 

Mom- should  you really be looking at your cellphone at a red light?

Mom- why are we going this way? Go that way, it's sooo much faster. 

Mom- Two car lengths, mom, two car lengths. 

I think I'm going to change my name to Your Supreme Highness. Then even though I'm being pecked to death by a pair of verbal ducks I can smile a little. Royal Wave- Wrist, wrist, elbow, elbow. 

{Photo Credit}

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Fear of Flying

So I've committed to going the grandparents for Christmas. It's time. They've been begging for us to visit ever since they moved there...five years ago.

We're excited about the trip. I haven't been to Boise since I was a kid and even then it was just a simple drive-by on our way to somewhere else. I remember Idaho as the first place I'd ever seen ice flow down a river. California girl-remember. Ice down a river- that's just weird.

As happy as I am to see the grandparents, I'm way nervous about this trip. Not because of the flight itself. Never nervous about flying.  I hate to say it but if you're going to crash in an airplane- that almost seems to be will of God kind of stuff. With a capitol W and a capitol G.  Fate. Destined to happen.Who the hell argues with God/Fate/Destiny?

No- instead I'm nervous thanks to this cousin-of a stepbrother-of a cousin I've somehow friended on Facebook. You guys know this person- you have one of these in your life. Watches all of the Supersize Me, Food Inc. Freaks out over food. Reads all the vaccines-autism articles. Freaks out over shots. Schools, government, prisons, churches. Freaks out over, well you get the picture.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for a little skepticism about life. I whole-heartedly believe- the easiest way to cause someone to turn to the dark-side is to give them a little power. Just a drop too much. Just enough to tip them to the other side.

But  you have to live life in all its messiness and do what you can to make it a little better.

This week, she posted links of this...National Opt Out Day. I have to admit I'm a little freaked. The body scanning thing freaks me out.

Do you ever look back at history and think to yourself? This, this was the series of events that screwed man-kind.

This body-scanning. Seems to be a bad idea to me. A really, really bad idea. Like when I was finishing my Bachelor's degree, sitting in class and having my finance professor teach us about this great new plan all the big guys on Wall Street had. One where'd they'd take all these really bad loans and bundle them together by the thousands and sell them to all sorts of people and how suddenly by bundling all these bad loans together they somehow, like magic, became safe. It would be fine- don't even worry. That kind of a bad feeling.

This kind of crap makes me never want to fly. Ever. Like if I never had to get on a plane for the rest of my life I'd be happy. But what scares me most? What turns my blood to ice in my veins is the thought of taking my children. Is this the next iteration of stranger danger? Do I have to have THE TALK, if the bad security agent touches you just a little too forcibly tell mommy, so I can call the police? Oh don't worry babe that the nice, security agent wants to see your naked 16 year old body. No, that's not child pornography at all.

Body scanning- doesn't seem like such a good idea.

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Apples and Trees- you know the rest

The Man-Child writes his own column in the school newspaper. He recently wrote a feature about the gay-straight alliance club at his school. Because high school is the torture chamber of hell and brimstone on earth, I asked him if he was worried other kids might give him a hard time for writing the piece.

He rolled his eyes at me.

He did receive the following comment after the piece came out, in a letter to the editor.

"You're such a dick!" 

plus some other anti-gay rhetoric, I'm fairly certain the lovely child didn't pick-up all on his own.

Of course the entire student body found out about the e-mail.

Rather than be offended or angry as I assumed he would, Man-child fired off the following for everyone to enjoy.

"Thank you for your apt observation. While my mother did indeed consider naming me Richard, [No, I didn't] she decided Rudolph [Not his name either] would be better as it brings up images of Christmas and winter, hence my childhood nickname 'Frostbite'.

I decided when I was little that I would name myself "Batman" because I liked the TV show and my mom said Bruce Wayne would make me sound more gay than I already did, but nobody called me by it and my teacher would often call me after class to request that I stop signing my tests "Batman", followed by the Batman symbol. 

I would come up with a name that suits you better, but unfortunately the only one that came to mind, 'Hosebeast' was shot down  for whatever reason. In addition to fitting you in terms of occupation, it also has a good amount of syllables and could be shortened to either 'Hose', or the more accurately 'Beast' earning you a fair amount of street cred...."

I'll stop here as you get the general picture.

I love this kid but seriously where does he get his mouth?

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Irresistible in the Land of Longing

I've finally come to the conclusion the big boss as work seriously hates me on a personal level.

I KNOW. I'm shocked too. Little ole' me, light hearted and kindness personified. I don't get it either.

Which isn't to say, he doesn't appreciate my work. He does. On a professional level he's polite enough I suppose. He mouths all the correct words.

But unrestrained. Out of the corner of his eye. That's a whole different donkey in a hand-basket.

Why doesn't he like me?

I don't know. He doesn't like short blonde women. I remind him of his first girlfriend. I didn't go to the right school. I don't make enough money. I'm not solely motivated by money. He's an asshole.

All of that. None of it.

But the real question is...why does it bug me? Why do I even let it bother me at all? Do I have a deep pathological need to be liked by everyone? Which would be really weird because 7000 people in the universe don't like me. Hell I had a person unlike me today.

My big boss work doesn't like me. How do I stop caring?

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A Love Letter

Thank you dear friend for sending me all the photos of your vacation.

How did you know?

This is exactly where

I want to be right

at this very moment.

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Speaking of Plagiarism....

I love this very, very, very much!

Credit Blinks of Life

Don't we all need a Fairy Tale sometimes?

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Plagiarism

Geez. You can't take a step in the Internet these days without tripping over a post on plagiarism.

I have to be honest. I get a dirty little thrill reading about someone who's been plagiarized. They're so hurt, so indignant, so insulted it's happened to them. Them of all people *back of the hand over the forehead. The posts are usually a nice mix of woe is me and shame, shame on you.

Not that I don't have sympathy for them and I wouldn't feel the same if it happened to me. I'd be pissed and irritated and annoyed and enraged. My blog would also be full of YOU-ASS-HAT how dare you rip off the gloriousness of my internal yammering.

HEY, ya why isn't anyone plagiarizing me? What, my work isn't good enough?

Reading these posts always make me super paranoid. Even though I know it's something I've never done, I start to think I have. Like when you take a psychology class and start to think you're the poster-child for Schizoid-Antisocial-Borderline-Histrionic-Narcissistic-Co-Dependent-Obsessive-Compulsion. Every single time your professor is lecturing- you swear he's looking right at you.

But what really astounds me is the sheer amount of balls someone has- to go on the Internet and completely rip off someone else's work in whole. Sure a sentence here or there, a turn of phrase there. I don't always credit my photos well enough. I can't say I haven't used a phrase or two to jumpstart my own thoughts but I'm not sure I have enough chutzpah to just rip off an entire post, slap my name on it and print the story in a major publication.

Could you?

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Can't Focus

I am so tired. Deeply, pathologically, crazy tired. Stupid tired. Crawl into a hole and sleep for a week tired.

So why is it? Just why, dear readers, am I at the store at ten at night?

Is it because I forgot the cat food once again?

Yes, Yes it is.

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Why do we treat each other so badly?

Sometimes women suck.

I'm sorry but sometimes we do. No, no, no. Don't worry this isn't some crazy- why all the reasons men are better than women post. - Or women who steal other women's men. BELIEVE me it's not.

Instead it's woman on woman hate.

When my kids were little it was Stay at Home Moms versus Working Moms. Those damned Working Moms never volunteering at the school. Just expecting Stay at Home Moms to carry the burden of planning the carnival and leading art time. Always late for Car Pool and never on field trips.

Then somewhere along the line it became Stay at Home Moms versus Work at Home Moms. Those damned Work at Home Moms. They're home all day- what's their problem? Why isn't the house perfectly clean and dinner on the table every night? Why aren't they at every single event in their children's lives?

The newest and latest is women who decided to dedicate their lives to their career and women who choose to have children and a career.

Oh ....Kay. Not entirely sure I get this one. Only that I know this one more scary than the other two.

We're not even talking some crazy fundamentalist who decrees you must have children lest you are less of a woman. I'm talking normal educated women trying to get elected into office. One is a mother with a career, one is a child-less woman with a career. Which is better suited to office?

Somehow- one is better than the other. Not sure which one but one is. Well the news says so. It must be true.

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I don't want to get off on a rant here

So I happened to switch the channel to talk radio the other night.

In normal circumstances I 'd prefer to stab myself repeatedly in the eye before I ever even think about touching the AM button. But after spending over 20 hours in the car this week if I heard Katy Perry croon about the girls of the Western state even ONE MORE TIME I was going to turn my car straight into on-coming traffic.

Have you been to AM lately? It's a little crazy over there. First finding a station is a giant easter egg hunt in and of itself. All the old stand-by's were present and accounted for.

Crazy screaming evangelical dude- check.
Wild ultra conservative, everything is everyone else's fault guy- check.
Blame the immigrants for everything guy-check.
High pitched, tinny, kids bop music- check.
Dennis Miller....whooooaaaaa...wait- Dennis Miller what the hell are you doing on talk radio?

After five minutes all I could think is what the hell happened Dennis Miller? How did you go from this?



To this guy?????



Traumatized, just traumatized. Kinda like finding out your mom was the high school slut. I may never recover.

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A post a day, that's all I ask.

You always hear how people don't read anymore.

That statement always makes me incredibly sad, particularily as someone who was once Queen of the Library, I mean a Librarian. Well, until I actually had to work with, you know, people. People as a whole are fine but the masses however, the masses are dicks.

This weekend I had to park my butt in a Les Schwab- for those of you who don't know....Les Schwab is the only place you should buy tires EVER. A little expensive but not outrageously so. They never screw you and their after-purchase service is incredible. (No, they aren't paying me. I just love you... and them).

Seven to thirteen people cycled through as I was waiting for my tires. AND EVERY SINGLE ONE of them was reading a book. Every one. Does my Librarian heart proud. I may have teared up a little.

As someone who is a lover of words, I always held in my heart somewhere that I too would write a book. Which is why I swore this year I'd belly up to the bar, stop being a wussy baby, and participate in NaNoWriMo this year. What is it?  Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30. I want to say they've upped it this year. Because I thought   last year was only 40, 000 words. But I might be wrong.

Anywho. Not going to happen. Job, School, Kids, House, The gym is calling and wants me to know my favorite elliptical machine is missing me... just can't do it this year. However not punking out completely as I will be doing NaBloPoMo again this year and boy is the timing right because my postings have started to come as often as...never mind, that joke is just too easy.

Need some motivation to write this month? Join me or friend me here.

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OCD- You and Me

See it's an Epidemic, I tell you. 

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...and speaking of Thunder Down Under

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Not Feeling so Appreciated

My work is claiming this week is employee appreciation week.


Sigh!!!


Mighty funny- employee appreciation week just happens to fall a month after they received one of the worst employee survey's ever in the history of the company. Crazy. Stupid survey.

This place isn't that bad. Aside from the heavy overuse of Corporate lingo and the ever-lasting- for the love of god- don't make me stick it where you won't like it- pen-clicking it's one of the better places I've worked.

Anyhoodle- so in celebration of E.A.W.we have a wild and zany activity every single day. Monday was zany hat day, Tuesday- ugly Hawaiian shirt day, Wednesday wear your favorite team jersey and on and on and on and on.

Don't get me wrong I can party down with the best of them.But forced merriment in a place of business STRESSES ME OUT. IT'S NOT FUN. It's the opposite of fun.

If we're going to have forced merriment week, we should really have gone all out. Talk Like a pirate day. Straight-Jacket Day, Dress like your favorite Gilligan's Island character Day. Thunder Down Under Day.

Just saying.

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Bucket List Only Not Really

So I had this idea.  I was going to write a bucket list- only in reverse... or backwards...or whatever.

You know a bucket list is where you write all the things you want to do before you kick the bucket 'cept mine was going to be all the things I didn't want to do before I kicked the bucket.

Only I was still in the planning stages. All I had come up with so far was that I didn't want to ever, ever go on this ride and that I never, ever wanted to jump out of a plane. Ever. But then I saw this.

How did she reach inside my brain and pull out my idea????

How? Is she a magician? Is she psychic? Am I getting up in the middle of the night and reading blogs and forgetting  the next morning? Is every thought I have really an extension of someone else's thought? Should I buy extra tin foil?

You know what I'm going to add on my anti-bucket list. I'm going to write a book of all the things I'm not going to do.

Oh, Dammit.

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WHATTTTTTT!!!!!!!

SuperGirl has this new trick where she says something and then automatically follows it up with a Yeah? Yeah?

As in "You should totally give me $5.00 the next time we go to the mall so I can buy a pink I Love Boobies Bracelet. Yeah?... Yeah?.... Yeah?"

She keeps saying it until I say Yeah back.

Only I am too smart for her Vulcan mind tricks.

Everyone knows once you say Yeah- YOU PROMISED.  Even though you only meant to say I heard you.

Silly kid!

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It's Kind of a Funny Story

We were supposed to see a scary movie this weekend. I don't know WTH I was thinking agreeing to take the kids, I hate scary movies. I don't know what it was about the late 80's early 90's but the only movies I remember as a kid are ones designed to ensure I never slept, showered or entered the ocean again. Jaws, that creepy Orca movie, Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, Night of the Living Dead, ET.

So needless to say, I don't need to see the corn syrup a-flying.

When we got to the theater this was playing...

I was surprised when the teen-machines suggested we see this instead- No chainsaws, no vampires, werewolves, crazy lunatics, or someone trying to cut off their own leg- thank the flying spaghetti monster. Until I got in there and realized what it was about. A teen that wants to commit suicide and Zach Galifianakis. Move over kid- I need some room on that ledge. Look I'm not always a fan of the one man wolf pack- don'thitme.

Never-mind I don't want to see this movie.  I'll go watch little children eat other little children instead.

I stayed. I watched. I tried to keep an open mind. I cringed at the topic a little.

But.... Pleasantly surprised. This was the most visually beautiful movie I've seen in a long -time. Yes- I liked it and not just because of my girl-crush on Lauren Graham. Glad we saw it on the big screen. Don't think it would have had the same impact on the little screen. Everything a movie should be- an insurmountable problem, zany crazy happenings and a too-pat ending. But parts were heart-rending real.

Glad I didn't miss it. Which begs to question. Waz Up Hollywood? I can see the trailer to Jackass 3D- three hundred and seventy-two times but you can't clue me in about this one?

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My Uterus Just Imploded

Visit Grover on Facebook: http://on.fb.me/GroverMonster

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Check here if you want to be my friend

I happened to be listening to NPR yesterday. I know, I know big nerd alert, what can I say? I like it. It's not the rape-murder-fire-weather-traffic-rape-crimes against humanity of local news nor is it the beat the horse to death of CNN. Instead we get fun and whimsical, little news segments like the one yesterday by Rich Juzwiak who writes for an awesome pop culture blog called fourfour.



I swear sometimes, well all the time, the allure of news (or blogging for that matter, novels and storytelling and songs) is in it's ability to state the obvious. Check that- to be the first to state the obvious.

In his segment yesterday Juzwiak explored the reality TV concept of "I'm not here to make friends." Probably one of the most over-stated exclamations on the shows we love to hate. So much so, I've developed a slight tick, ok, ok, the whole left side of my face spasms each time the words fly out of some snotty brat's over-collagened lips.

But the story got me thinking.

Well first, Rich, you are wasting your time blogging- you're very well spoken. Have you thought about radio or TV, Rich? You're a good-looking guy. Just think about it.

But back to the topic at hand.

When are we here to make friends exactly? Once you leave school, in what situation are you in when you go out of your way to make friends. At work? At church? At PTA? Sports? When do you go out of your way to make deep abiding, let's share our milk and braid each other's hair, friends?

Do we lose that ability once we become adults. Or does it simply become a giant game of what exactly can you do for me? Or maybe even worse- you are exactly like me, we must be friends. Once we hit a certain age do we become way too self-absorbed to share those milk and cookies?

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Fall, Fall, FALL Where are you?

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I have this incredibly strong yet slightly crazy urge to go the ocean lately. I know, I know all you mid-west people are probably thinking...WTF California Girl- isn't the beach right in your backyard. To which I have to respond. Not yet but I figure the next big earthquake and I should have some nice ocean front property.

Take that San Francisco..Ooooo, ooo with your fancy restaurants, kick-ass plays and wild and crazy things to do every night. Yeah who's gonna be laughing when you're ass deep in the middle of the ocean. Yeah, yeah.

Well, not me. That'd be mean.

Anyhoodle. I'm kinda surprised I want to go to the ocean right now considering it tried to eat me not so long ago. Ohhhh sure, everyone sees those rip current signs. Yeah right. You know park ranger, someone might have been sitting in the passenger seat trying to console three crying children. I certainly didn't expect the ocean to rise up and eat me and that whole just relax and let it carry you out. That is some BS advice. Then you're like 20 miles from shore and have to con Monty the Great White into either eating you and carrying you back in.

I know who's fault this sudden urge to see the giant bathtub is- it's that god damned Sunset Magazine. Sunset Magazine is a pervasive you know what. Minding my business, scooting along my day. Oh look it's Sunset Magazine. Why look at all the pretty pictures. Oh look a container garden. Why, I can grow a container garden (no I can't). Look at this pretty salsa over fresh grilled fish, I can cook that (nope can't cook either) with fresh vegetables I can grow in my own garden (no, no, not really) and fresh eggs hatched by the chickens I raised myself (well you get the picture).

It's beach house month or something. All of the sudden all I can see is myself sitting by a bonfire sipping a lovely Pinot Grigo and hearing the sound of the waves crashing on the beach.

See, see right here. Can't you picture me?

Oh Dear Lord in Heaven, why wasn't I born independently wealthy again?

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A Martini dry with two olives please

Work is an interesting place if you think about it. You take 100 or so relative strangers, place them in a room (a giant room to be sure but a room never the less), make them spend 90% of their day together and then force them to be on their best behavior.

No farting, no belching, no telling of dirty/racist jokes. No sexually harassing each other.

It didn't used to be quite this bad. Back in the day - the founding fathers of the modern office understood you needed a few vices so you didn't turn to your neighbor and rip their fucking heads off. Watch any episode of Mad Men and you'll know what I mean. Never mind all the smoking, drinking and screwing that went on in office buildings across America back in the good old days, they had something even more important sorely missing today.

Know what that one most important thing could possibly be?

The most important awesome thing?

A door!

An actual room you could escape to, a place where you could block out the stench of humanity. My co-workers tell me it could be worse. In our parent company- back in Belgium- they have an open office plan. No cubicle walls. Everyone from manager to drone work at desks - a giant sea of people where ever you look. No Internet porn. No furtive glances at the football score. No Twitter to be sure. Must be why they can leave at 5:00 pm every day.

I have a pen clicker in my office. All day, every day. In meetings. Click, click, click, click Click, click, click, Click, click, click, click click. Click, click, click, click Click, click, click, Click, click, click, click click. At his desk. Click, click, click, click Click, click, click. Walking down the hall. Click, click, click, click Click, click, click,

The mom in me wants to gently place my hand on his and call his attention to the action. Not dissimilar to what you would do with children in church. The psycho obsessive compulsive in me wants to plant that pen in the middle of his forehead.

I'm not entirely sure which side will win in the end.

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Panty Shields Up, Captain!

Riding the Red Roller-coaster, Surfing the Crimson Wave, Visit by Aunt Flo. No matter how you phrase it, getting your period is a beautiful and natural process. Full of dancing and meadows and flowers, white clothes and men on horses..And swimming, lots and lots of swimming.

Right?

I mean for sure it's not all back-breaking cramps, water retention, headaches, an appetite that could take down the Eiffel Tower if only it were made of chocolate, fatigue so strong you lay down in the middle of the train tracks only because you can't make it even one more step. No, not at all. After all just watch any of the 5,000 commercials on TV. Sure I can run a marathon just because I have Tampax with the Easy Glide Applicator. What, can't you?

-And men think women couldn't be president. Honey, if I can get through my monthly and not kill you, I can probably handle this whole Middle East thing just fine

A long winded way of saying I got it, I got it! I got it. Today at work. THANK THE FREAKING Lord, Jebus!!! No, I'm not pregnant. No, there is no way in holy hell I can even be pregnant. Unless that whole impregnated by angels thing is true. Then we're all screwed.

I may have thrust my hands in the air in the public restroom today and shouted a Hallelujah and Thank You Jesus at the top of my lungs today. In the middle of work. Out-loud. Really loud. In a business that only allowed women to join in the last year. Of whom I'm the only one in management.

Forehead slap. Must remember I'm representing my gender. Must remember I'm representing my gender.

Woman Power Fail

But it came back. It came back. After being MIA for over two months. IT CAME BACK! At first I was excited. Like when your kid disappears in the grocery store. You freak out and panic, convinced you’re going to be on the 6 o'clock news and you're not entirely sure you even put on a bra when you left your house. Only to find the kid sitting in the toy aisle. First you're so happy but then you want the shake the little bastard sideways for scaring the bejeezus out of you.

But it was back and brought its second cousins- pain and misery. Oh how I missed you guys

P.S. Coincidentally I may want to punch my teenagers in the face today. Crazy? I know.

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Watching Out for the Little Guy

Dear Staples,
I just wanted to take a second to congratulate you. Congratulations! I think it's so awesome you're doing so well.

I mean obviously you must be doing well, you don't even need us anymore. You know, the lowly customer. The customer who just wants to run in on their lunch break, grab some ink and maybe, just maybe, an office chair, get out with enough time to grab a fake salad from Wendy's and actually have time to eat said salad.

I think I figured out how you did it. Dominated the office supply industry, that is.

It's by telling your staff- well that one guy on the floor who's helping the oldest person in existence,  answering questions like- so that's the telephone huh? How long of a cord do I buy? I like to sit on the john when I talk on the phone but hate when the cord gets all twisted- to glare evilly at said customer when they ask if there is anyone else working.

Obviously you're winning the customer service wars by training him to motion abruptly at the chair on the floor and tell the customer they can take that one or wait until he's done helping...well actually until hell freezes over really.

But this was the kicker Staples, the best part. This must be why you are doing so well. Might be that one thing that lovely guy forgets to mention, dear Staples. Forgets to mention there's an eight dollar assembly charge. Coincidentally you know who else forgets to mention it? Why yes, you guessed it, the cashier. Crazy I know.

I'm sure customers are appreciative to find that awesome charge on their receipt hours later. It's how you show you care.

So again Staples- congrats once again.

Love always,
Zoe

P.S. Oh yeah, this is why I shop online again.

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Idle thoughts

I always think it's funny when people say they don't have time to read blogs. They always do so in a slightly condescending tone. As though you're a total slacker because you do.

The asshole in me (the devil on my shoulder) always wants to make a smart ass comment about the 12 hours they spend watching sports. The angel, on the other shoulder, wants to shrug. Their loss. 

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More complaining- I'm almost done. I swear.

The landlords have bought the house next door. Sighhhhh!

Believe you and me that wasn't just a sigh from my lungs, that was the kind of sigh your teens do when you tell them they're going on a two week car ride across country to visit mean aunt Mildred.

photo by flickr user Rich_Lem

Sorry let me back up. So a little over five years ago I bought a 1930's Craftsman Bungalow. Great foundation, crack house interior. I spent two years and more than a few thousand of dollars beautifully restoring this piece of California charm to it's original glory. Then the bottom fell out of the market. Then I lost my job. I looked at my beautiful home which would take approximately 10 to 15 years to appreciate enough for me to break-even, looked at my beautiful children who would leaving me in the next three years and looked towards the open road with whom I'd like to explore some options here in the next five years and thought...Ding, Ding, Ding easy decision.

I haven't rented in awhile. I forgot what it's like. Made worse by the fact my landlords have no concept of personal boundaries. Yes- I understand this is your house but it's my home.

Stop dropping by. Seriously.

Stop driving by. Seriously! It's creepy.

Now they've bought the house next door. Ughhhhh! Not to live in, thank jesus, joseph, mary, buddah, shiva, and anyone else to whom I owe buckets of gratitude but to remodel and rent. Which in some ways is just as bad.

My brother was sitting in the backyard the other day, waiting for me to get home. He was on the cellphone when the landlord decided to pop his head over the fence and start talking to him. Yeah, fantastic.


Look I work at a job where I have to be business-like and conservative all day. I go to a school where I have to be business-like and conservative three nights a week. I work a second job where people lie to me EVERY SINGLE time they open their mouth. I want to come home, take off my bra and make-up and forget human-kind is outside my door.

But I love ya'all really I do. Because you are not a representation of who I deal with on a daily basis. You are my people. My homies.

This morning I did the walk of shame- only driving. Clothes from last night, no bra, just got out of bed, haven't showered or brushed my teeth, club stamp on my wrist, five hours of sleep, not hung-over- cause that would have been the kicker. Only to tumble out of the car and see who sitting in the driveway next door. Of course, the landlord.

Yeah.

One hour later, showered, hair wet and wearing a bra, jam out to get a mocha. Five workman next door all going through the trash, pulling out and separating what was usable. While I applaud their reduce-reuse-recycle mentality- the timing wasn't so hot.

Bottom line- living in the suburbs is like working in a cubicle farm. Sure the walls are only six feet tall and you can hear every single time your neighbor sneezes. But common courtesy dictates you pretend you don't know all about your co-worker's yeast infection or the fact that Bob from shipping likes Asian porn. In other words you don't pop your head over the fence like some 50's sitcom.

Geez how do those people on Big Love do it?

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Really, God, Really?

Dear Ex-boyfriend,

Hey, how ya doing? It was super awesome fun to see you the other day. What's it been 3, 4 years? I know, time flies. Seems like it was just yesterday. What an odd place to run into you. Of all places, the Costco membership counter on a random Saturday. And me being my usual entertaining (annoying) self, bantering with our "Membership Specialist." But really Costco why don't you carry livestock? You have everything else. 

So extra special running into you right after my visit to the hairdresser. Texas High, Aqua Net'd, over large, teased curls- no, no not really a look I go for everyday. Sure hairdresser- you're bored, why not play with my hair, after all I'm only going to get my eyebrows waxed after this and go straight home. No big deal. Oh, you remember getting waxed makes me cry, must be why I wasn't wearing any make-up.

Hey, so nice of you to not turn around and say hi. Not even that cheesy, How ya doing? You look great. So nice to see you prattle most adults engage in when they run into someone they haven't seen for a while. The must keep my back turned and jaw clenched, deliberately not look at someone while catching them out of the corner of my eye thing you did- so much better.

Well at least I didn't have to meet your new girlfriend, although I sure got quite the look at her. Particularly as she all but broke her back in getting the best look at me she could. Between the pointing and the "That's Her!!!!" I can see how you might have missed me.

By the way great job- picking me again. Must have made the choosing process so much easier to walk into a bar and run through the checklist. Blonde hair. Check. Short. Check. Hourglass figure. check. Pale skin. check.-And she looks to be the same age I was when we first got together. Yeah for you. She probably won't casually mention after ten years of dating, maybe the two of you should think about getting married.

I'm also pretty sure she won't suggest, after having you spend the night, every single night for TWO years, that maybe you should move in together. I know how important having your own space is. (Even though when you finally moved in we could do so in one car load considering everything you owed was ALREADY at my place.)

Oh, what? Sorry, sorry where was I?

Since we're here, I justed wanted to take a second to thank you, whole hearted. Every single morning I drive by Scandinavian Designs on my way to work and I think of you. Every single morning. I think of how much fun it was to run into you in the parking lot, two weeks before Christmas, when you told me you were out buying Christmas presents.

I was so excited to see you. Come look at this table, don't you think it would work perfectly right next to the bed we'd been sharing for the last ten years. You're always complaining how you don't have anyplace to put a glass.

Only to have to drag your feet and glance back to the Christmas Tree lot right next door. Christmas Tree Lot- well that's odd. We got a Christmas Tree two....weeks.....ago.

What a fantastic way for me to find out you had a new girlfriend. Oh yeah, sorry she wasn't your girlfriend, just someone from work who needed to use your truck. ...and who called you babe. Whose house you promptly moved into.

I should have bought that table. 75% off. Maple. Clean lines.

Anywho we shouldn't let so much time pass this time.

Great to see you.

Love,
Zoe

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A little drop here and a little drop there

Yes Internet, I had a much better week, thank you for asking. Well except for being visited by the water police. What? The water police? You don't have them in your area? Yes, the neighbor called the water police on me.

To be generous I did kinda deserve it. This is the first year I've been in a house with automatic sprinklers. Well automatic sprinklers I was responsible for.

You know that handy dandy little book that comes with the sprinklers? Well, it's just not all that handy. So I experimented. I am a college educated woman. I will figure it out.

OK, what happens when I push this button and this one, and how about this one? Let it run for awhile. Leave to go to the store. Forget the sprinklers are on.

The only problem the developer in my little suburb didn't factor in something important, like gee I don't know- grading. So all the water, instead of sinking into the ground where it belongs, making my grass beautiful and green flows right into the neighbor's pool, which is concidentally happens to lie below ground. Like below, below ground.

Hence the visit by the water police. They suggested rather firmly that I make an appointment with a water conservationist. OR ELSE. I took a morning off work. Which kinda turned out to be a plus. I got to sit in my empty house sipping coffee till they showed. Then they set the system for me. Yeah!!!! Win-win for me. Green grass and the neighbor will no longer have an excuse to lob flaming dog poop over the fence.

Well at least for that reason.

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NO one ever said I was a good parent

I've been thinking a lot about this lately- why don't they have tranquillizer's for children, well teens in particular?

They have them for other animals who aren't even half as scary, like stampeding rhinos or elephants, sharks.

Come on you can't tell me you don't wish for it sometimes? The little angels act perfectly normal and then the asshole button gets pushed. A quick phhfft, shot in the butt and instant time out. Think about it.

Not every discipline technique will work for every child. Some kids (Sorry Parents Magazine) only respond to spankings, some only respond to the threat of being spanked, some to their phone taken away. My kid was the King of the Corner. Ten minutes in the corner and he was a changed kid. Now approaching manhood, no longer is is appropriate to make him stick his nose in the corner but oh who daddy, would I like to sometimes.

So see my solution, a quick tranquillizer dart to the butt. They get a nap in which makes them feel better. I get time to get over the feeling of wanting to push them down the stairs.

See it's a win, win for everyone.

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Cocktail, Stat!

Jesus, Joseph and Mary Internet, I might have have had the most awful day in the existence of bad days. Ever!

Between picking up a piece of metal in my tire, to having to go to the dentist and then off to fix said damaged tire and then to court  all the while drooling and swollen and maybe just a tiny weeny bit dopey on the pain meds the dentist insisted on, it just, the day just, the day...the day....wait let me catch my breath for just a moment.

Okay, I'm calm.

Let me back up and start at the beginning. I arrive home after dropping my little darlings off at that place that keeps them out of my hair for upwards of 6 to 8 hours a day, (God bless modern government and it's whole the masses must be educated decree) only to find a long shiny piece of metal sticking out of my tire. As I'm a spoiled suburban mom, I call a perfectly nice gentleman to come and change my tire. Yes, I know I'm a feminist and really ought to know how but, but...I have no excuse.After a quick 20 minutes (all of which I spent here chatting with you lovely people) bing, bang, bam, done, changed. No muss, no fuss. Insurance covered, so no charge.

I then have to go to the dentist. I've broken my tooth clean in half towards the back, thank you Jesus. Of course the other half must come out. I carefully explain to the darling roly poly Japanese man- I'm a teeny, tiny bit afraid of the dentist. He pats my hand. I make a small Valium joke. He laughs. I whimper. He tells me it'll be fine. Just 5 minutes and a temporary and I'll be on my way. I tear up just a little. No, no I wasn't kidding. Really.Kinda scared, seriously. I got the quit being a baby look.

Well let me tell you Internet, .he's not laughing now. Oh no, next time I make a Valium joke I dare say he might take me just a bit more seriously. He almost cried. He had to excuse himself and leave the room for an entire 10 minutes after my procedure to and I quote "get a grip" before he could come back and pop in a temporary. As for me? I may have had 10 minutes of hysterics in the safety of my car after but really no one saw right?

Then off to get the old tire fixed. Although the tire has a shiny silver object protruding from it's depths, THEY FIXED IT! I tell you, I'm going to have to write one of those Les Schwab is amazing, the king of all tire companies because truly- they are my hero. I bet they would have given me Valium. But anywho I digress. They fixed my tire AT NO CHARGE. Just like they rotate my tires every 5000 miles at no charge. I love this company very, very much and not just because the Vicodin is starting to kick in.

Why is it when doctors/dentists say this isn't going to hurt a bit, it always does?

Then I grab a panicked call from work. Where are you? they cry. Just a clue. I'm not there. At least they cared enough to call even if it was only so I could tell someone how to do something. I've been in that office a little over a month y'all. A month and I'm the go-to-girl. How, just how?

Then off to court. 2 hours of waiting for 5 minutes in front of the judge. Drooling and slurring my words. Thank heavens I wasn't in for a DUI charge.

I have a friend who always says we have these kinds of days so we enjoy the days when everything goes smoothly.

Yes I punched her in the mouth, just for you Internets. Just for you.

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Dot...dot...dot...dot...dot

You've been to a comedy club so you know how the routine goes. If you want even half a chance at a decent seat/don't want to sit in the front row and be heckled by the comedian all night you have stand in line for at least an hour before you even hit the doors. 

Which, if you think about it, is the perfect first date. Forget about watching how the other party treats the waitress...put someone in heels and make them stand still for an hour,  you'll have a pretty good idea as to how he'll treat your mother.

But anywhoo...we stood in line for an hour all decked out in our going-out finery. Nothing quite like the evening look at 3:30 on a Sunday afternoon, false eyelashes and cleavage flying. But it was OK- that area has a serious prostitution problem, so I got offered a fifty to just 'watch' while standing in line to use the bathroom at Starbucks.

I still got it, yeah! Wooo, wooo. Arms in the air, waving like I just don't care.

So we're standing in line and all the sudden something occurs to me. There's an awful lot of little people mulling around. No, not TLC little people but what the hell are you doing in a comedy club little people.  I was trying to be extra careful but in the bathroom I had to give my friend the look. You know the look- like what the hell kinda parent are you to take your kid into a comedy club look? 

I love me some kids just as much as the next person (no, I don't. I'm totally lying) but a comedy club? Even the people on stage are a little taken aback. They look out a little confused Oh...well...kids...hmmm...at....a... comedy club...okay... there goes my joke about a nun, three chipmunks and a jar of nutella. 

I'm exaggerating (color you surprised) all three did great. Nary a curse word escaped the bunch. But enough about inappropriate places to take your kids.

When you go to a comedy club- you're never sure how the first two acts are going to go but I have to tell you I haven't laughed that hard in a while. Tears streaming down my face laughter. 

I've tried to find YouTube of these guys but this was all I could find. Thank God he's cut his hair, much cuter now.

I love comedy clubs. I saw Greg Behrendt do a skit about cake that made me pee my pants back before he hated all women and destroyed their hopes and dreams with his stupid book.

Sometimes you have to do this kinda thing, escape with the girls and just have a great time.

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So Freakin' Excited

Really kinda stoked. It's my BFF's birthday tonight and to celebrate we are going to see Anjelah Johnson at Punchline. She is sooooo funny. Best known for this act.



Tell you all about it tomorrow.

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Just this once....

I try to stay away from a couple topics on this blog. Two really ...religion and politics. It's not that I don't have set ideals and philosophies about each. It's not that I can't clearly articulate my personal beliefs. Believe me, I can articulate. I can articulate up and down and all around. Wow, that just went to a scary place fast didn't it?

It's just... it never goes well. I'm not going to convince you of anything. I really don't care to try. What you think is what you think. Plus, lean in...I'm going to tell you a secret. Closer....closer...CLOSER I SAID.

politics are boring.

There I said it. I admit it. I'm an (overly) educated middle class white woman and I said it. Politics are boooorrrrrring. Talking about politics is boring.

It just is.

But crazy things have been going on lately so I'm going have to say it.

As a born and raised Californian I only feel I have to apologize for my state's actions every once in a while. However this whole gay marriage thing. I swear to god I have more white guilt over this prop 8 thing than I ever did over the whole so we kidnapped your great-grandparents, threw them onto boats, and forced them to work for ...wait, HOLD THE BUS. not my great-grandparents. My great-grandparents were starving in Russia. Whew. Nothing to feel guilty about there.

I feel as though I should walk up to every same sex couple I know and apologize.  I'm sorry my state sucks. We aren't all closed-minded bigots. I swear.

I cannot believe we are even discussing this in this day and age.This should be a no-brainer.

Love is hard to find. To find someone you love enough to share the remote with- that's even harder. Who are you to stand in their way? Who I am?

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Is a little inspiration too much to ask for?

Going back to work in an actual office has been a real wake-up call for me. A wake-up call as to how kick-ass easy my life was as an at-home worker. The truth of the matter is I’m out of the habit. Not just putting clothes on AND brushing my teeth before beginning actual work but the social interaction of it all (that’s a whole different post).  Most of all I’m out of the habit of rush, rush, rush, rush everywhere to do everything. All the time. From the moment I get up in the morning to the moment I go to bed.

As a side note I have to say traffic makes me want to put a sharpened spork in someone’s eye.

Just saying.

My Muse-she doesn’t not like this pace. The rushing, the doing. My Muse, she’s a luxurious kinda creature. A bubble bath having, bon, bon eating, soft cotton pajamas wearing gal.

Nine pm rolls around. I roll up my sleeves. Sitting at the computer ready, willing and able. I tap, tap, tap. Ok- Muse, let’s get to work.

She raises herself sleepily from her silk sheets, lazily opens one eye and wordlessly shakes her head. No way Jose, not having it...no words of inspiration are coming from her magic fingertips.

Come on, Muse. It doesn’t even have to be roll in the aisles funny.

She burrows back under the covers. Still shaking her head.

Muse! I MEAN IT. A quick post about how our dad has now figured out how to “like” different things on facebook and it's driving us crazy…look I'm all set with pictures and everything...

She rolls over and pulls the covers over her head.

Muse. I shake her. Muse.

It’s hopeless.

My Muse- she's on vacation. Even if I'm not.

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Z-O-E R-I-G-H-T-E-R's

Oh Wyoming, see I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me forever.

Welcome to the cool kids club Wyoming! See you get a cool kids crown and everything. Sorry for the black eye. You gotta watch out for that New Jersey.

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Communication is the key to any healthy relationship

Dear Work Crush,

I maybe, just might, kinda want to lick you on your cheek. Don't be afraid.

Faithfully yours,
Zoe

P.S. I'm not a stalker. I swear.

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The very last acceptable sin

The packages are leaping from my arms like they were on a mission to get every last person in the splash zone at Sea World. Literally three packages and I can't keep them in my arms long enough to make it the ten feet to the post office door. Finally  I stack them on the counter next to me at the back of the line and surreptitiously wipe the sweat from my brow. From behind I hear, "I saw you struggling with those packages."

I don't even know what prompts me to say what I said next...was it my basic assholeness?My need to be a smart-ass at every turn?  Was it because I'd had one of those days? You know- the kind of day where you miss the last step coming down the stairs at five in the morning and somehow complete a 180 degree turn to land flat on your back, where you then spend the entire 60 minute strength training class wondering if that pain and burning you feel is the workout or if your spleen is exploding from the impact of your tailbone hitting the hard tile floor.

The kind of day where you splatter seven drops of gas across your shoe before work. Seven drops which might as well be a  thousand. So glad I spent ten minutes applying a virtual cornucopia of products to ensure I don't somehow, someway offend anyone's delicate sensibilities in the enclosed cattle run they call an office. Deodorant under the arms, lotion on the arms and legs, baby powder on the boobs (it's summer), a splash of vanilla perfume. Wasted by the Gas Girl. (By the way there is a guy in my office that I swear to the heavens smells exactly like Oreo cookies.)

The kind of day where you ever so carefully pour your pomegranate juice into a big ass Rubio's cup so you don't risk getting any on your blinding white tank top only to have a small splatter land right on your nipple. YOUR NIPPLE. WHERE PEOPLE STARE ALL DAY. First at the small purple eraser sized stain, then the giant water stain where you tried unsuccessfully try to ice the stain out and then the green pea sized stain the juice has somehow morphed into.

{Photo Credit}

So yeah in line you somehow think it's a good idea to open your mouth, laugh, and say..."Yeah, and did you hear me cursing at them all the way into the door." Only to have the man raise himself into a posture perfect position, look down his nose at you and proclaim haughtily, "No, I'M a Christian."

Emmmmmm, Kay. How do I even begin to respond? Do I have my melt down right there in the post office? Do I raise my arms into a V and shout out to the heavens? Oh, MY FREAKING GAWD. Are you freaking kidding me here?

No, you politely and kindly nod, grit your teeth, turn back around and plot his death all the way to the front of the line.

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The apple doesn't fall far from the tree

SuperGirls's Closet...

It's a sickness I think. 

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Heart of the Sea

So I didn't get my period this month and it's freaking me out.

Hell no, I'm not pregnant. Yes, I know for sure I'm not pregnant. How?

1. Mary, Mother of Jesus and I look nothing alike and
2. I had a little snip, snip procedure at 23. I know it's not possible

I got all the symptoms of having a period, increased interest in sex, bloaty, bitchy, headache, etc.

Then...nada.

I've been carrying around a pad in my purse for two weeks, thinking any day now.

Speaking of which, I'm at Togo's yesterday at lunch paying for my sandwich and of course I had to damn near pull everything out of my purse. What falls at my feet and I don't even notice? Of course- the pad- wrapped in it's own pale green protective wrapper but still. So some man ma'am's me to call attention to the fact that I have indeed let loose a feminine product on the floor. Yeah, great, fabulous....

Made even better is the fact he works with me. Seven desks over. Just why?

I've decided I'm not even going to be embarrassed.

So back to the no period thing... I did what any normal American woman would do. I went on Google and apparently I'm either dying, shriveling up or it's nothing. I can't even believe I'm saying this...but come on cramps. Come on hating the world and everyone in it. Come on- prolonged heavy bleeding. Please. I'm not ready for option one or two yet.

On a side-note: I finally introduced myself to the work crush yesterday. Jason. Yum!

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Say, would someone mind checking the ratings? I seem to have an audience of two.

The television was out in the Right household last night. Some cable snafu. Not a big deal- nothing good on Monday nights anyway, although SuperGirl would disagree. However I think missing one night of teenage girls getting knocked up on the Christian channel isn’t going to kill us. Or girls sleeping with their teachers or girls sleeping with other girls. Geez, teenage TV is a little more graphic than when I was a disaster waiting to happen. We just had General Hospital.

Look, it’s not to say we watch a lot but we are not a television on in the background kinda family- if the TV is on, we’re collapsed on the couch watching it. Not sitting, not resting, collapsed. Made worse is the fact we have five TV’s in the house. I have no idea how the hell this happened.

Replace a TV- move the old into a bedroom. Hey, want a TV? Sure. Move it into the bedroom. No grandma, I do not want your old TV. It weighs 200 pounds, comes in its own wooden case and the screen is green. Yes, even though it was top of the line when you bought it. In 1962.

I do have to admit, having a TV in my room has been a godsend as of late.

Man-child “modded” the X-Box on the TV in the living room. I have no idea what modded means nor do I know the legalities of such an action but I’m taking the what you don’t know won’t kill you stance on this one or better known as “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff” Parenting Philosophy aka the no sex, no drugs, no booze, be polite and take your own dishes to the sink method of parenting.

All I do know is my house now sounds like a war zone. I’m not sure if you knew this but sirens we designed to be loud and obnoxious. So loud you can’t ignore them even when you’re rocking out to Fat Boy Slim in the car. Thank you video manufacturers for adding that extra bit of realism into your video games. Because there is nothing like having sirens go off in your house every 30 seconds. Combine sirens with bombs and screams and SuperGirl and I are hitting the deck on a regular basis.

I do have to say it’s amazing the amount of chores we knocked out last night. One night of no TV and our house fairly gleamed. As the obsessive compulsive my children love, Truly,  I insisted all clothes actually get put away, instead of their current method of leaving them in the laundry basket sitting on their floor until they’ve amassed enough dirty clothes to rotate the clothes into the laundry room. Starting the process all over again. I swear I wash the same clean clothes over and over again.

I helped SuperGirl hang her clothes until she yelled at me one too many times about shirts facing the right way. Obviously the branch doesn’t fall far from the anal tree. (Rereading that last sentence, thinking about changing the wording, letting it stand…you know that’s not what I meant, you perv. Although come on the visual imagery is rich, isn’t it?)

We probably should go without TV more often.

Ummmm, or not.

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Hot fudge sundae with whipped cream, cherries and sprinkles

Attraction is a funny thing.

Cute guy, after cute guy, after cute guy can walk by and nothing. All of the suddenly a certain someone flashes you a totally inappropriate grin and WHAMO- right in the solar plexus. Pretty soon you’re walking around with a goofy smile on your face and the hormones are awake and singing. “Hello, Hello, this one!”

It's kinda like purse shopping. Men- I give you all permission to zone out for a moment.

In the hierarchy of accessories shopping, purses are pretty high up there. Falling somewhere between earrings and shoes. Now shoes- shoes are that hot guy that totally makes your insides clench up whenever you see him but really can only stand to be around every once in a while. Too much and either will cause severe damage. Earrings- diamond studs, for example, are like marriage, dependable, classic but sometimes just a little bit boring. Purses- purses are your boyfriend. Steady and fun but also exciting.

Sure you can walk in a store and convince yourself that an over-sized hobo sling is exactly what you need or you'll use that tiny little clutch all the time (or that buttoned up white collar guy from accounting.) But eventually over time, you'll hate it. Like Goldilocks it's too big or too small, never quite right.

However when you let go and let attraction happen, you pick up a little number like this one. Ummm.

Sorry where was I? Anyway...

I work in an office full of men, nary a one over 45. A virtual sea of men. Some married, some single, some, well who knows what team they're playing for but men, none the less. Some are attractive. Some are hideous, Most are your average button up shirt, pressed jean guy. I look around and feel....Nothing. Nada. Ho Hum. Sure one or two are cute and would probably be great guys to take home and introduce to the friends. Could work.

Then a week ago this guy looms over my cube(he's driving a lift, flashes me a completely inappropriate grin and scoots on by. Ummm.

Sorry where was I?

Best reason for going to work everyday. Mid-30's, a little under 6', great body. Best smile ever. Looks for me everywhere. Walks by my cube- 20 times a day. Black bag- MUST COME HOME WITH ME.

For the past two days he's worked on a different part of the building, electrical something or another. Has had his upper body in the false ceiling. I'm bereft. Sad. Must stop stalking. Then yesterday- he's back out. All is well in my world once more.

Attraction, it's a funny thing.

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Boys are Gross

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this…my brother moved in a couple of years ago- about the time the man-child hit that ever lovely boundary between legos and if you don’t watch me carefully I’m going to light the house on fire/knock-up my girlfriend/develop a drinking problem/wreck five cars/generally turn into a hateful, angry teenager- phase of life. Seemed like a good idea to call in reinforcements, seeing as how I could not longer hold him down in time-out until he snapped the hell out of whatever misbehavior he seemed intent on perpetrating.

Plus it’s never a good idea to leave teenagers alone for any length of time. At all. Need proof? Watch any of the new shows on ABC Family.

My brother, bless his heart totally stepped up. He moved in with us and it works… for the most part.

He gets the Master bedroom downstairs- THE MANCAVE, so he’s has his own space and we have the entire upstairs. So we have our own space.

But…

I do have to say- I don’t even know how you married people do it. He’s my brother and I love and appreciate the sacrifices he’s made to be there for his nephew but I seriously want to kneecap him like twice a day. You don’t even realize the irritating little habits you train out of your children until you see them present in someone else.

Little things, like chewing with your mouth closed. Or picking up your feet when walking. Or not leaving dirty dishes in the sink when the dishwasher is empty. Or sucking your teeth- whatta ya an eighty year old man? Just for example

Claiming the front television. I have to claim time on the living room TV- like I’m a teenager again.

Clean your room- it smells like dirty sweat socks and wet dog- which makes the entire downstairs smell like dirty socks and wet dog. There is no Febreeze high enough.

Small little things that set your teeth on edge.

If he goes missing- I have no idea what happened to him. Do not look in the trunk of my car- FBI.


P.S- Man-child didn't do any of those things. I'm just saying in general.

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It's High School Gym All Over Again

I had this great post planned about how I'm totally stalking this cute guy at work (except he smiles at me all the time so maybe it's mutual stalking) but then I saw this....

Apparently people in Wyoming just don't read me. Ever. What the hell Wyoming? Look, look, the people in California love me. LUV me. Don't you wanna be cool like California?

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Wade Hampton- The artist!

So Wade, bless his heart, totally pretended he wasn't terrified, hiding from me at the back of his closet, like Kermit from Miss Piggy. Oh My God, Crazy Lady if I answer your stupid questions will you go away and leave me in peace?

I'm just kidding- he was really, really nice. Although I may need to rethink my whole art crush though - Posh-Wade, Posh? Being the crackshot journalist (snort) I am I asked the burning questions I know you, my readers, want to know. Important questions. Keep reading...

How did you start?
Like everyone else, as a kid. I then went to College and studied design... but, it wasn't making me feel like an Artist. It wasn't until I was about 25 years old that I went back to college and took one painting class. That changed everything. I shortly after that, formed an Artist collective, called "Famous Dead Artists". I then started to realize what the possibilities were, when it came to self expression.

What are your goals as an artist? 
Basically what I'm doing now. I have a well paying day job as a graphic designer, and I am slowly growing as an artist, filmmaker, etc... on my own time.

Are you available for commercial work? 
I rarely do any freelance anymore.


Let’s say someone (like a beautiful blonde goddess just for example) has fallen in love with one of your pieces. Is it available for purchase?
Not right now, I'm kicking around the idea of making some of my digital pieces available online.

What is your favorite body of water and why?
 I like little streams. They are peaceful and soothing to me.

What, if anything, do you consistently draw inspiration from? 
David Lynch, DEVO, Flaming Lips... anything rooted in "art".

If you could swap vocal cords with one Spice Girl who would it be?
Posh.

How much of your day is spent drawing when you have a deadline project, and does that affect your personal life? 
I make art in bursts. I have to have deadlines. I'm mostly doing filmmaking right now. See my latest film, "GOODING: No One Gets Out Alive" (which we debuted last week) on the front page of my film site: www.artbrutfilm.com

In a battle between Batman, the Transformers, and GI Joe who would win? 
Always bet on Batman.

(Based on your Logos) You've worked with lots of companies, do you have a favorite and why? 
I got the pleasure of doing the official logo/mascot for Wichita State University, our local university that I went to... his name is WuShock. I was honored.

How many marshmallows can you fit in you mouth? 
I don't like marshmallows... I could probably fit 4 or 5 Funyuns in there, though.

Who is your favorite artist? Why?
Overall, it's David Lynch, because he does everything and it always fantastic. My favorite painter is Karel Appel... his stuff is so free form and mind blowing.

What is something you’d want people to know about you? 
I worship T.V.

Thanks Wade for being such a good sport!

Want to check out more? Go to  Art Brut Film. 

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Artists I Love more than Buhdda: Part Three

One day my delightful darling turned to me and said..."Mommy, I love you more than bunnies." To which I responded, "Well, I love you more than butter. ...but not as much as Belgium chocolate." (After all, one must have standards) Well these are the artists I love more than Belgium chocolate.  

Wade Hampton

Not too much is known about ole Wade. I totally stalked him on Facebook and twitter and his site and nada..

It amazing what's perfectly acceptable in this day and age. Ten years ago this amount of stalking would have landed me in jail. Now we can say the words Oh yeah, I totally stalk him on Facebook and it's perfectly fine. Well, amongst your computer friends. Everyone else still looks at you a little weird. You know, yesterday I had someone at work totally extol the virtues of Facebook, how much fun it is, how he posts something and 30 of his friends reply. Crazy. Facebook- hmmm, think I might have heard of that.

Anyhoodle, so I've been lurking around the Internet trying to dig the dirt on this guy when I finally gave up and sent him some interview questions. But he's finally onto the fact I'm a total stalker or the questions might have put him off a little bit or ya know he has a life (maybe I shouldn't have asked him about his love life in quite that way) and hasn't had a chance to get back to me yet. So maybe someday I may get to do a follow-up. Whoo HOOO!

I love this artist... never mind his site is just a work of art in and amongst itself- utter simplicity. Go check out Captain Booger and Dr. Snot.

Just a few of my favorite pieces.

I was like a kid in the candy store. One after another after another. 

But then I found the mother lode and it was all over for me.

You know that scene in Indecent Proposal when Demi Moore climbs into the bed and just rolls all over that huge pile of money...that's what I want to do with this painting. 

Okay- that was a little weird. 

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