Saturday, December 30, 2006

How did that get there?

With an almost serious face, Bill said, "I've got a problem. While I was in the bathroom at Scott and Laurena's, I found a lump."

My jaw dropped as Bill giggled and began to pull down his pants.

I was getting really freaked out until I saw the "lump" for myself.

There, all matted in his man fur near the bottom of his junk was a wad of chewing gum.

He asked me, "How did it get there?"

Like I'd put it there for safe keeping or something.

Then he says, "And it hurts when I pull on it."

No, really? That surprised me that pulling on a wad of chewing gum stuck in his pubes would be uncomfortable.

I began to chortle as I dug out a pair of scissors. Then in between guffaws, I carefully (really carefully) clipped away the glob of chewed gum, but not before Bill said, "Do you wanna take a picture of it first?"

I know it's shocking, but I declined ... my mom reads this, fer Pete's sake!

Friday, December 29, 2006

Happy New Year!

Last day of work for this year ... wo- Oh darn, I'm too damn busy to celebrate.

I'm up to my eyeballs trying to get all my work done so I can celebrate the New Year the best way possible — playing music.

Yep, the lil' ole girls of Riveter are going to be ringing in the new year with a whole lotta rock 'n' roll.

It's going to be a rockin' good time ... I can't wait.

As for New Year's resolutions ... yeah, um, haven't really thought about it. I guess my New Year's resolution is to take some time to come up with a plan for 2007 instead of flying by the seat of my pants like I've always done.

I'll let you know when that goes out the window. I can't imagine it'll be much beyond Jan. 2.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Christmas wishes

We wait until Christmas to open our Christmas presents. They are, after all, Christmas presents, not Christmas Eve presents or two-days-before Christmas presents.

So, Bill was surprised when I stood in the kitchen Christmas Eve morning in my knee socks and demin skirt and told him that I was going to open one of my presents early.

"I haven't had a chance to run a load of black laundry," I cried as I clutched a box artfully wrapped in Old Navy wrapping paper.

"Ooohh," he nodded, understanding my predicament.

My black turtlenecks were dirty and it was Christmas Eve and well, ... I wanted to be wearing one of my black turtlenecks.

Why? Because I always want to be wearing a black turtleneck.

Earlier this month, we received a call from New York. Bill's brother had pulled my name in the annual Christmas present name draw thing that his family does.

Of course, the call wasn't from the brother, but the brother's wife. She delightfully explained that she hadn't the foggiest what her husband should get me since we've never actually met face to face (so goes the long distance family relations ... we really need to make a trip to Buffalo next year).

I explained in graphic detail that I would love to have a black, cotton, turtleneck sweater from Old Navy.

So as I stood shirtless in the kitchen Christmas Eve morning, I was hoping that Sadie would come through for me.

Oh yeah, sister, she came through with not just one black, cotton, turtleneck sweater from Old Navy, but two black, cotton, turtleneck sweaters from Old Navy.

I was thrilled. Thrilled, I say.

At that point, I had five black, cotton, turtleneck sweaters from Old Navy. Oh how wonderful is that?

Not nearly as wonderful as six black, cotton, turtleneck sweaters from Old Navy ... they were having an after-Christmas sale and they were only $9.75 and I had a coupon ... so yeah, I now own SIX black, cotton, turtleneck sweaters from Old Navy.

I can wear one everyday to work. EVERYDAY until summer I will be wearing a black, cotton, turtleneck sweater.

All my Christmas wishes have come true.

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Bobble, bobble

Lookit what I got:

It's the Dwight bobblehead.

(After I typed that I totally invisioned me entering a high school cafeteria filled with not-quite-right people right sitting in folding chairs. I make my way to the front of the room, tripping over my own coat as I lunge for the podium and shout out, "Hi I'm Robin and I'm a dork." Dorks Anonymous ... I could be their Bill W.)

Click here to read why Bill spent our day-after Christmas running around the block.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

How I spent my Christmas vacation

I love spending Christmas with family. Growing up Christmas was all about family.

After Margaret was born, we would often travel to California to spend the holiday with my parents and my brother's family. This year we decided not to.

So we were alone this Christmas.

But as much as I miss being with my family, we had a great Christmas holiday staying home and visiting with our friends.

Saturday we went to the new movie theater and saw "Night at the museum."

Lookit the size of that soda. It's like a vat o' Cherry Coke instead of an individual sized beverage.
We played "Hats on" with my dear friend, Kristen's extensive hat and scarf collection.
And we were home for Santa to deliver some Christmas joy.
And I got to spend my Christmas day relaxing and enjoying these faces.

I also spent a little time with the gift Bill got me. Do you see it on the Christmas tree? Yep, it's the iPod Shuffle ... it is the coolest little thing.

And Margaret got the spend her day enjoying the bounty of her Christmas haul.

I've also been doing some introspective reflection and realized that I could never receive another gift and I would still have everything that I could ever need.

It was a Merry Christmas.

Friday, December 22, 2006

Christmas with Crumpet

I love NPR.

It's pretty much the only radio station I listen to. When I get up in the morning, I turn on my handy shower radio — that my mom got me for Christmas about, oh, what was it, mom? 20 years ago? — and it's always tuned to NPR.

This morning I got in the shower much later than normal since I didn't have to go to work today and while I was trying to shake off the effects of a completely sleepness night (that's a whole other story that includes me extricating our dear little Frida from under the covers a million and one times last night), I laughed out loud at David Sedaris' tales of being a mall elf.

Go here and listen to him recount his tales of temper tantrums and reinventing the myth of what Santa really does to naughty children.

The bit that sent me directly to my computer so I could have a second listen was his rendition of "Away in a manger" as sang by Billie Holiday. His inflection and tone as scarily akin to Billie's.

Oh and I am reminded why offices dont have kittens. Look what Frida typed: =-[]]]]]]]]]]]]44444444444444]l]]]]]]'l

That's pretty impressive considering that she climbed up the computer desk from the under side and started attacking my fingers while trying to pen these oh-so-eloquent prose.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Holidays, holidays

I'm taking a couple of days off of work and when I get back my co-worker is going to be off ice fishing or having back surgery, I can't remember which. So it's likely that I'll be updating less frequently.

I'll try to stumble down stairs and update at home, but that might interrupt the vast amounts of sofa sitting that I need to get done.

But here's to wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

No one needs to see his Santa boxers

Last night was Sean's first day at his first job.

He's working for Carl's Jr. I have no idea what he's going to do there, but I'm sure it involves frozen meat patties and mustard.

It's good that he has a job. Because for a smart kid, he acts stupid a lot. I'm hoping it's just a side effect of being a teenager.

But Sean is on the verge of adulthood and we can only hope to instill some of the requisite skills (like bow hunting skills, computer skills, upper-lip shading skills) that he'll need before we let him loose on the world.

For now, I'd be happy if I just didn't have to lookit 4 inches of boxer shorts that muffin out of the top of his jeans.

"Pull up your damn pants," I chide him on a daily basis. How is that still the fashion anyway?

One of the comforting things about Sean is that he has a kind heart.

He's good to his sister and kind to our animals — even letting little Frida sit on his lap for hours and then sleep with him — which is a good indication to his true character.

Yes, I'd like it if he were doing better in school, but that is a choice that he has to make for himself.

I think that's the hardest thing about parenting, is letting the kids make their own choices, even if they're stupid ones (like walking around with your pants falling down all day long).


I posted a little something about Mar and Frida over here complete with pictures.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

White Christmas?

It's been snowing here for the last couple of days.

I'm always amazed by the snow here and even more amazed by how people react to it.

After suffering through three of the worst winters in history in Pennsylvania while I was in grad school, I learned a bit about living with snow. But believe me, it took this California, city girl a good long time to figure out that boots, gloves and a hat are essential compliments to a good parka.

My first winter back east saw me falling down every day simply because I didn't understand the physics of walking on ice.

I was a disaster just waiting to happen. I'm lucky I survived without breaking a hip.

I learned how to drive (for the most part) in snow and that the essential key to making to your destination without any unplanned spinouts is speed ... or lack thereof.

Driving slowly and stopping before turning is essential.

I'm impresssed by the number of people who think that because their car is equipped with four-wheel drive, it makes them impervious to snowy driving conditions. This is definitely not the case.

I always have to laugh when I hear someone say, "I can't believe I wrecked my car while I was only driving 50 mph during a blinding snow storm. I had it in four-wheel drive."

Dumb asses.

But I do appreciate that my truck has four-wheel drive and have used it in snowy conditions numerous times.

Well, actually I've used the all-wheel drive setting. See my car's all fancy 'n' shit and has a two-wheel drive setting, an all-wheel drive setting and a four-wheel drive setting.

Last month on the way home from a gig Denver with Kelley and Laurena, the pass (for those not familiar with Colorado terrain, the state is roughly divided in two by the Rocky Mountains. To get to Denver from the Western Slope requires traversing the "pass") was pretty slushy with snow and ice. I put the car into all-wheel drive.

As the road and weather conditions worsened, I put it into four-wheel drive.

Kelley asked me the difference between all-wheel and four-wheel drive.

I replied, "Four-wheel drive is more serious."

Because really I have no idea what the difference is. But it seems that as things get worse I should just continue to click that switch upward.

I should ask my dad what the difference is, but he'll give me some technical explaination complete with diagrams and a how-to lesson on repairing four-wheel drive transfer cases.

I think I'll just ask Mr. Google.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Tickling the keys

Sunday was a big day for Margaret. She performed in her first piano recital.

She was so nervous, which made me nervous. But she had practiced and it paid off.

You can read more about it over here.

Or just watch the video below. During Margaret's second song, a reporter from Channel 5 News parks herself right smack in front of Bill so there's some creative camera work until Bill gets himself moved into a better spot.

Monday, December 18, 2006

This is the reason

that we got a kitten.

Frida is definitely a keeper. She's very sweet, but will totally hold her own, too.

You've never lived until you've seen a 2-pound little kitty get herself all puffed up, standing on her tippy toes and hissing a ferocious warning to a pretty disinterested dog.

She's been a little ray of sunshine and a great distraction for us. The day we got her was the day we picked up Bing's ashes. I made a little altar to B in our basement where he loved to hang.

Even though I will always miss him, it's nice to have a new face and some new blood to liven up our house.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

The right choice

We came to the conclusion that we didn't need to add yet another kitten to our already-sprawling family.

So to reward ourselves for making a sensible decision for once, we got this:

It's a kitten .... wait, we said we weren't going to get a kitten ... DOH!

Her name is Frida Kahlo (but for now we're just calling her Peanut, because she's the tiniest little nut). We like her. We're gonna keep her.

Chock full o' kitties and with a complete lack of common sense.

It's worked for us for the last 7 years ... why change now.

Friday, December 15, 2006

I'll send them my cardiology bill

Someone needs to open emergency yoga clinics for people suffering acute anger.

I'd be there right now trying to exchange the hostility and belligerence I have bubbling out my mouth for an iota of calmness.

Disclaimer: I have a terrible temper and I am a royal bitch when I'm pissed off. I know this and hate this about me. I would love to be one of those calm types that is able to keep their wits about them and always act with grace and dignity.

But right now, my blood pressure is so high, I'm feeling a little faint.

Here lemme tell you why:

A year and a half ago, I gave into a moment of vanity and made an appointment to have what I thought was a mole removed from my face near my left eye.

The ugly mole turned out to be more than just an ugly mole. It was basal cell carcinoma — skin cancer.

When the pathology revealed that a portion of my skin was eating away the rest of my skin, I was referred to the only doctor on the Western Slope of the Rocky Mountains to do a specialized surgery that would removed all the cancer and leave the healthy tissue behind.

I had the surgery which really wasn't so bad and I try not to focus on the half inch scar that sits on my lid near my eye.

A while ago, I was giving it a good lookin' at and noticed that a white mole just like the one that was chock full o' cancer had sprouted out of the scar.

I was a bit perplexed because I had paid big money to have the specialized surgery to make certain that the skin cancer would not return.

So I made an appointment with the only doctor on the Western Slope that does this specialized surgery so he could take a gander.

As you can assume, being the only doctor on the Western Slope who does this specialized surgery (it's called Moh's Surgery — I do remember it being named after one of the Three Stooges), he's very booked up. So I had to wait several weeks to get an appointment.

Today being my lucky day, I got to go to the skin doctor. I had been told that I should come 15 minutes early so I could re-fill out all the paper work I had filled out the first time I went there so they could have something with which to light their money cigars or something.

I arrived early and filled out my paper work. Then the receptionist came over and said, "Um. Yeah, the doctor is running a little late."

I gave her a raised eyebrow and she continued, "Yeah, he's going to be at least 30 minutes late."

Then you could hear the sound of my jaw smacking the carpet. I came 15 minutes early so I could wait an extra 30 minutes.

Nope, I don't think so. Fridays are my busiest days. I told her I'd have to reschedule.

I gathered myself and returned to the front counter where the receptionist began to shake her head. "I just don't know when we can fit you in."

Now, I was on the verge of full-fledged pissedom. "Please understand that if you had called me, I would have happily come in a half an hour later."

"Oh," she replied, "we're never sure how late he's going to be until right before the appointment."

My blood could have boiled a nice bisque at this point.

I told her that I was frustrated that I even needed to be seen again and now I was being asked to wait at least an additional 45 minutes because they don't know how to keep a schedule.

Now I understand that things happened, unexpected things, and people run late. But they are not doing me any favors by letting me see the doctor. I pay to see the doctor. My money pays their salaries. I am doing them a favor by choosing to come see the doctor. They should be, at the very least, courteous to me and definitely not condescending and put out.

At this point, the receptionist turns to her co-worker and says, "I just don't know what I should do."

I helped her out. "Just cancel the appointment," I spat as I walked (OK, stormed) out of the office. Bill had just pulled in and found me seething in the parking lot.

I gave him a colorful, f-bomb filled recap.

He convinced me that I'd feel better if I ate, so we had some really good Italian sandwiches.

I enjoyed eating the sandwich, I'm still having trouble chocking down the crappy customer service.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

And the debate begins

We haven't even gotten Bing's ashes back yet and we'll already starting to talk about a kitten.

Bill and I agree that we don't need a kitten. But we also agree that our entire relationship has been based on what we want with little regard for our true needs. So why change now? (Real mature, huh? But it kinda works for us, so who are we to complain?)

We're all so sad and we miss our kitty so much. Click here and scroll to the bottom to read Bill's tribute to our Bitty B — beware it'll make your eyes leak.

I know there is no replacement for Bing. I had Bing before I had kids, back when pets held the key to my heart. Now, we still love our pets but they are our pets and our kids are our kids. It's different.

I've been lavishing our cats (and our friend's cats, any cats I can get my hands on) with chin scritches and kisses. They seem sympathetic but also concerned, like it might be their turn to take the car ride of no return.

Their unwillingness to be the object of my guilt and grief has led me to carrying the dog around. She loves it, of course, because she always acts like we never pay her any attention. But carrying a 20-pound dog Italian greyhound is akin to like cradling a bundle of sticks and twigs that has a tongue which is always read for a French kiss.

Last night I brought a box home from work. When Margaret saw it, she cried, "Is there a kitten in there?"

It remains to be seen if a box full o' kitten will arrive at the Casa de Goofus this Christmas.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Bing Bing, R.I.P.

I see it! I pick it!

Last night as Bill and I were washing up for bed, I saw Bill lean towards the mirror and start picking at a blemish (a pimple, really, but I hate that word "pimple" it's just too ... pimpley) that has taken up residence at the start of his eyebrow.

I snark, "How's that working for you?" Referring to the fact that he was digging at his face.

He takes a step back from the mirror and admires that now flaming, red spot on his face. "It's great. This is exactly what I was hoping for."

I raise my eyebrows and start to giggle.

"Yeah, I was hoping this is what it would look like today. It looks good, don't you think? It's all red and oozing bit. Yeah. This is just what I wanted for myself."

Now, I'm belly laughing and holding onto the sink.

"It was close to healing over the weekend, but I really wanted to have it all red and raw looking for the week. What do you think? How'd I do?" he asks as he thrusts his face toward mine.

I'm hysterical now.

I can hear Sean shuffling around in his room on the other side of the wall and wonder what he thinks of us yucking it up in the bathroom at 10:00 at night. But I can't stop laughing.

I'm still chuckling to myself after Bill hopped on the train to Snoozeville.

Nothing says funny like a 47-year-old pimple face.

Monday, December 11, 2006

What did you do yesterday?

I went to church.

I didn't get struck down by a mighty lightning bolt sent from the heavens.

We got our little family up early yesterday. Margaret donned pink tights, a blue bubble skirt and a Christmas t-shirt. Since, I'm trying to let her make those decisions on her own, I took her out in public dressed like that. I wore my standard daily, non-work uniform: black turtleneck, jeans, argyle knee socks and my black low-top Chuck Taylors (this varies from my daily, work uniform in that the jeans are swapped with a black or gray skirt, socks for black tights and CTs for black, patent-leather loafers — I may be boring but at least I'm consistent).

Yes, I went to church wearing sneakers. Mostly because I forgot we were actually going to church.

See, we took Mar to see her dear friend preform in the Christmas program at the Christian daycare/preschool that Margaret used to attend.

Mar wanted to see her friends and I just like watching children sing too loud and off key while picking their noses.

In the past, the event was held in the evening, but this year they decided to combine it with their Sunday service. Being a heathen, I didn't think that I should at least put on a proper pair of shoes. But then again, with all my other infractions, I don't see that my Converse were going to be the thing that tipped the scales that would force me onto the lightning-bolt list.

And I was right. So far... unless there's some sort of delay in the enforcement of the lightning-bold punishment.

Just to be safe, I won't be carrying a golf club around with me during this storm we're having.

And for those of you that care, I posted over here.

Friday, December 08, 2006

Is it inherited?

I took these pictures of Margaret this morning while she sat at my desk waiting for me to take her to school.
She took her time, carefully creating a drawing of her teacher and herself in a field of poppies.
She was polite when my friendly co-workers said hello. This is a big deal in that Margaret tends to get shy (I know the suggestion that my kid is shy seems laughable to those who know her, but unfamiliar surroundings, she does tend to clam up) sometimes and I've been constantly reminding her that being polite must preempt her shyness.
She ate her breakfast of a donut accompanied by orange juice (the breakfast of champions, no?) and then I took her to school, pleased that she had behaved.

When I got back to my desk, I downloaded the photos of her and found that I had taken a picture last night:It's a picture of the scorecards my dear friend, Trae-trae and I use to play a game while we watch Survivor.

Yes, Tracee and I invented a game that goes with a TV show. I wish there was some way that I could make that sound less dorky.

Last evening when I called Tracee to confirm our weekly Survivor date, her husband handed her the phone and said, "It's your Survivor dork."

I can't even protest, because it is dorky. But it's been fun and we enjoy it, so there (accompanied by a petulant foot stamp).

Even though, I realize that it will raise me up a couple rungs on the dorkitude ladder, I have to boast that I made an amazing comeback last night. We had been holding steady at 8 for Tracee and 2 for me. Then I scored 5 points last night to Tracee's 2. We're at 10 for Tracee and 7 for me.

And we even have an immunity idol that the overall points leader gets to keep.

Oop, that really tipped the scales of dorkdom, didn't it? Poor Margaret has little chance of living a dorkfree life.

Especially when you dad looks like this:

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Sanguine cruor

"Blood is stronger than water; and, if either individual or national character be worth a farthing, it is not to be annihilated by any union - the multitudinous seas will not wash it out."

Those are Henry Glassford Bell's thoughts on blood. Click here to read Margaret's view on blood.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Never enough

Ever since the night of more cowbell, I've been thinking about the fathers of the more-cowbell phenomenon.

And it looks like I'm not the only one. Now there's the Cowbell Project.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006


I was down to my last Christian and not sure where I could get more at a resonable price. My fears are alleviated as we now have this store:

Monday, December 04, 2006

Sometimes it's just ugly

Parenting = hard.

That's basically what my entry over here says. But go ahead and click it anyway ... there are pictures.

They're lucky

Our dear friends, Mar-Kel and Special K, are lucky — because if I didn't like them so much, I would have totally beat them with a sock full o' pennies yesterday and taken their new car.

It's a Toyota FJ Cruiser and it is the pimp daddy of cars. Check it:

They don't look happy about their new car at all, eh?

(Even though I've decided against using my sock o' pennies this time, I'm totally keeping it handy ... you know, just in case.)

Friday, December 01, 2006

More cowbell or why we love KP

Wednesday at band practice we were working on yet another new original. It's called Wrong Dream and we'll be rolling it out at our New Year's Eve show.

While working on the song's bridge (or as we like to call it, the "bridgey part"), we thought it could use some extra percussion. KP brought out her tambourine, but it still needed something. Bridget set KP up with a symbol stand, her wood block and a drum stick.

This was the result (Sorry for the poor quality and lack of sound, I took this with my still camera):

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Ozzy buys ice cream machine

Survivor's Ozzy bought himself a bona fide soft-serve ice-cream machine. The grin of getting away with something was plastered on his face as he bid $420 — it was a classic Survivor moment!

I thought I made it up


In this post I said I nicknamed Margaret a snow cow.

Then my dear pal, Markel, sent me a link to this urban dictionary definition for snow cow.

That is messed up, yo!

I am vowing to take back snow cow as a term for those that love to eat snow off the ground on all fours.

And it's why I love him

This exchange occured while we were shopping for picture frames. Bill noticed some that were specifically designed for cats and dogs.

Bill: "We've got to remember to take pictures of our friend's pets."

Me: *crickets* — accompanied by incredulous blinking.

Bill: "You know, in case they die."

Me: "There's something wrong with you."

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Let is snow

OK, so the snow is nice, but doesn't it have to be so flippin' cold?
The stepped-on snow is now ice. The roads are trecherous despite the fact that very little snow actually stuck to the pavement. And it's all the cold's fault. Damn cold.

Last night after work, Margaret spent some time horsing around in the front yard while I stood shivering and trying to take pictures.

Check out this snow angel:
And because two angels are better than one:
But this is my favorite:
Margaret has always loved eating snow. She'll happily get on her hands and knees and eat it directly off the ground which lead to me nicknaming her the "snow cow."

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Because Santa says, "Boo!"

Oh man, I was looking at these pictures while at my desk and had a hard time trying to stifle my laughter, but it was so hard. You gotta go here and looked these pictures of kids of Santa.

Picture number 2 is beyond hilarious — Poor Amy, she just wants to get the heck out outta Dodge, but Lisa with her plastered smile has her by the coat ... oh, and what is up with Todd?

The sky is falling!

Oh, it's just snow!You go click here to read about my feelings on snow.
(Yeah, I dunno why this picture is cropped on the bottom. I resized it and uploaded it a dozen times and it still comes out this way. I figure half a snow picture is better'n none!)

Monday, November 27, 2006

Post-turkey blubberfest

The feasting holiday is past and now we're firmly ensconced in the season of shopping.

I began my Christmas shopping back in October, picking up an item here and there. I did a little more shopping Sunday but mostly we stayed home this weekend ... and it was glorious.

We did chop down our Christmas tree (by "we" I mean Bill), drag it into the house and decorate it.
I wasn't sure about the tree at first. It seemed fat-bottomed (I guess Bill likes that in women, too). Bill and Mar picked it out while I was in Denver a couple of weeks ago. Once we got it in the house and decorated it, I've reconsidered. I think it's quite lovely.
I forget how much I like having a tree in the house with all the lights and shiny ornaments. I wish we could have one all year round.

But I resigned myself to the fact that the season for keeping a cut-down tree in your living room is only one part of the year. This, of course, does not stop us from keeping our Christmas tree in the backyard until spring clean-up, like the true white trashies that we are.

Yesterday, Mar and I had lunch downtown. Then we did a little shopping.
Whenever I come home from Christmas shopping, I always show Bill what we're giving to everyone and then I congratulate myself on a job well done.

"I'm so thrifty," I say.

Followed by, "You're so lucky that I do all the Christmas shopping." Just in case he didn't know this already ... despite the fact that I remind him constantly (which is necessary because he's not really that lucky, but I like to pretend he is).

But I have done a good job so far, using coupons and buying things on sale. But really, I'm most pleased with the fact that this year I'm giving fun gifts, gifts that mean something and even some things that I've made.

So yeah, while it's not unusual for me to invent compliments for myself, this time I actually feel like I deserve them — and that's a nice gift for myself.

Friday, November 24, 2006

Giving thanks

Click over here to read my sappy Thanksgiving story.

If you're not into sap this day after the official day of eating too much, lookit this picture:

I was behind this guy on my way to work this morning (yeah, I'm working the Friday after Thanksgiving) and that giant Big Red sticker moved me to root around in my bag for my camera.

First, I wondered how much does one have to love a product that they want to apply a giant sticker of said product on their vehicle.

Second, just what kind of crazy store sells giant stickers of candy products anway? Because I wanna a giant Smarties sticker for my car.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Eh, I can sleep when I'm dead

I awoke around 3 a.m. when I felt hot, 1st-grader breath on my face. When I opened my eyes, Margaret is standing there. She earnestly cries, "There's something on my pillow and I'm not going back in there."

Because I'm the generous sort, I shook the arm of my dearest Uber-husband and implored him to do a pillow inspection.

I could have done it myself, but if there had been something unsightly on the pillow, I would have gotten him up to remove it anyway, so why not just skip a step.

Of course, there wasn't anything on the aforementioned pillow and Margaret was able to go back to sleep in her own bed. Bill wasn't so lucky.

He was up a couple more times with heartburn and her general insomnia which always affects me. It's as if I take roll call in my sleep and if all two of us aren't present, I must investigate.

I can't remember all the times I've stomped out of the bedroom and yelled at Bill to get his sorry sack of bones back to bed so I could get some sleep.

I guess sleep is just one of those luxuries that I'll enjoy later in life.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Pouty McPouterson

Click over here to read about this picture:

Is that really fun?

As I was walking up to Richie's desk that other day, she sighed and said, "This is what I'm looking at." I looked at the Web page and was dumbfounded.

The site sold hair dye ... but not just any hair dye. Dye "for the hair down there." And that's their marketing slogan, "Color for the hair down there."

Now I guess I could see someone wanting the rug to match the drapes, but what about this one:
Yeah, it's hot pink hair color ... you know, for the hair down there.

First, 'the hell?

Second, could you imagine spending the hour or so to dye your nether regions? I could think of a bunch of things that I'd rather be doing than that.

Third, what about roots? Dark roots with pink hair? That's just not a look I'm interested in.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Who's a rock star?

Bill Halen is.

Almost too authentic

Saturday night, Bill, KP and I made a mad dash downtown to check out the Austin rockabilly band, Two Timin' Three.

These are three young guys dedicated to their rockabilly bid-ness. They've got the haircuts, the clothes, shoes and even the tattoos (although there is some discussion as to whether or not they are real) of the rockabilly '50s era.
The Spotlight was jammed with rockabillians. Kelley said she was amazed at the number of men who styled their pompadours for the evening. It was really impressive.

The band was so authentic that I kept thinking I was watching something out of Hollywood instead of a trio of lads workin' their rockabilly style.

At one point there seemed to be a fight a-brewin' amongst the rockabillies in the crowd. KP asked if we were going to witness a genuine rockabilly brouhaha complete with choreography and snapping fingers a la West Side Story — but alas it was not to be.

Never the less, the Two Timin' Three were a good time and a great rockabilly band.

Friday, November 17, 2006

Why bother?

(I know, two posts in one morning ... what had become of me?)

OK, first I would like to say that I think anyone should be able to eat in whatever manner makes them happy and healthy so long as it doesn't affect me.

But I find that some people's choices are just sad and desperate, like this one.

Her blog is "A Vegan Ice Cream Paradise."

She discusses vegan ice-cream recipes.

That's all fine and good. I have no issues what so ever with vegans, but ice cream comes from animals. Cream is right in the name and there is no way in heaven that you can substitute non-dairy milk for milk and make ice cream.

Ice cream comes from cows. If you don't want to eat animal products, then don't eat ice cream. And don't pretent that what you make with "non-dairy" is "ice cream."

It ain't ice cream unless a fair portion of it was squirted from a heifer's tit.

And that's all I have to say about that.


So like I said before, Sean is 16 now. At the end of the month he can take his driving test. And because none of his multitudes of parents want the kid driving our cars, we bought him his own.

Driver's license + 16-year-old = a whole new world of fear for us parents

There are a number of things that concern me about Sean being able to drive a car and most of them have very little to do with the actual operation of the vehicle. He's a pretty good driver in general — more specifically, he's a much better driver than I am ... not that that is saying much. But because I'm an adult (of some sorts) I have the experience to know that if I wreck my car, I ain't got no car. Teenagers don't seem to have this knowledge with all the money and car trees they think are growing everywhere.

Really, it's what being able to move himself around on his own implies that freaks me out. And even worse, is the "with whom" he will be moving himself around ... uh, with ... ouch, that sentence got all crazy and not at all right. Oh well, it's Friday and I'm tired so it's going to stay.

While searching for a decent, yet affordable car for Sean. I kept telling Bill that whatever car he got should have some giant and insurmountable console between the front two seats and that no where should there be room enough for any sort of lying down (if you get my drift). I really thought a one seat car with just enough room for a 6-year-old safely in the back would be perfect, but, remarkably, those are difficult to find.

Instead we bought him a 1995 Pontiac Grand Prix, 4-door. We were all happy that we were able to find a car that didn't have too many miles on it, that was around two grand and was in decent shape. Then I started reading consumer reviews of this car and became distraught.

Several owners of this car commented on it's spacious interior.

How could we have gone so wrong? We were so focused on it's mechanical fitness that we neglected to realize that not only does it have a spacious backseat (don't say "spacious backseat") but the arm rest that separates the front seats folds up and someone can sit there in the middle of the front seat ... right next to the driver.

Gah. We have facilitated teenaged touching. Gah!

The horror. The horror.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Sweet 16

Sean turned 16 on Tuesday.

I've now known him for one half of his life ... and yet he's still an enigma to me in many ways.

But not all ... I was able to find some gifts for the taciturn teen that he seemed to genuinely like. I found a cool, military-style coat that he's actually worn without me having to remind him to wear a coat.

And I got him a cell phone ... on our Verizon plan.

Up until now, he had a pay-as-you-go cell phone on Cingular, which meant that he never had minutes on his phone and we could never call him. That is no longer the case.

Now he should be accessible to us at. all. times. Yes, the phone I got him even has a GPS chaperone feature so we can find the phone, and most likely him as well, whenever we want. Bwhahaha.

So yeah, basically the cell phone is a gift for me and my obsessive-conpulsive tendencies.

Click it ... you know you want to

I wrote this rant over here about the fields of teenaged boobies that leave permanent pock marks on my eyes.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Go figure

I'm sure it's my own fault that there are no chocolate, chocolate-chip muffins in the break-room vending machine this week. Karma has her foot on my neck, while she laughs in my face as I moan over my lack of breakfast cake.

I'm getting a karmic smackdown because I spent a fair amount of time Saturday night sharing my keen (albeit somewhat petty and mean-spirited) observations on some of the performers with which we shared a stage that night.

Our band was invited to be part of a line up of female musicians last weekend. There were eight acts in total. Several consisted of a woman, an acoustic guitar and songs spun from her most sincere feelings on the nature of being a woman with an acoustic guitar.

One performer had a truly beautiful voice and a truly unfortunate hair style. It looked like she had sideburns. If I hadn't been introduced to her, I would have bet my Aunt Verla Mae's pearl onion jelly that she was a 14-year-old boy.

And then there was that thing she did with her guitar. At one point during her set, she began thumping her guitar with a closed fist in order to make a percussive drum beat. She pounded the guitar just below the sound hole. It looked like, um, yeah, it didn't look good.

Of course, I had to make note of this to my bandmates in a way that left me dissolved in a pool of giggles.

That's right, a grown woman wearing a pair of bedazzled men's overalls criticized a fellow musician's performance and I wonder why there are no chocolate, chocolate-chip muffins in the vending machine?

Maybe if I promise to try harder next time, there'll be at least a banana-nut muffin next week.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Hey, hey, we're the ...

Damn, I loved me some Monkees when I was a kid.

I've done a little bit of reading on my dear, old pals the Monkees and they have a very interesting history.

Did you know that the Monkees:
  1. Had the top-selling American single of 1967 ("I'm a Believer").
  2. First rock band to extensively use the Moog Synthesizer on a pop album.
  3. First rock band to extensively use the pedal steel guitar on a pop album.
  4. One of the first pioneers of country-rock music.
  5. Outsold The Beatles and Elvis Presley combined in 1967.
  6. Hold the record for most #1 albums in one year. Four of their albums (The Monkees, More of the Monkees, Headquarters, and Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones Ltd.) hit #1 in 1967.
  7. First TV sitcom to make political and social comments defending the youth of America.
  8. First use of solarisation in a major motion picture.
  9. First television series to show teenagers living on their own.
  10. First rock band to use a multimedia live concert show.
  11. Gave the Jimi Hendrix Experience their first US concert appearances.
  12. First "manufactured" rock band (The Pre-Fab Four).
  13. First American band to play in Thailand.
  14. First rock band to win two Emmy awards.
  15. First male leads in a television series to have long hair.
  16. The Monkees reunion tour was the largest grossing tour of 1986.
  17. Re-charting various albums simultaneously during 1986 is an accomplishment shared only with The Beatles, Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin.
  18. Last music artist to win the MTV Friday Night Video Fights by defeating Bon Jovi 51% to 49%.
  19. First marriage of television and music industry.
  20. Introduced Tim Buckley to a national audience, via his appearance in the series finale, "The Frodis Caper."
Lookit number 11. The Monkees and Hendrix? Who'da thunk it?

When I was in grad school I watched the Monkees movie "Head"for the first time. It's really the antithesis of the television series and the epitome of '60s psychedelia.
I recently rented it from Netflix and watched it with Margaret. Initially she was freaked out by the psychdelic nature, but finally said, "I don't understand this movie, so I'm just going to listen to the songs and lookit the pretty colors."

We also had this conversation:
Margaret: Is Davy Jones handsome?
Me: Some people think he is.
Mar: Do you think he is?
Me: I did when I was your age.
Mar: OK then.

Indeed, OK then.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Ready McReaderson

I forgot to mention that I wrote a little something here about my kiddo. Go one, click it. There are pictures.

Man, I'm Writey McWriterson these days.

Riveter pong and why I need a roadie

The ping-pong ball bounced off the top of the light that hung over the impromptu ping-pong table and on to La La's side . She smacked the ball with all her bass-playing force right at KP's face (again). KP defensively slapped at the ball. It ricocheted and hit the kind-of-scary tattooed guy who was playing pool at the next table in the leg (again).

He forced a smile, picked up the ball (again), placed in on the table and said through gritted teeth, "Let's try to keep the ball on the table, ladies."

We all giggled and proceed to play Riveter pong — a game like ping pong but no one keeps score and the only goal is to hit the ball ... at any cost.

We loved this game that we invented Saturday night. The people around us trying to play pool didn't find it quite so charming. We cared, but not enough that we were going to stop. We had hours to kill until our second set and we needed something to do, hence Riveter pong was born.

Saturday was our "Day of two shows."

The best part of the trip was hanging with my girls — who are so awesome, it hurts me some time — and playing Riveter pong. Most of the rest of the trip was "eh" and some of it just downright sucked donkey balls. But that's all stupid and tedious, so I'll just let it be.

I did learn something valuable about loading equipment in and our of my truck over and over and over again over a two day period: I need gloves or a roadie.
My hands are killing me today. I have so many scrapes, scratches and nicks in the flesh on the back of my hands that I feel like I tried to lather up with a cheese grater.

I should be allowed to just sit back and apply lipstick while someone else loads in and out my equipment.

So I wrote a column that ran in the newspaper Sunday. It's about politicians. Click and read it. Lemme know what you think.

Friday, November 10, 2006

Two ... two shows in one trip ... on one day

That's right, my heifers (some girl called us "heifers" — in a loving way, I'm sure — at our last show and despite the fact that it totally traumatized me, I'm enbracing my heifer-dom and showering my bretheren with my new-found love for my heifers), Riveter is heading over the Continental Divide to rock the Mile High(ish) City, playing two (that's right ... 2) shows in one day.

We're starting off with another set at the Larimer Lounge at 6 p.m.
Click here to print out free tickets.

Then we're heading to Littleton to the Toad Tavern to be part of a GoGirlsMusicFest. This is part of a nationwide series of fests featuring GoGirlsMusic gals.

This show starts at 8 with our little band bring our brand of scary-indie music to the stage at midnight.

Yeah, it's going to be a long day, but any day playing music is better than any day doing housework!!

Hirsute to the max

Yesterday afternoon, I was furiously grading exams when I got an instant message from Richie. She said, "I don't know what to say about this:" and she sent me this picture:
Damn, that's a lot of hair.

I wonder how long he has to spend in the morning styling it all. I mean those eyebrows look lethal.

But the more I looked at the picture, the more I thought he seemed familiar. Then it dawned on me:

Thursday, November 09, 2006

At least it's not chicken

My dear friend, Markel, sent me the link to this story.

For those unwilling to leave my beatius blog for even a momet, the story tells of a robot that was designed to test the taste of wines and other things that might need a testin'.

A cameraman put his hand in the robots mouth and it was identified as bacon.

Mmm ... bacon. Maybe cannibals are on to something.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

But it was still good

This story is dedicated to KP:

I came back from lunch today with a hankering for some chocolate. I scrounged up 60 cents and headed on over to the vending machines.

Most often I get Peanut M&Ms, but today I needed something stronger and wanted to get the most bang for my buck (er, 60 cents), so I went with the old Three Musketeers.

I like the Three Musketeers because it's so rich that I have to take my time eating it, or it'll make me a bit queasy. I like to eat the chocolate coating off the outside then eat that fluffy stuff on the inside. Unfortunately, the chocolate tends to splinter.

As I was gnawing away at the coating, my phone rang just as a hunk o' chocolate took a dive and bounced off my key board on the floor.

When I got off the phone, I saw the errant morsel and picked it up.

I examined it.

It was still good. I hadn't ran it over with my chair or stepped on it or anything.

So I ate it.

And immediately I regreting that decision. There was a texture to it that was decidedly not Three Musketeers — no, it was more like KitKat.

I can't recall the last time I ate a KitKat.

I was kind of grossed out, but it was still good.

When she was about 3 years old

I was going through stacks of papers last night and came upon this picture of Margaret:
She was about 3. This picture totally captures her inquisitive nature.

Look at that little nut face.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Irons in the fire

As I was driving to get Margaret from her sitter (no school today because it's election day and apparently children can't learn and teachers can't teach if people are out there enacting their right as American citizens to cast their ballot — huh), I realized that I'd left work without updating here.

I have no excuse except that I was writing a column that will be published this Sunday (I think), so my free time was all full up of work.

Then when I was done, I did have some free time but I totally wasted it by grading the exams I gave yesterday in class — what a waste of time that was. I mean, really, getting my work for my second job done at my first job instead of updating my blog. 'the hell?

So now instead of spending some needed time with my kid, I've left her alone upstairs with Mike Rowe — she likes him better anyway (she's taken to calling me her stepmother because — as she says — I mean to her sometimes. Whatever.).

Monday, November 06, 2006

Taking a step back in time

It was like we stepped through a time warp.

We arrived at the bar in Montrose where we were scheduled to play at 5:30. Our show started at 8.

When I walked through the front door, I knew this was unlike any bar we'd played in before. As we began loading in our equipment, the bar owner asked Bill (who was running our sound), "They aren't going to be loud, are they?" Without missing a beat, Bill answered, "Oh no."

You know because girl rock 'n' roll bands always play so quietly.

The bar is a replic of a Victorian tavern complete with elaborate woodwork, antique bar and lots of antique-y things adorning the wall-papered walls. The bathrooms were clean and there was toilet paper and paper towels. There was no vomit and/or pee stains anywhere that I could tell. Unusual indeed.

We got the sound ready (Thanks to Bill for running the sound so aptly and even more thanks to Scott for putting together our sound system and teaching Bill how to use it) and then got ourselves ready — our "getting ready" time is much decreased since we started wearing our jumpsuits. I love our jumpsuits.

As people started to arrive, things got even more strange. The first few folks through the door were ... um, how shall I say this without sounded like a dillweed ... they were the very regular patrons of the Montrose Arts Council (that had paid us to come to Montrose) and not at all the typical rock 'n' roll band audience.

But they stayed through the first set. We didn't seem to scare them away until we broke out our cover of AC/DC's "Shook me all night long" half way through the second set.
Even though it wasn't a typical bar or a typical crowd, it was a typically fun night with the girls. The crowd was generous with their applause and praise and there was even quite a bit of dancing which makes for a fun show. But, man, did it fly by. Our three 45-minute sets were over quicker than any show — without any glitches or snafus. It was just a rockin' good time.

So a big Woot! to Montrose.

Friday, November 03, 2006

Did you know ...

Did you know that one of the shoe categories on the Web retailer is "vegetarian."

Fer reals, check it out.

Friday finally

Look out Montrose here we come.

That's right, we're driving the hour or so south down to the lovely burgh of Montrose for a show sponsored by the Montrose Arts Council.

This is our first time playing anywhere on the Western Slope except for right here in Grand Junction.

It's just us playing all night long. And it's so great because we have three sets of really good music. We've been able to weed out the clinkers and focus on supa-fun covers along with our rockin' originals.

We're debuting two brand-spankin' new originals. One of which I wrote ... that's a first for me. So woot to me.

On a completely different note, if you're interested, I wrote a terribly sappy entry over here. I swear sometimes I'm so sappy I should be a tree.

Thursday, November 02, 2006


So Mas has had this cough for ... a really long time.

It would get better then it started to get worse again. But mostly it bothers her at night. Now that it's worse again, it's bothering all of us at night.

I would lay there in the middle of the night, telling myself, "OK, you don't have to get up and get her cough medicine if she doesn't cough again before you go to sleep."

Then evitably, she'd cough and I'd haul myself out of bed and fetch the medicine.

We ran out of the melty strip kind that she likes and even the thick, bad-tasting syrup kind of cough medicine, so I found myself deliriously shuffling around Wal-Mart at 10:30 p.m. last night after band practice scooping impulse items into my hand cart.

Just an aside, Wal-Mart at 10:30 p.m. on a Wednesday evening is a strange place. I was shocked by the number of people who have their babies and toddlers strapped into a cart as they shopped for toilet paper and milk.

But there we two adorable teenaged boys there with identical wispy haircuts that poked out from their matching little hats. I wondered if they really wanted to be dressed and coiffed alike or if it just happened. They looked like a pair of suburban paper dolls dressed up to look dangerous.

Today, I decided enough was enough and I called the doctor. I took Mar in around lunchtime. He guessed that she probably has a sinus infection and perscribed antibiotics. While we were talking Margaret got bored and began turning in slow circles next to my chair. She closed her eyes and promptly smacked her noggin on the door.

While she was in fine spirits when I brought her to the doctor's office — even sitting still for the machine to take her blood pressure — the smack on the head took the wind out of her sails.

She and I had talked on the drive over about her getting a flu shot, but once she planted a goose egg on her head, there was no way she was going to consent. The idea of holding my rather strong 6-year-old down while the doctor (or more likely the nurse) gave her an injection was in no way appealing considering that I've been suffering from sleep deprivation and a fair dose of stress. So I decided that if she was to get a flu shot, Bill could take her.

Yeah, mother of the year, I am not.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Help me before I Photoshop again!

Red leaf

I did it!!!

I can follow directions. Woo! Go me!

When I read Blurbomat's discussion of how to enhance photos using Photoshop, I thought there was no way I could do that myself. It seemed like entirely too many steps and too much clicking and, well, basically that it was too much for my challenged pea brain.

But I have a bunch of stuff that I wanted to avoid doing, so I gave it a try. And check it out:
I did it!

Thanks to Blurbomat for his detailed directions and pictures that really made this possible for a flibberdydidit like myself. He had no reason to spend all that time putting together his "how-to make your photos Blurbo-cool" but I'm so grateful that he did.

One more with costumes

Yep, that's my kid with the other neighbor girls coughing her little lungs out. Poor nut.

Cough or not, we had a great time trick-or-treating around our neighborhood last night. And yes, we do ban boys ... OK, we do allow boys in the neighborhood, but they don't seem to stay long. I wonder why (just get a load of those girls ...).

If you're just dying to see me in my lame butterfly costume, you can click here.

Tomorrow should see a return to the non-costume related blog entries (but no guarantees).

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

The Marfly

Margaret hates this picture of herself.

That is too bad because I have it printed out on a 8-1/2 x 11" piece of card stock and it's affixed to the door of our refrigerator.

I love it. I love her little wrinkled forehead and the smear of frosting on her cheek and the angle of the wings. Plus her expression ... just too much.

I snapped this picture Saturday. You can read about it here.

Oh and yes, she's a butterfly and so am I. Yes folks, RiveterGirl dressed up for Halloween and I'm dressed up like a 6 year old. Oh the things I'll do for my kiddo.

Monday, October 30, 2006

Run, run, run, have fun?

Fun but hectic ... that pretty much sums up my weekend. And I'm oh-so-happy the time changed. I've never needed that extra hour before.

Saturday night Bill's band had their Halloween extravaganza at the Spotlight Lounge downtown. They put on a good show and I was amazed at the number of people who dressed up and the amazing variety of costumes. Crazy I tell ya.

It was a fun night of some good music.

But, I'll admit it, I was tired. I slogged my way through the week, going to bed too late and then having to contend with the Halloween-induced night fears from which Mar has been suffering. Yeah, I spent more than one night flopping around Mar's twin bed hugging her giant pink rabbit, Lola (who, by the way, got her first spin in the washing machine and everyone is better for it).

Saturday afternoon, Margaret marched downtown with some of the neighborhood kids while Jenn and I followed behind commenting on how equally cute and silly they all are. Our downtown sponsored an afternoon of trick-or-treating where the stores opened their doors to the manical pack of dressed up sugar fiends and gave out copious amounts of candy.
After all the walking, the kids started to get tired, but being the good moms that we are, we forced them to eat some candy and cookies they decorated themselves and hoped the sugar would kick in.

20 minutes later, the kids were amped up and chasing each other down the street.

Ah that magic drug ... sugar.