One Word Answers

This is courtesy of Momma at Poetic License. It's really hard for me to limit these to one word answers. I have a tendency to embellish and ramble on and on and usually get caught up in the need to explain all my answers ... oh wait. There I go again.
Read on!

Your mobile phone? Close

Your significant other? Witty

Your hair? Thick

Your mother? Clever

Your father? Supportive

Your favorite thing? Writing

Your dream last night? Vague

Your favorite drink? CharlieCoke

Your dream/goal? Published

The room you’re in? Bedroom

Your ex? Exorcised

Your fear? Instability

Where do you want to be in 6 years? Bookstores (get it?)

Where were you last night? Home

What you’re not? Tidy

Muffins? Banana-nut (kind of two words)

One of your wish list items? Teeth

Where you grew up? Vegas

The last thing you did? Talk

What are you wearing? Pajamas

Your TV? GhostHunters

Your pets? Spoiled

Your computer? Lifeblood

Your life? Improving

Your mood? Ditto (see above)

Missing someone? Grandparents

Your car? Adored

Something you’re not wearing? Make-up

Favorite Store? Bookstore

Your summer? Scorching

Like someone? Carefully

Your favorite color? Green

When is the last time you laughed? Tonite

Last time you cried? Forgotten

Ok - now to pass the tags along.

To Baroness von B ... Because I discovered her on Ask, and had posted a comment on the review of her site. And I proceeded to firmly wedge my foot in my mouth by calling her blog "wordy." That's pretty much the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say? I think she'll enjoy the irony of the one-word post tag, after our first "meeting." She responded to my comment and was very kind and gracious and I love her blog more every day. Oh holy crap. I don't think she's in my blogroll. I can't remember! I'll have to check that and remedy the situation post-haste. (Yeah, and I called HER wordy ...)

To Maggie and Ray ... the first REAL honest to goodness writers I met through the blogosphere - and ones that actually visit my posted ramblings. Go figure! I'm tagging them with the one-word post because they helped me through my deadline-anxiety-attack, and I'm sure each of them has a deadline looming. This one's more of a time-saver than the other one.

And to Anne ... my friend and neighbor and fellow blogger. I'm tagging you with BOTH of these memes because you've been on vacation in Sunny San Diego for almost a whole frickin' week. Yeah, I'm a little jealous.
I have enjoyed visiting your cats; well, only Cleo ... because Bandit just hides out under Andrew's bed while we're there ... Cleo is now totally in love with Katie and I. She makes a total fool out of herself when we visit. It's just not as much fun to walk across the street.
Therefore, because I love you and miss you, and because Payton was driving me up the wall with Andrew gone ... I am punishing you by making you do two of these. Hee Hee !!!

Six Quirky Things About Me

OK. Here goes. Just so you know - I had to get help on this from Katie and Kirk. There were just too many to choose from. Thank you and multiple hugs and kisses to Cissa for tagging me.
Enjoy!

1. I love chocolate donuts and orange juice. This grosses my family out to no end. I looooove milk too, but sometimes I just get a craving for chocolate milk and o.j. I've been this way since I was little so it's not likely to change.

2. I cannot bring myself to watch end-of-the-world movies like Deep Impact, or I Am Legend ... but can watch true crime television shows (complete with crime scene photos) without batting an eye. Unless it involves kids - and then I wimp out and change the channel.

3. I have a really good ear for dialects, and used to amaze my patients (and break the ice) by trying to guess where they were from. Vegas gets residents from all around the world, you know. The last memorable one was when I guessed my patient was Welsh and I was spot-on. He was also incredibly cool and witty, and we totally bonded.

4. I always have something to write on, wherever I go. Even if it's just a small pad of paper - it's in my purse. If something pops into my head - whatever it may be - I have to write it down to remember it or it's lost forever. As a bonus quirk - I am very particular about my pens. I have a few favorites that everyone in my house knows they can't take without asking.

5. I have a decision-making disorder. I'm not exaggerating. It takes me hours to choose what I want in a restaurant, what to spend a gift card on, what to wear for a date-night out, etc ...
It drives my family crazy and I get nothing but grief from them. But I just can't make snap decisions!

6. I met my husband on a blind date. My girlfriend Beck kept telling me she had the perfect guy for me but I kept resisting the introduction. And then came the night she finally got us together. The minute he walked in the door I heard a loud CLICK in my head. I went home that night, went straight to my room and sat on the floor in my closet for almost 5 minutes - until my mom walked in. She asked Beck, "What's wrong with her?" Beck said "She met Kirk." I then informed my Mom that I had just met the man I was going to marry. I was so sure of it - and it scared the crap out of me. And here we are - 15 years later.

Now I get to tag some other folks ...

The Rules:

1. Link to the person who tagged you. Cissa at Heart of Fire, I Heart You!

2. Mention the rules on your blog.

3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.

4. Tag 6 bloggers and link them.

I am kinda stupid about creating links without using the address. Please forgive me!

I tag Anne (Ficklin Fam), Rhonda (A Day In The Life of the Dale Fam), Jen (Jennifer Has Spoken), Vickie (Stagno Per Anitre), Kaitlin (Kaitlin's Blog / onex3dg) and Robin (My Inner Teen).

5. Notify taggees by leaving a comment on their blog.

Whew! That was fun. But very taxing on my little grey cells. I'm finishing the tag from Momma and should be able to post it in a little while. Now I just have to send off comments to my tagees!

Time To Lighten Up

Today I received the enormous thrill of getting tagged - by name - for the first time.
(Gasp!)

For those of you nonbloggers, or newbies like me, that means that another blogger has done a meme or list and is passing it along to other bloggers to do as well. The meme I did a while back was from Heather at Coal Miner's Granddaughter, and it was awesome (I had much, too much fun doing it) but it was open to anyone that wanted to do it.

This time, Cissa over at Heart of Fire has tagged me by name as one of six people she wants to have do the list.
I know you're wondering what the heck the big deal is.
I guess it's just being recognized ... like "She is actually interested in what I would write!?!?"

... when what is probably closer to the truth is that she had 5 really good bloggers listed already, and when it came time to choose the last one, just pointed her finger in front of her blogroll, closed her eyes and tapped the screen. And her little digit happened to hover over the group of blogs starting with "S."

However this little gem happened to fall in my lap - I just don't care. I'm going to enjoy this - my very first tag (hee hee) - and I'll post my answers tomorrow (probably).

What's that you say?

What's the topic?

Oh.

Ahem.

Six Quirky Things About Me

I'm going to have to spend several hours whittling the list down to only 6.

No, really.
It would be easier to list the non-quirky things about me.

Somehow, I'll get a short list written and then share it with you all tomorrow.

P.S. And yes - those of you who know me "in real life" are welcome to submit suggestions.

I know you want to anyway!

P.P.S. I just got a comment on the last post from Momma over at Poetic License and she ALSO tagged me - by name - for a meme. Oh my merciful heavens. I think I'm gonna explode.

Tee-hee-hee!

And if you think I'm making a big deal out of a little thing - remember that I warned you several posts back (re: the car wash) that I am a girl that is made very happy by simple things.

O.K. I'm going to float away now ... on my cloud of happiness.

A Little Slap of Awareness ...

I know that by now you've noticed the tendency of my emotions to yo-yo all over the frickin' place. I ripped open an artery a few days ago and exposed my inner self in a way that is completely and totally foreign and very unlike me.

I rebounded to post the birthday tribute to my mom - and even that wasn't as sentimental as it might have been, were I in a more "happy place." Of course I meant every last word - but I am certain that everyone that knows me could sense that I wasn't all there. It could have been so much better. Mom, I promise to do you one better on Mother's Day.

But tonite, I was visiting one of my favorite sites - Ask And Ye Shall Receive. It's a blog review site that is brutally honest, clever and witty as hell. And no, to answer your question, I have NOT submitted mine for review.

I have discovered many of my current favorite blogs on this site - most notably Coal Miner's Granddaughter, Nitro Vista and Maggie, Dammit. (I freakin' love you guys!)

The most recent review was for a site titled Widow For A Year ... written by a woman who lost her husband this past October to pancreatic cancer at the age of 44. She is now raising two small children by herself - with the support of her family and friends.

I knew I shouldn't start reading her blog - because I am so tender hearted I cry at those damn commercials for dogs and cats in animal shelters, and all the critters look up at the camera with the soul-piercing look. I want to adopt every damn one of them. And I cannot even mention the commercials for children around the world that need sponsorship. They rip my heart out.

But I have fallen in love with this blog. No matter how heart-wrenching it is to me - she has an honest writing style that pulls me into her life and makes me ache for her. And admire her - I cannot begin to imagine what I might do in her situation. I can't bring myself to imagine my life without my husband. I would only hope I could manage one hundredth as well as she has. She has not had an easy time these past months, and you feel her deep agony, and cheer her every success. Some days, just functioning is a major success for many of us - for her it must feel like a daily triathlon.

So, my earlier ranting and ravings about poor little me? Utter and complete bullshit.

What the hell does all of this material crap matter when I have a healthy, happy family with which to spend my days? We may keep this house - we may sell it and move. Eventually, Kirk will find a job - somewhere and sometime. I am going to write until my fingers bleed and finish the manuscript, and I am going to finish my freelance gig as soon as I can to thank my client for her enduring patience and support. We will get through this.

Please don't read this as one of those "if you think you've got it bad - look at this" sorts of thoughts. I genuinely don't feel that way after reading her blog. And yes, I read every one of her posts. The primary feeling I took away - aside from my empathy and respect for her - is that at the end of the day, in my ordinary little life, the small stuff really doesn't matter unless you let it get to you.

There's so much more to be thankful for. I just have to change my outlook. Thanks to this wonderful woman - I am well on my way.

Stop by and visit her. Bring tissues. http://www.stduffy.blogspot.com/

And please click on her link to donate to pancreatic cancer research and early detection. Or go there directly from here ... http://www.lustgarten.org/.

And know that whoever you are - friends, blogger friends, family and all - I love you all to pieces.

Happy Birthday Mom !

Time for another family post! Today is my Mom's birthday and I thought she should get her own tribute. Of course, I had to share some pictures to go along with this. You'll have to forgive the slightly blurred quality of the photos - my scanner is uncooperative so I took a picture of each picture. (Ahem, coincidentally with my mom's camera.) That picture up above is her with her dad - I told you I am descended from True Cowboy stock.

This is her on Hopalong Cassidy's horse. Yep, that's right. The legend of Hollywood Western movies is the guy standing beside her. That's the man himself - William Boyd. This was taken at Railroad Pass - halfway between Las Vegas and Boulder City, NV. Mom said he was a really good looking man, but at that age she was more in love with his horse.

This is her in a photo from the Las Vegas Review Journal. The caption says, "They'll do anything to be different in Las Vegas, and Dianne Verser, 24, helps out by hiding Easter eggs in Lake Mead for the annual Whamco Divers egg search under water. The hunt begins at 10:30 a.m. Sunday off the Boulder Islands." Pretty freakin' cool, huh?

There are two other photos that I searched high and low for but couldn't find. If I can get my hands on them I'll post them later. One is her in a bikini and heels for a beauty contest - (woo-woo!) and the other is of she and my grandad both wearing cowboy hats and gun holsters with six-shooters. That one in particular is one of my favorites.
And here's a more recent picture. Tell the truth - and remember I'm 37 years old. Does she look old enough to have a 37-year old kid? Let alone grand kids? Yes, she hears that all the time. Strangers are always saying that they think we're sisters when we're out together.

She drives a sweet little silver PT Cruiser, loves NASCAR and Dale Earnhardt Jr., kicks major ass at Trivial Pursuit, has taught art classes off and on for 25 years, can make a computer do anything she wants, often reads a book in one day (now you know where I get it from), exposes my kids to culture by taking them to art shows, museums, historical sites, as well as half a dozen festivals (Native American, Renaissance, etc...) a year, and still takes them shopping, to movies, and to play in the snow at Mt. Charleston. She can name most any flower you point out, is a total sucker for animals (especially Shelby, her granddog - that's her term, not mine), can crochet, sew, embroider and makes her own jewelry. Oh, and pretty much any household repair around the house - including installing our garbage disposal when I was a kid. That blew my mind at age 10. She also makes a mean cherry cheesecake. She and my dad have been divorced for years, but they have always kept a good relationship for my sake. In fact, she often goes to dinner with he and his wife, Laura. How rare is that?

Yep, she's a great mom, I love her very much. Happy Birthday Mom / Grandma !

Lots of love and hugs and kisses from all of us ...

P.S. - Did I mention she's single? If you happen to know a smart, funny, unattached guy who can match wits with her, drop me a line. Cowboys get bonus points.

And yes, she's probably going to kill me for that last line but I'll bet she was getting all teary-eyed and I'm pretty sure that stopped the tears. Hee-Hee ... love you Mom!

Screaming My Heart Out

Time to rip off the layer of self-protection and expose myself. I usually try to keep my posts funny and light-hearted to avoid dwelling on my personal stresses. You've heard me reference the stress and depression and money woes - but I've only skimmed the surface.

As of today - I've reached the point of no return.

This is a huge - angst-filled, ranting, raving, whiney, angry, revealing post. You may want to skip it. If you do - I understand.


A little history ...
My beloved husband and I quit our jobs almost a year ago after decades in service. I left ophthalmology after 18 years of working for a few different practices and he left a managerial-retail-warehouse career after 18 years ... with the same frickin' company.

I quit because I couldn't take the back-stabbing co-workers (one of which I recommended to be hired!) that delighted in making my every day an experience in torture. I'd lost the deep love I had for my career - I didn't make a difference any more. I became physically sick in the mornings before having to leave for the office. I'd spent years developing trusting relationships with my patients and my doctors, and two little vipers had infiltrated my happy den. One morning, Kirk asked me what I would do if I had any career in the world to choose from. That was an easy choice. I wanted to spend more time with my kids and husband, and see if I could make a go of my freelance and novel-writing career.

He quit because the overall attitude of his company had changed, and had gone from the original idea of "take care of the employees and the employees will take good care of the customers" to "work your employees to within an inch of their sanity and if they bend - fire them." He had seen his mentor attacked for a random act of kindness to his staff, and then forced into early retirement. He had watched as more and more decades-long employees folded under the pressure of the 6-day (10- hour) work weeks and negative reinforcement, verbal abuse and toxic environment. He left to start his own business in partners with his longtime mentor and another longtime co-worker and close friend. The three of them started a company to help people caught in foreclosure; to help them negotiate with the lenders to save the house, or at worst, organize a quick-sale to help them retain some equity. It was supposed to be a good-karmic business - to help people in need and enable the partners to support their own families in the process.

Unfortunately, it soon became clear that the people that contacted the company were too far into the foreclosure process before they asked for help, or IDIOTS that owned multiple properties and were SHOCKED that a magic wand couldn't be waved to fix the trouble. The partners soon realized that the average homeowners they wanted to reach were in such denial about the foreclosure that they ignored the mailings and advertisements that were sent out until it was too late.

The partners then regrouped and began looking into purchasing and flipping previously foreclosed properties. This city is ripe with available properties, as we have the highest foreclosure rate in the country. (Last time I checked.) The only problem now is that this process takes time. And investors. And all three partners have bills to pay and families to support.

Fast forward ...

It has been five months since my hubby and I talked about it and realized it was time for him to start searching for a day job to carry us through until the "Flip" company takes off. My freelance earnings are not enough.

Can I just tell you how excruciating the last five months have been?

He starts off every morning by checking his email and sending out his resume and application to anything that is remotely possible.
He has two different so-called "experts" from employment agencies that have come up with ZERO possibilities.
He has discovered that three of the biggest job sites are thick with con artists seeking to steal his identity. He's received dozens of emails asking for his social security number to "process" his application. They have all turned out to be scams.
He had a meeting with an "employment specialist" who spent the first 45 minutes of the meeting telling my intelligent, hard-working, very capable husband every little thing that was wrong with him and those were the reasons he wasn't getting hired. In the last 10 minutes he became a "pal" who said that for a SIX THOUSAND dollar fee he would guarantee to find my hubby a job within a year. Can you say ... SCAM ???!!!
Kirk said it took all his self-control not to punch the guy in the face.

Today marks another "job fair" that my dear hubby has attended - only to discover that of the EIGHTY employers that were touted to attend - THREE are actually hiring. I am not exaggerating. I am not counting the LV Metro Police Dept and Fire Dept - but they are looking for 20-something men and women. All of the rest of them were at the job fair and admitted they did not have any current openings. So why the hell where they there?

I am angry, depressed and scared. Every day I see my husband - who could walk in and do ANY job someone gave him - beaten down by rejection after rejection. He has that Midwestern (Indiana) work ethic and has high morals, common sense and intelligence to boot. He started out with the company while he was in high school - pushing carts - and by the time he left he was the third-highest ranking person in the warehouse. He's fantastic with dealing with employee crises, troubleshooting, problem solving, employee motivation and morale, event planning, fundraising, scheduling, budgeting, marketing, surpassing corporate quotas and customer satisfaction. His skills could easily transfer to a hundred different companies.

But no one is hiring.

If you hear insane screaming late at night - just know that it is me - overcome by insomnia and anxiety - caterwauling at the moon.
I've prayed till it felt like my words were little pebbles down an empty well.
I've "Let Go and Let God."
I've said countless Novenas.
I've done any random act of kindness I could think of to strangers in the world.
I'm about to head to a New Age shop and get a batch of crystals and candles.
I'd dance naked under a full moon if it would work.
If you pray - to God, Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, Mary or the Universe - whatever you believe ... add a line for us.
Please.
I can't stand to see the love of my life have his self-esteem and husband-father-provider image chipped away at like this.


O.K. That was the most revealing and soul-baring post I think I've ever done. I need to take a deep breath and go do something light hearted and leave this alone for now. I'll be back when I have something silly and funny to post about again ...

Power Trip

I sincerely hope you all aren't getting tired of my recurrent ramblings and grousing about my laptop adventures. You all stood by me when I first got Internet access on the laptop (thank you Wayne!) and the subsequent blogging addiction that bloomed like a poisonous flower, and the recent saga of the AC adapter search. If you are tired of this subject, you may as well click on one of the more interesting blogs over there on your left. If you're not, and choose to stick around - I sincerely love you and thank you profusely.

Yes, I did buy the universal adapter from Guy #2 (scroll down and read the Laptop = Crack post if you don't know what I'm talking about) who was not only nice enough to make sure it worked when I first purchased it, but was nice enough to fiddle with it again when I returned to the store later than night when I was having problems. Those problems? Those were omens, baby.

I discovered over the last couple of days that the universal charger DID charge both mine and the bankruptcy laptop - but only if I plugged the cord into the port just right and propped a book or something heavy up against it to hold it in place. If it slipped, well ... woe is me. I'd find something else to distract myself when my laptop was charging, only to return and discover the magical orange light was NOT lit - therefore there was no charging going on. There were many muttered swear words.

Then there was the thrilling realization that the charger needed one full hour (at least) to charge my laptop. Once it was done, I would then have less than one hour of battery power in which to do my research and hopefully get an article done. Did I mention the tiny hindrance that I wasn't able to work on the laptop while it was charging because something strange happened during that process that seemed to give my cursor a sort of epilepsy? It just blinked and trembled at first, then shook and shimmied like a burlesque stripper. (You can see where my research has taken me of late, can't you? Hint ... pasties!!! ) So, I could work for an hour, then had to stop and charge for an hour, and then repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

After a full day and a half of this torture - I had had enough. I roped Anne into going out on an expedition this afternoon, leaving The Boys in Katie's charge - and man, oh man, was she thrilled. (Can you hear the sarcasm?)

The plan was to return the piece-of-crap universal adapter to Guy #2 and then venture on and purchase an authentic, honest-to-God Toshiba adapter. I called the Toshiba shop at 1:30 to check that the correct model was in stock, got the closest cross streets, verify the store hours (8 to 4) and rejoiced in the fact that we didn't have to set foot in some (Guy #1's) dilapidated, stinky old mobile home - excuse me - home office.

Guy #2 was not very happy with my return request, and subsequently pawned me off on Guy #3. Guy #3 proceeded to tell me that the problem was with my laptop's battery, which I countered with the observation that said battery was fine and gave me 2 to 3 hours of work time when charged with my original adapter - three frickin' days ago. My theory? If it worked fine with the other adapter, but Sucks Big Toe with the universal adapter, and you factor in that short time period of change - the universal adapter has got to go. Period. Give me my freakin' refund, man.

Anyhoo ... I got my money (less the 20% restocking fee - crooks) and pointed my car's nose toward the Real Toshiba Store.

We arrived at 3:20 - and discovered the frickin' lights were off and the front door was locked.

I called the main number, and got the answering machine.

Frick, frickitty, frick frick frick.

Mild, early panic set in.

We climbed back in my car and I re-read the list I'd made (from the phone calls of a few days ago - yes, I still had the list - and yes, my OCD is in high gear) of other options in town. The other Toshiba store was relatively close, but they charged $20 more for the same item. I checked my wallet and saw that I didn't have that much cash on me. FRICK.

I was just about to call it a day, head home and deal with a laptop-less weekend (pain and agony) when an ANGEL in the form of a young man poked his head out the door. Turns out, he was a tech that worked in the back. He didn't know everyone from the front office had locked up and gone home, but had heard us at the front door and took pity on us and opened the store back up. He repeatedly apologized for the delay as he got the front computer up and running, got the adapter from the stock room, and then processed my purchase. I assured him that he could take his sweet time - I was so happy to have the real adapter, not that crap universal thing. Anne chimed in that I would not be a happy person if I had to go the whole weekend without my laptop. She is so right.

Yes, we had to deal with one slightly creepy older guy and his much nicer friend - customers who had arrived a few minutes after the tech-angel let us in ... making uncomfortable small-talk until our transaction was complete. But it was so freakin' worth it. I could have kissed that tech guy - I was so grateful. (And yeah, he was cute. But also about 10 years younger than me.)

And the bonus? Once we were done we still had time to run by the library and meander and stroll the shelves, and I came home with a (well, another) stack of books.

We returned to our neighborhood to discover Anne's hubby Wayne wasn't home from work yet, which is good - I hate to monopolize her time when he's home. Sadly, at my house we found one seriously exasperated 12 year old who was at the end of her rope and about to mummify two little boys (7 and 8 year olds) in several rolls of duct tape, no doubt the result of a last-ditch effort to find some peace and quiet. And then down the stairs came my hubby, moaning and groaning - in the throes of battle with a raging sinus infection.

Anne took her son home to visit with the just-arrived hubby/dad of her house, I borrowed some over-the-counter sinus medication from her, and dosed my hubby - while Katie sat on the couch and heaved a sigh of relief.

I am writing this now with my laptop plugged into the AC adapter, without so much as a twitch from my cursor. The kids are out front playing with neighborhood friends, and the medicated hubby is unconscious next to me, snoring loud enough to rattle the window blinds.

It's hard to be so happy for myself with so much mean and misery around, but somehow I manage.

To borrow an expression from my authentic cowboy relatives ... Yee-Haw !!!

Laptop = Crack

See that little innocuous looking thing right up there? That there is my crack. Want to know why I should say such a thing? Sit down and get comfy, I've got a story to tell you.

This morning started off like all the others. Got Katie off to school, returned home and planned to work on the research and maybe get a few articles done before Payton and Hubby woke. Of course, I had to start off my morning with my post about the crocheted pasties and bikini bottom. (Mental stretching before the real work.) As I published that post, my little laptop started to beep. Then a little bubble popped up, telling me to "switch to alternate power source to preserve your work." Fine, no problem.

Except my AC adapter is already plugged in. Frick.

I jiggle the plugs, I unplug both ends and plug them back in, I move the laptop and adapter to another spot across the room to check that outlet. Nada, zip, zilch. I even got my phone charger to make sure both outlets are working. And my laptop is still beeping at me.

I gave up and turned the laptop off. Then I headed upstairs to the family PC and spent about an hour searching for replacement AC adapters. I discovered that I could get a universal adapter on eBay for 19.99 (plus $12 S/H) but it would take 7-21 days to be delivered. (Coming from Hong Kong, of course.) I can't wait that long! I cannot be without my laptop for that length of time - I've got a deadline sitting on my shoulders that I absolutely cannot miss. I know you're all thinking that I could have just done my articles on the famPC.

Yeah, right.

I'd have to take a number, and get in line, and you can bet your Aunt Fanny that I'd get stuck with the worst hours to write. (Oh, like when everybody's home and awake, for instance.) Besides, I neeeeeed my laptop. Hence, the crack comparison.

Guess what happened next? You're right! The family PC froze up on me. Damnit, damnit, damnit!

I showed it who's boss, though. I went and took a nap. (Yes, I did.)

When I got up, I started the phone book crawl. You know, when you call every possible person in the city who just might be able to help you, and as you're describing the computer accessory you need, you get the distinct feeling they are staring off into space and cleaning their ear with a paper clip? But you rattle off all the model and part numbers all the same, and try to grin and frickin' bear it?

So, the BigBuy nationwide store told me they had one in stock for $130. (gulp) No dice.

A dozen phone calls later, this very nice man told me he had one (without really listening to my part numbers - a great big fat omen) for $59. Great! (OK, not great - but I'm desperate.) I ask for his address. I know that part of town and KNOW it's residential. I ask if his store is in a shopping center (they do spring up awful quick around here) and he says, "No, it's my house." Hmmmmm...

"And I only take cash." Double hmmmmmmm .....

So, I take Kirk along for "company." Dude, I am no petite, delicate flower. I'm nearly 6 feet tall barefoot. But having my 6'2" 250 lb. husband along just made me feel a teensy bit better. (For the record, Anne offered her husband as company also - he's about the same size as mine. But I thought that might be overdoing things just a touch.)

Let's just skip ahead to the guy's home/office. Mr. Guy's "office" is his dining room. In his mobile home. Which is covered with hundreds of various spare parts and computer innards. Oh, and on top of it all? A 3 inch layer of dust. (I thought my house was dirty!) I pulled my laptop out of my bag and just stood there and held it. There was no way in hell I was going to set it down on any surface in that place. He grabs a cord he had "put aside" for me and tried to jam it into the AC port. Nope - no dice. So, he walks over to a metal tool chest and starts yanking out drawers, rooting around for any more he might have. (I didn't dare look at Kirk - I just knew he'd shoot me one look and I'd burst out laughing.) He tries two more adapters, is unsuccessful, says, "Sorry folks" and scoots out of the room to go answer his phone. I jammed my laptop back in the bag and we ran for the door.

We were totally silent the whole way to the car. It wasn't until we got both seat belts on and I had started the ignition that I said, "OK, go ahead." All Kirk could say was, "Wowwwwww" in a low voice ... long, drawn out stunned disbelief. It was so bad it took us almost 10 minutes to start riffing on the guy. It was THAT bad.

Well, that's the juicy, painful bits. On the upside - we stopped off at another store I had called (a mile from our house - DUH!) and although we had to pay $80 (ouch) my laptop spent a few hours charging and is rarin' to go, and the adapter has several alternate tips so we can also charge a laptop we got from a bankruptcy estate sale over a year ago that we didn't have an AC adapter for. Guy number 2 was very nice and helpful, and even took it out of the box to make sure it worked before we left. Hurray for Guy #2!

As for me, I got my fix just now.

Whew!

Just a Quick Pic to Burn Your Retinas

I think I've neglected to share that I've finished and submitted the first 25 articles for my freelance client.

Whoo-Hoo!

Now, I am up to my elbows in the next 25. One of the first topics I'm currently researching is the trend of women wearing pasties in place of a bikini top at beaches and pools.

Yes, you read that correctly.

Now, I am a Vegas native, so I'm not bothered by - hell, I hardly notice - the scantily-clad women on the billboards, taxi ads, hotel signs and everywhere else around town.

And if those little 21 year old hotties with the flat stomachs and (ahem) enhanced ta-tas feel that the traditional bikini top is too cumbersome, creates unflattering tan lines, or is just too much material to wear (when it's 117 degrees outside, no one wants to wear too much clothing) ... well, whatever.

Tourists want to come to Vegas and throw off the restricting bonds of the hometown, and dress and behave as the Convention and Visitor's Authority tells them they should. You know, what happens in Vegas ... blah, blah, blah.

Do whatever makes your inner exhibitionist happy.

So, I got that article suggestion from my client (who witnessed it first-hand during a visit) and started my Web research right away. I tried a few different search engines - using "pasties instead of bikini top" and "pasties for pool and beach" and the like... when I came across this little gem.

(Prepare yourself)









Yep, that is exactly what it looks like. It is a crocheted (tiny) bikini bottom and pasties set.
I found it here:

http://whatnottocrochet.wordpress.com/2008/03/18/warning-almost-nudity/

What is actually more funny than the "outfit" (?) itself are the comments that go with it.
For the record - the entire site is good for a lot of laughs. I won't even begin to describe the "tampon cozy." (Merciful heavens, no ... I am so not joking!) You just have to see those for yourself.

Now, I'm going to go back to my research and writing and try to forget I ever saw this. But I just had to share it with you.

I'm giving like that.

Time Out

Have I told you about what a simple girl I am?

Well, no. Not simple. Hubby would beg to differ.

(Complicated and difficult would be his adjectives of choice, I suspect.)

Let me rephrase that.

I am a girl who is made happy with extraordinarily simple things.

I escaped the house tonite, running out the door before anyone registered the sentence, "Going-to-the-store-be-right-back" ... to avoid the little buggers begging me to let them come along or purchase sugary items for them.

I drove over to the neighborhood "Kwik Stop" (I love you Kevin Smith). I began to notice that I was having a difficult time seeing the bike riders, out to take advantage of the cool evening air. I realized that made the car windows dirty and dangerous. I then began to calculate the last time my poor little car had been washed. I stopped counting when I got past four months, but then my brief internal argument started.

I have a hard time spending money on myself. I know. But even though the wash and wax was not for me, per se, (don't picture that in your head) I had a hard time rationalizing spending the money on a non-necessity. Isn't that sad? The other side of my brain piped up. "But here in the desert, patronizing the corner car wash is not a luxury. We are not allowed to wash our cars at home, due to the water shortage. There is really no other option. When you factor in the pollen and dust that coats our little autos daily from mid-March on, a car wash moves into the necessary column." Point and match.

And, damn it, I love my car. Her name is 'Nilla.

Plus, we could both use a little extra time away from home.

So, I spent a whopping $4 and bought my baby car a wash, wax and dry.

I pulled into the lane, punched my six-digit code into the little white box just outside my driver's window, made sure all four windows were shut extra tight and rolled slowly into the tunnel. This part can be a little tricky, because the big green friendly letters on the screen at the end beckon you by flashing ENTER SLOWLY repeatedly. But the second you reach that oh-so-specific spot, right after your front tires climb over the two little metal humps, it changes and commands you to STOP !!! in bright red letters. Call me overly sensitive, but it makes my OCD surge and my left eye twitch a little until I put the car in park.

Now comes the good part.

I tapped the selector keys on my stereo to the local classic rock station and found "Brass in Pocket" by Chrissie Hynde and The Pretenders. Just beginning. As if the God of the Car Wash was watching and decided to give me a little break.

I cranked the volume UP.

For the next 3:09, it was just me and 'Nilla and Chrissie ... I can't speak for 'Nilla, but I was singing along at the top of my lungs.

FINISHED ... HAVE A GOOD DAY the car wash sign announced.

I cruised over the two metal speed bumps, and inched my way under the powerful dryer at the end.

Chrissie and I were still singing, and even 'Nilla was swaying to the beat. I swear she was.

Then we drove home. Chrissie left to make way for Blue Oyster Cult, ( bonus) and I returned home in a much more relaxed state of mind.

Amazing what you can get for $4 bucks.

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

P.S. I published this post, shut off my laptop and started my nightly routine.

This consists of turning out lights, making sure all the animals are inside, checking that all the windows are closed and locked, and (always last) making sure the front door is double-locked.

It wasn't, so I crossed the living room to flip the top lock closed.

Gradually, I hear a faint noise coming from the front lawn.
Strange.
Kinda sounds like ...
... water.
I open the door.

The frickin' sprinklers are on.

Splashing hundreds of thousands of drops of (hard) water on my newly washed car. (Do you know how impossibly difficult it is to remove hard water spots?)

Double frick!

Oh, well. I'll start saving my change tonite and have another four bucks ready when I need another escape. Maybe I'll make a special playlist and burn a CD - just for "car wash time outs."

My New Friend

Mr. Blue

I made a new friend this week.
In fact, I may have a little crush on this guy. Hubby knows and is totally fine with it, by the way.

Picture this:
I'm walking home from Anne's house after an afternoon spent sitting in lawn chairs in her driveway, watching the boys fly (mostly nose-dive crash) Anne's son's new RC plane. It was a beautiful afternoon, high 70's with a light spring breeze. I even got a tan line on the top of my feet from my flip-flops. Which looks very odd when said feet are bare, but I digress.

Anyhoo ...
I'm walking home from Anne's and I notice an older gentleman walking in front of his house. I smile and wave and say hello, 'cause I'm all relaxed and happy from the sun and the girl-talk.

He responds with a hello of his own, and as we chat about the gorgeous weather he mentions he's getting over jet-lag. Not being a world traveler myself, I ask where he's returned from. (I cannot remember the last time I was on a plane, unless I poke multiple little grey cells into action, and that would slow down my story)

He answers, (casually - as if it was the corner market) "Switzerland."
My mouth gapes unattractively as he continues, "I'm going to Paris in June."
This man has my undivided attention.

"How do you get to travel so often?" I ask.

"I'm a musician. I play the Blues. Do you like the Blues?" he replies.

I stammer. I don't know how to find the words to tell him how much I love the Blues. I was raised by parents with eclectic and varied tastes in music, but most of all, a deep appreciation for the pure emotional sound of Jazz or Blues. I am also the granddaughter of a trumpet and coronet player who spent thousands of late nights playing in a Jazz band. Nothing soothes my soul like the sweet and mournful Billie or Etta.

He casually offers, "Would you like one of my CD's?" I cannot answer fast enough. "Yes, please."

He opens his garage door and I am transfixed. I am rooted to the spot; my rubber-soled flip-flops have melted into the cement of his driveway. The walls of his garage are papered with festival posters ... The Monterey Jazz Festival catches my eye instantly. There are more festival posters, some I've never even heard of. Then I see the framed - some signed - photos of the singers and musicians he's played with over the years. Tina Turner, Ike Turner, B.B. King ... my head is spinning. I'm stuttering and trying not to gush like an idiot. I'm not being very successful. There are so many faces I'm familiar with; my brain cannot carry the names to my lips.

I am in awe.

He is so casual. So earthy and friendly and open to sharing his stories. I wish I had one of my trusty notebooks. Hell, I wish I had a tape recorder because my words cannot do justice to his stories. The cadence of his speech, the easy, rhythmic timing of his syllables.

I feel the need to convey my love of everything from that era. I want him to know I appreciate his life, his work, his world. I'm not just a thirty-something neighbor woman biding her time. My favorite music, books, movies, fashions ... everything is from the 40's and 50's. I try to tell him how special this conversation with him is to me ... meeting someone with the talent and history and memories he possesses is overwhelming. And I am at a loss for words. All I want to do is sit at his feet and prompt him to tell me stories until he tires of me.

He mentions he talked to Tina last night. I interrupt, saying "Wait. I'm having trouble with the fact that you just toss that out so off-handedly." He smiles, and I go on. "You talked to Tina Turner last night." He shrugs, and then adds, "We keep in touch. I just saw her." I remember the A&E Biography of her and respond, "That's right! I forgot she lives in Geneva, right?" He smiles at me and I think I've just gotten the tiniest nod of approval.

I've talked with him since that first day, but that will have to wait for my next post. There is more to tell, and I want to share the stories properly. And the CD he gave me? I've only played it about six times already.

This wonderful guy's name? Leon Blue

Yes, that is his real name.

I'm going to leave you with an older picture of Mr. Blue. That guy walking in front of him? Oh, that's just Ike Turner.
This guy is the real frickin deal. And he lives on my street.
My neighborhood just got so much cooler.

And finally, some good news ...

http://www.klyque.com/

See that logo up there? That logo belongs to my client - my freelance article client.

Once I get the I-don't-know-what-the-frick-I'm-doing-but-I-really-want-to-advertise issue sorted out with my blog I hope Klyque will be the first ad.

Why?

Well, one reason could be because it's a great new women's website with lingerie, sexy costumes, and accessories, and lots of other products. They're starting an online magazine, and have articles for women already.

Oh, and the main reason?

Because MY articles are have been published there!

Say it with me ... whoo hoo !!

I'm going to post the link so you all can see them. But you must keep in mind that I was writing them on a (ahem, extended) deadline. So, I had to reign in the OCD a lot and try to do the best writing I could as soon as I could.

It's not Pulitzer material by any stretch of the imagination. But it's my first freelance gig, and the first time I GOT PAID to write ... which is the equivalent to me of getting paid to watch football. (Hint - I seriously looooove football!)

So, I don't have an ad up for Klyque yet but I'm working on it. In the meantime, you all are welcome to stroll on by, check out my articles and while you're at it - spend some money and tell them Lori sent you. No, apparently I am NOT above pimping my friends.

http://blog.klyque.com/

Breaking News

Yep.
That picture up there?
That's me right now.

I didn't get the library job.

That sound you're hearing?
That's the rattle of the ice cubes in the very large cocktail I'm holding.

I haven't stripped all my clothes off.
Yet.

I haven't started screaming at the top of my lungs.
Yet.

Frick.

Red Paint or Fresh Blood?

Damn.

I love my friends.

Yesterday I was on the teetering on the edge of a total meltdown, over-stressed from a thousand different things, which manifested itself in the blog post of me whining about the library job, my small visitor count, my lack of money, and my frustrating stupidity when it comes to Adsense.

And guess what happened?

My blog friends responded with support, advice, compliments, and funny comments.

Heather (Coal Miner's Granddaughter), Momma (Poetic License), Jen (Jennifer Has Spoken), Miss Britt (Miss Britt), Dr. Cissa Fireheart (Heart of Fire), and Robin (My Inner Teen), and Ray (Nitro Vista).

I totally LOVE you guys.

I promise not to climb back out on the ledge any time soon.

Well, unless I don't get that library job. And if that happens, some really good things better start happening in our life here. Because, seriously? I can't take much more of this crap.

Honestly, Universe. We're due. We're ready for something good.

And, truly, if you send another another rotten, mean-spirited event our way I'm gonna lose it.

I'm going to mix myself an extra-large cocktail, strip off all my clothes, climb out on that ledge and scream at the top of my lungs.

And then, I'll climb back in, and blog about it.

'Cause you know, I have friends.

Me Me Me Me Me

OK. Enough of posting about the girl-kid's birthday and how insanely crazy the boy-kid is.

Time to talk about me.

I have not heard from the HR people from the library about the page job. The ladies at the interview said it would be "the end of this week or beginning of next." Well, damnit, we are now officially in the "beginning of next" and my frickin' phone ought to be ringing!

Kirk tried to calm my worries by telling me that usually they contact all the people that are NOT getting hired first - so the longer it takes the better the indication.
That has helped a bit over the last few days, but, for frick's sake!

(I'm cursing the real word in my head. A lot. Frick, frick, frickitty frick.)

Enough with the suspense!

Give a girl a break!

Well, since I've broken the seal on my bitching and whining jar, I may as well rip the lid all the way off.

Let's see what else is stuck in my craw... (like the seafood reference?)

I joined BlogLog and am horrified and ashamed to admit that no one has joined my community.

I joined BlogCatalog and the highest rating I ever got was 29. Out of a fricking hundred.

I added a visitor counter and was delighted when it climbed above 100. I almost peed myself when it reached 200. Then I started noticing the other blogs I read have counters that are ...

... wait for it ...

over 100,000.

Frick.

What is it? What am I doing wrong? Is it that I'm a Mom but not a Mommy Blogger? Or is it that I appear to be a Mommy Blogger and turn people away? Do I have too many inane postings on celebrity gossip and the Oscars? Or too few (none) on political issues, environmental worries and social causes? Do I talk about my entire extended family too much?

I am a blogger who happens to be a mom. My kids and my husband are at the center of my universe, but I haven't lost sight of the rest of the world around me. I do follow the election coverage, I read the news daily, and I am aware of what is happening in my own city and state politics. I just don't blog about it very often. You know how a writer always tries to find his or her own voice? Mine babbles on incessantly about fluff - when I start writing about important world issues - it develops a stutter, lapses into gutteral moaning, and then goes mute.

I do blog about my new freelance career, and the book I'm writing - (although not recently because the freelance gig took over for a while, and I developed a psychotic phobia of starting work on the book again - but that story is enough material for an entire post of it's own) and of course, yard sales, insomnia and cluttered garages. And let us not forget the strange ability I posses to make smoke alarms freak the hell out when I'm home alone.

As for the MommyBlog, I won't put ads on my blog for homeopathic colic remedies or eco-friendly diapers. My kids are long past diapers and colic - thank the Heavens above - but even so, my discomfort with the label MommyBlogger is not the reason. I would happily put up ads for many products and services I do utilize. You don't see ads here because (ahem) ...

... I have never figured out my stupid AdSense account.

I'd dearly love to stick some ads on this mamma-jamma and make some extra cash. I have tried, obviously unsuccessfully for almost a year, but my Google account laughs at me whenever I try to set up AdSense.

No, seriously. I hear laughter coming out of my laptop whenever I log in.

What ads would I put up? Let's see ...

Bare Minerals make-up
Pond's dry skin cream (dudes, I live in the desert!)
Burt's Beeswax lip balm (again, desert!)
iPod Nano
Pilot Razor Point pens
Staples composition books
Prestige vodka (yes, it's the cheap stuff - I'm a cheap date - and I drink it mixed)
T-Mobile Sidekick
L'Oreal hair color 6R Light Auburn
Toshiba Satellite laptops
Xanax (better than heavy-weight sedatives against persistent insomnia)
QVC silver jewelry
Bookstores
Discovery Channel
Target

But then I stop and think that I kinda like the look of my blog without those annoying, sometimes flashing ads. I've indulged in a lot of widgets and things already - maybe that would be too much clutter.
But I'd really like to make some money.

Well, if you ever seen any of those ads on my blog you'll know I've conquered the AdSense monster.

In the meantime - you can just send money.

And more readers.

Birthday Bleariness

You're going to have to excuse me if this post rambles incoherently. We're nearing the end of the Great Twelfth Birthday Weekend and I'm a bit ... punchy.

Friday night was Kaitlin's "Family Birthday Dinner Party." She chose Red Lobster, which was quite fine with her lobster and shrimp-loving mother, once I got over the flash-panic thought of paying the bill. And yes, that drool-worthy picture above was my selection - the Seaside Shrimp Trio. As for the cost - all the grandparents were agreeable to going Dutch, and some anonymous donors - OK, it was my Dad and his wife Laura - were fantastically generous to slip Kirk and I a gift card to help pay for our part. Then they gave us TWO more to enjoy another night so we can (gasp) have a date night sometime in the future.
I suck at keeping secrets, huh?
I figured it was OK since I was being slobberingly grateful. Right? (I don't care if SpellCheck doesn't think slobberingly is a word - it is appropriate and I'm not changing it.)

Sing it with me ... Happy Happy Joy Joy. (You'll get that joke if you know Ren & Stimpy)

Kirk and I haven't had a date night in such a long time, (our anniversary in October?) and have been so supremely and suffocatingly stressed and depressed (hey, that rhymes) that if we didn't still have the rest of the Birthday Weekend to deal with I'd have grabbed Kirk's hand and bolted out of the joint. The grandparents all looooove the kidlets, so the only problem might have been who gets them first. I should add that our kids are the only grandkids - on both sides - so you can imagine how spoiled and adored they are.

Saturday morning we got up and began the Frantic Pre-Slumber Party Cleaning. Since we were turning the first floor over to the girls, we only had to clean the living room, kitchen, family room and bathroom. ONLY, ha! Oh, and I mustn't forget the hallway to the garage where the litter box is - you know, the one used by the blind, deaf, senile cat? Without sharing too many revolting details, let's just say she TRIES to use the litter box - it's a wonder she can find it. The problem is that more times than not she doesn't realize that although she is technically IN the litter box, her ass is hanging over the side. You can imagine the results. Ick.

I am happy to report that after many hours of back-breaking work (no, I didn't trip and I didn't throw my back out) the first floor of my house looks FREAKING awesome. It hadn't looked that good in such a long time I had to call my friend, neighbor and fellow blogger Anne to come over and look at it. I swear - she's seen my house at it's absolute worst. (Most every day of the week.) She'd never seen it so clean. Hell, she'd never seen it clean, period.

We had just finished cleaning when the doorbell rang, announcing the first arrival for the Slumber Party Without The Slumber. (That's what Katie dubbed it.)

I, of course, smelled like a noxious blend of 409, Pine-Sol, Comet, dust, sweat and cat pee. You can imagine how attractive I looked. I told Kirk (who had already showered and dressed) that I wasn't fit for company yet ... actually, I think I yelled that over my shoulder as I ran upstairs ... and let him greet the girls.

We had 4 girls attending (not including Katie) and only two could spend the night. A much smaller group than the original NINE Katie wanted to invite. ("Good God, No!!" was my immediate reply to that request.) They're all really good girls, but seriously, no way !!

They played dress-up (complete with my large box of costume jewelry they dip into every year) put make-up on (which de-evolved into looking like ladies of the night wearing Indian warpaint - I am soooo not exaggerating) and then running out onto the porch to scream at the slightly-older boys across the street. The boys that were conveniently playing basketball and hanging out across the street from a girls slumber party. Hmmmmm.
It's good to know teenage boys are not much more sly than they were twenty-five years ago.
I am pleased to report that the extent of their interaction was calling out each other's names (they all go to school together, some of them since elementary school) and then yelling "Shut UP" at the top of their lungs. The girls managed to reach a note that made the neighborhood dogs bark. (A week ago I warned the neighbors of the impending party and advised them not to sleep with open windows on Saturday night, or there would be no sleep.)

The five girls then spent quite a while playing the Playstation SingStar (kind of karaoke) that Katie got from us. Three of the girls are in choir, one's in band and one's in theater - and they all have pretty impressive voices for twelve and thirteen year olds. I'm a bit biased, I know. And jealous, because I can't carry a tune in a bucket, as they say. Two of the girls had to leave a little after 10, and the remaining three went right back to singing.

Of course, mass quantities of pizza, soda, Hot Cheetos, regular Cheetos, popcorn, cake and ice cream were consumed. And Oreo shakes were made at midnight - I know this because I had to find the blender parts for them, and make them promise not to cut off any fingers. This is a vast improvement over last year, when the group decided to have a fight with silly string, whipped cream (in cans) and food coloring. I kid you not. And yes, I hid the food coloring this year.

This morning, they got a massive breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage patties, sliced watermelon and cantaloupe, milk and orange juice. They ate while watching yet another scary movie, and then went right back to SingStar.

I think it was a successful party, and all the girls had fun. The parents will be here to pick them up in the next hour or so. Kirk and I are then going to try to squeeze in a nap before Payton gets home from the Grandparents' house, where he "vacations" when Sissy has a slumber party. Kirk's Aunt Vicky is visiting from Indiana, so we were lucky to have her join us at the Family Dinner Party, and Payton gets another grown-up to entertain at his sleepover. Let me tell you, that boy is entertaining. You've heard tidbits here and there before - but just wait until his birthday in July. That will give me enough post-fodder for weeks.

I'm going to leave you with the Birthday Serenade. Cha-Cha-Cha !!

Sweet Pea

Twelve years ago today this little girl came into our lives, and changed us forever.

I'm not going to complain about the fact that she finally made her appearance 5 days after her due date, and had to be coaxed out. I'm not going to whine about the itchy, ugly rash I got over my entire body because of her tardiness, explained by my clever OB as my body basically becoming allergic to the little person housed inside. I'm not going to remind her of the old wives' tale that a girl baby "steals the mother's beauty for herself" and that's why I bore a striking resemblance to Jabba the Hut while carrying her. I'm not going to complain about the vicious heartburn that eventually kept me from indulging my ravenous craving for FatBurger. I'm not going to bring up the 28-hour labor and half-assed epidural that I had.

I won't get up on my soapbox about any of those complaints because the minute she was born, the heartburn, rash and pain were gone. Everything was perfect.

We left the hospital the next morning, stopping by Costco to get my post-natal pain pills - that I never needed. She was first oohed and aahed over by two elderly ladies as I stood in the warm April sunshine outside the store while the new Daddy ran in to fill the prescription. When they asked how old she was I answered, "What time is it?" They looked aghast. "Because she was born a little before 9 last night." I added quickly. It took me a few seconds to catch on to the fact that they thought I was the worst new mother they had ever met. "Oh you shouldn't have her outside already!" They scolded. I looked up at the bright blue sky, felt a trace of a spring breeze and looked back at them. They were shaking their heads and walking away. New Daddy came out a little while later and we laughed about it all the way home.

This is our little girl now. The fresh air that morning twelve years ago did her no harm. She grew like a weed. Now, she is not so little anymore. She's 5'6" and we wear the same size shoe. And she's not the only child anymore; she got a little brother when she was 4. She used to love him like her favorite baby doll, but that has developed into the usual sibling rivalry.

She's smart - too smart - and funny and clever and very loving. She has a good group of close, loyal girlfriends - some since kindergarten. She has a good head on her shoulders, and a tender heart. She'll still flop on the couch and snuggle up with her dad or I.

She is so much fun, I'd want to hang around her even if she wasn't my kid.

Our world is still so much better with you in it, Katie Bug.

Happy Birthday!

I Did It

Well, it's done. I went to the interview for the page job at my library. I think it went really well. The two ladies that conducted the interview were friendly and seemed to like me. They asked me a series of 10 questions and I think they liked my answers. I talked a lot with each of my answers (as I am wont to do) but they laughed in all the right places and nodded their heads quite often. Now that an hour has passed since I left the interview, I'm reviewing it all and trying to sum up the woman that sat across the table from them, and what they learned about her from those 10 questions.

She quit her almost 20 year career in ophthalmology/optometry to stay home with her kids and write - freelance and a novel.
She was a library aide (as a credited class) all three years she was in junior high (grades 7, 8 and 9) and a volunteer helper in her high school library (most of grades 10, 11 and 12).
She is at that library branch so often that she notices when they get a new book in what would be the 800's (literature) of the Dewey Decimal System (which they don't use - they use an alphanumeric system that gives her fits - which she explained - to which they were kind enough to assure her she would pick it up quickly) and is so obsessive that if a book is out of place she re-shelves it where it ought to be.
She used to alphabetize her CD collection, and has a system for her bookshelves at home only she understands.
She has worked with medical records and charts for so many years that she can alphabetize and file in her sleep.
She has no trouble lugging around a book cart that may weigh up to 100 pounds because she lugged 200 and 300 lb patients onto and off of an operating table on a daily basis - for over 10 years.
She has hefted boxes full of surgical drapes, surgical instruments and cartons of health fair supplies.
She is a little wary of emptying the book drop in front of the library after dark because she was mugged once outside her office - but was reassured she can take along the armed security guard for the task.
She has dealt with happy patients, angry patients, patients in extreme pain, and patients with advanced cases of dementia - so dealing with the general public and their questions should be a piece of cake.
She is very experienced with knowing which questions she is qualified to answer and which ones must be passed along for the doctor / supervisor to answer. (Thank you, HIPPA)
If she doesn't understand a task she is supposed to perform she will not hesitate to ask for help.
She won't be bothered by friends coming in to the library to chat with her because most of her friends are used to her previous career when she was basically incommunicado all day because she was in surgery.
Lastly, and perhaps most importantly (and supremely geeky) her husband teases her that he wouldn't be surprised if she paid them to let her work there.

The interview ended with me going to a book cart they had in the room and placing the books in proper order. One row of non-fiction and one row of fiction books. I had a brief panic attack because I had worried I would botch this part because I just don't get the alphanumeric system that branch uses. They were kind enough to assure me that they weren't timing me, and then one said, "It's an alphanumeric system" very deliberately. I looked at the spines and labels again and suddenly GOT IT. I did the non-fiction first and then the much easier and universally categorized fiction books. I joked with them that they had to check my work before I left or else I wouldn't be able to sleep for a week. They both laughed and just before I left one of them checked the cart and said I got them all right. Whew.

I left there feeling pretty good about the interview. There were obviously quite a few applicants for the position, so I can't say it's mine for sure. I do think that I did as good if not better than I had hoped. And I think they liked me. I made them laugh a few times, which I think is rare in most job interviews, so at the very least I may stand out in their minds when they start discussing each candidate.

Ah, well. They will contact me by the end of this week or the beginning of next week with their answer.

Cross your fingers!

Late night post

I had to check in with one of my favorite blogs "Life According To ... " (that I have shamefully neglected to list in my "Blogs I Love" column there on your left. I swear, I'll update it ASAP. )
Anyhoo - I found a fun (and psychotically dark and haunting) little test that I just had to try out. (Hubby, kids and pets are all asleep and I'm not. What else is a girl to do?)

Here ya go ...


Created by OnePlusYou


Jeez - I hope it never comes down to eating our animals. I think I'd rather gnaw on my old line dancing boots.

Just a weird, 11 p.m. question... does being trapped in my own home rule out pizza delivery? 'Cause I'd be fine with not being able to leave the house. I'd probably be happy as a clam. But if someone could squeeze a supreme pizza for hubby and me, a pepperoni and black olive pizza for the kids, and a bucket of wings (medium) and bucket of chicken fingers (mild) through the doggie door, I think we could stretch out that 96 day estimate by a week or so.

And if you could pick up a some beer or vodka and soda I think I could make it even longer. Oh, and a few gallons of milk and some bottles of water for the kids.

Wait! Does "trapped in my own home" mean trapped under something heavy? I think it'd be pretty hard to digest my pizza with the fridge pressing on my diaphragm.
Could you add some Nexium to the list for the expected reflux?

See what happens to my little brain cells when I'm the only one awake and left to my own devices? Yep, I'm punchy and rambling. Bad combination. Scary, huh?
This is a definite sign I need to turn out the lights and try to get some sleep.

P.S. I added Life According To ... to the column.
Visit her when you have a minute. She's fantastic!

Knock Wood

I think that Karma has finally either figured out the hubby and I have had all the stress, depression and aggravation that we can handle, or else she's found some other poor suckers to pick on. While I certainly hope it is for the former reason - because I would never wish our crappy situation to be visited on someone else (and therefore putting us right back in that Karmic merry-go-round) I'm content just to accept the current status. I'm in a much better frame of mind than I've been in for a few months.

We were resisting the second Yard Sale Saturday and entertained thoughts of calling it off. But the boxes of stuff in our garage were just begging to be hauled out and strewn about our yard for strangers to pick over and haggle about. Let me tell you, there is a special humiliation that comes with putting a (cheap) price on your belongings and then either having someone react as if you were trying to rob them - complete with looks of incredulity, or having them reject your items outright - complete with looks of disgust. My fragile little ego (ha) was just NOT up to the challenge.

However ... we "pulled ourselves up by the bootstraps" and jumped in. Much to our surprise, the second Saturday was a thousand times better. For starters - we were much more motivated to simply get rid of the stuff instead of worrying about how much money we'd be able to make. We also had twice the traffic from last week - thanks to my mom for making even more signs to put up - and almost everyone seemed much nicer.

For the record - if I ever have another yard sale:

If you are friendly, and you laugh and banter with me a little bit it's fairly certain that I'll let you have that watch with the $5 tag on it for the $2 you countered with. Especially if you're one of those cute elderly men that loves to flirt (tastefully) with all us sweaty, tired women.

However, if you bark out a snobby "Ha!" when I tell you the price, and you then respond that you'll give me $2 for the watch and you use that tone of voice that implies I'm stupid and you're doing me a favor while your shrew of a wife is harping at me that "the battery for the watch will cost more" than the $5 I'm asking ... well, then... it's quite likely I'm going to have to strongly resist the urge to grab that stupid watch right out of your greedy little paw and shove it right down your horrid wife's throat.
I'll even give YOU the $2. It would have been worth it.

(And yes that was an incredibly long run-on sentence but I had to do it. Otherwise, it just didn't convey the rising anger in my head at that moment. Forgive me, Messrs Strunk and White.)

And in case you were wondering - the cute little guy in the first example - who also told my husband he was brave to spend the day with "all these goodlookin' women" - is the one who got the watch. I almost gave him a little smooch on the cheek to go with his new watch.


Now ... saving my two favorite bits of good news for last .... (drum roll please)

I got an email from my freelance client Saturday night telling me that she understood the reasons for missing my deadline, she still wanted to work with me, and she very graciously replaced the topics of the next 25 articles I get to write with topics MUCH more suited to my writing style, AND she still is interested in letting me write a regular blog on her website in the future.

Say it with me,

HOLY FREAKIN' COW, MAN !!!!

I was so happy and relieved I could have cried.

Last but not least... I have a job interview tomorrow. Want to guess what it's for? C'mon ... what would a good little (book- geek) girl like me want for a job?

A part-time job at our neighborhood library!! Whoo-hoo !!!

So, now you may understand why I feel like Karma is not quite so pissed off at us any more. Somewhere, sometime, we must have done something right to turn the tide.

Knock wood.

So, yeah. I'm insane.

I've been having a weird day or two lately. (What else is new, huh?) I am therefore accepting no responsibility for the content of this post. There will be random and disjointed thought processes, bad-mommy comments, disgusting bodily function descriptions, and probably a little swearing. (Mom, Dad, In-Laws and Kids - look away. Quick.)

Funny thing I heard from an 8 year old boy (Anne's) and 7 year old boy (mine) as I was driving them home from school (clocked at a whopping 15 miles an hour):

8 y/o: "Man, nature goes by really fast!"
7 y/o: "I know! What if you could walk this fast?"
8 y/o: "Remember those dinosaur bones we found in my yard?"
7 y/o: "Yeah. Hey, that bird's trying to race our car!"

I did not alter this conversation. They really do bounce from topic to topic like that.
****************************************************************************
Not-so-funny announcement from the same boys this morning on the way to the car, going to school.

7 y/o:
"Hey, Mom. Guess why we're happy today?"

Me:
" 'Cause it's Field Day?"

7 and 8 y/o in unison:
"No! 'Cause our track break starts tomorrow! Four weeks of no school!"

7 y/o:
" We can sleep in, play all day, and stay up late at night!"

Me:
"Good God. Are you kidding?" (Have only had half a cup of coffee. I'm standing there, with my hand on the door handle, frozen. Thank God they are on the other side of the car and can't see my face. I roll my eyes Heavenward, unlock the car and we all climb in.)

7 and 8 y/o in unison:
"No, we're not kidding!"

... uncomfortable pause ... then ...

7 y/o:
"Why did you say it like that?" (Sounds disappointed and a little hurt.)

Me:
"Um ... you just surprised me."

Spend the remainder of the drive to and from school (muttering "shit, shit, shit" in my head) trying to sort out how this could have snuck up on me. I mean, I have the school calendar on the fridge, for God's sake! I just never read it. Silently vow to blame Anne for this oversight. She's supposed to be much more together when it comes to stuff like this. She actually attends the PTA meetings. Yep, she's pretty brave. Those women scare the crap outta me.

Return home, check school calendar online and realize the boys were right but slightly off. Track break starts at the end of NEXT week. Takes some of the sting away but I'm still dreading those four weeks. They'll spend every day together and then pretty soon they'll get so sick of the sight of each other we'll be dealing with daily (or hourly) arguments. And then they'll get sick of the parents and we'll get sick of them, and the grown-ups (ha!) will start counting the days 'till they go back to school. I really hate 12-month schools.

Then start calculating the amount of time daughter has left in her 9-month school year and realize that very soon after son goes back after track break - daughter will be beginning her summer vacation. Three months long.

Damn.
I'm a bad, selfish Mommy.

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

Very strange observation of the week:
(this is the bodily function part - you may want to skip ahead)

When a person drinks half a pot of coffee by herself - with enough sugar and milk added to achieve what her husband labels "hummingbird coffee" ... her pee will smell like Sugar Smacks cereal.
I know it's gross but I warned you.

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

My father-in-law used to give me Peeps every Easter - but only after he's cut open the package so they'd get nice and stale. (The only correct way to eat Peeps.) I loved this, until I apparently reached maximum density for Peep tolerance and lost my taste for them. So he stopped giving me Peeps. No problem.

I did retain my sweet tooth. (Which my son thinks is a specific, real tooth in your head. I am such a great influence.)
I admit to stashing a bag of Christmas M&M's in a bowl on the top shelf in our cupboards. I do put some out in bowls - but they disappear really quickly. I refill the bowls, but I always have a little hidden away.
I admit to hiding boxes of cookies in the pantry. I do this because if the little stinks find them - or if I dare put them in the cookie jar - POOF !! Gone.
And I happen to like an ice cold glass of milk and a cookie at 3 a.m.

However, this past week my sweet tooth made me look like (more of) an idiot. My father-in-law gave my hubby a box of Zingers to bring home to the kids. (And a bag of apples and oranges - he's not all bad.) When I saw the box of pseudo-Twinkies I protested "No fair! I hate those!" - because I can't stand baked coconut. To which my dear hubby replied, "Yeah. He sent these to make sure the kids actually got some."

(sigh)

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

O.K. Enough of that. I'm going back to those articles I'm doing for my freelance job. I am so horribly behind in my deadline it's shameful.

I'd like to explain to my client that it's because 1) It's my first freelance gig and had no idea just how long it would take me (and my OCD) to write 50 articles. 2) I didn't realize until much later that I should have scheduled my writing time much better. 3) I am so effing freaked about this whole ARM / house / money situation that most days I am sick to my stomach with worry and can't write a good article to save my life. I can't even think in coherent sentences. 4) The writing (blogging) I have been doing has been primarily light-hearted and goofy because it's the only way I can see some humor in the midst of the anxiety.

But I know that would be ridiculously unprofessional to list all those excuses to her. I just have to buckle down and get it done. Even if it kills me. Even if she writes a negative but totally deserved review on my profile and I never get another freelance job.

I have discovered that I can produce 5 articles in one day, while the oh-my-God-I-can't-let-her-down sweat trickles down my back. Moreover, they don't totally suck. I just had to reign in the OCD a little and not nitpick them to pieces before I moved on to the next one.

Alright, whiner. Enough of this. I'm done sharing all these little worries and scars and blemishes. I really can't believe I'm going to publish this post. Better do it now before I change my mind - and better get my ass in gear and write!!

Here's a meme - my first - courtesy of Coal Miner's Granddaughter. This was so much fun!
If you would like to do this meme on your blog, just do the following:

1. Go to http://www.photobucket.com/.
2. Type in your answer to the questions below in the "search"box.
3. Use only the first page.
4. Insert the picture into your blog.

(O.K. I cheated. I didn't use just the first page every time. And I used the real picture of my dog and one of my cats. But that's my OCD kickin' in. It has to be juuuuuust right!)



1. What is your relationship status?


Happily married and crazy.

2. What is your current mood?

3. Who is your favorite musical artist?




4. What is your favorite movie?




5. What kind of pets do you have?

6. Where do you live?






7. Where do you work?

8. What do you look like?

(No snickering! I can hear you!)

9. What do you drive?

Her name is 'Nilla. (Stop laughing at me!)

10. What did you do last night?


There was a mini-marathon on!

11. What is your favorite TV show?

12. Describe yourself.

Library Geek / Book Nerd

13. What are you doing today?

14. What is your name?

(In Britain a truck is called a "lorry" - spelled differently but close enough. )

15. What is your favorite candy?

This was a really fun break. Now I have to get back to work! If any of you do this meme also please send me the link. I'd love to see them!

P.S. Stroll on over and check out Kaitlin's blog - the link is over there on your left. That's my 11 going on 25 year old daughter. She posted her meme too and it's pretty great. But I'm biased, huh?