Who needs pants anyway?

Do you ever had those dreams where you show up somewhere and you're naked or don't have a shirt or pants on? I've had many of those dreams.

Most often, it seems, that I would end up somewhere with no pants on and I have to try to inconspicuously cover my flapping-in-the-breeze ass. I hate those dreams.

From the looks of these photos of Britney Spears, her reality is my nightmare:

'the hell?

It's Thursday!

Where did Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday go? The fall is so hectic for us with Bill teaching a night class two days a week and I'm teaching my class Monday nights. Then Wednesday sees piano for Mar and band practice for me. Jeez Louise.

I'm sure next week will be better ... oh, except my new boss will be in the office starting Tuesday. My current boss is retiring. I hope the new guy likes me. I'll have to work on acting right — Doh!

Anyway, I wrote some sappy mom stuff over here. Go on, click it. You know you wanna.

More on Friday night mayhem

Damn it all to heck! I'm busy ... with work stuff! Argh!

This doesn't happen often, so I shouldn't complain but still ... (whine).

So, I'll just throw down a quick story from Friday for y'all:

We, as a band, are not big drinkers. I never drink when I play and might have one or two drinks afterward depending. La usually has to drive back to Palisade, so she never has more than two in an evening.

Friday night was an exception. Let me tell you, adrenaline and a bit of jager, makes for a super fun combination. Well, it was super fun for us, not necessarily for everyone else.

After the show was over, Laurena and I cornered Dan "Thunder" Bolton downstairs in the green room where we peppered him with all sorts of banter.
La and I were thoroughly enjoying ourselves. Until we realized that on the table were two bins filled with beer and water labeled "Supersuckers" and one labeled "Sun Trash" and exactly zero labeled "Riveter."

Not to be left out, Laurena removed the "Supersuckers" tag and replaced it with a napkin upon which she scrawled "Riveter." Moments later the 'Suckers tour guy, Dave (I think his name was Dave) came in and said, "You girls'd better not be drinking my beer."

Not being one to be intimidated, La immediately challenged the guy that he should be careful about drinking our beer. We delighted in pointing our the "Riveter" sign. The guy just shook his head.

I think we are really lucky we're girls and we're cute. Because I doubt dude bands could get away with such things.

Friday night = Awesomey goodness

My brother left a comment on my last entry asking how the show went Friday went.

IT WAS AWESOME!!

We had so much fun, I'm still giddy over the whole thing.

For those not fully versed in just how my band, Riveter, scored an opening gig for the Greatest Rock 'n' Roll band in the world, click over here and my post on the Supersuckers' message board.

All day Friday, I tried my best to not get all adrenalined out and was pretty mellow ... until we got to the venue to load in and soundcheck. When we opened the back door, down the hallway walked Eddie Spaghetti.

I was officially excited.

We loaded in and waited while the 'Suckers did a sound check. I tried to act like it was just another day playing music, but really it felt like it was a mini concert just for us. Awesome.

After our sound check we had enough time to go home, eat and change. We got back to the venue about 20 minutes before we went on. I was pumped, so excited to be playing. Then before we knew it, it was time to start.

This was our first show since Bridgett left the band. Things could go either way for us.

We started our first song and it was on. It was pure adrenaline-filled awesomeness. We played great, really high energy and with lots of enthusiasm. Our 30-minutes flew by. When it came time to play our last song, our ode to Eddie Spaghetti, I was a little bit sad and I was happy to drag out the train wreck at the end just to savor those last couple of moments.

With our set done and our equipment loaded, we proceeded to wreak havoc all across the club.

Just after our set, I walked out the front door of the venue with the Supersuckers' business and record guy, Chris Neal. As we walked past the smoking corral, I was flooded with cheers. Lots of people I didn't know lavished us with praise.

Chris said, "Wow! Look at the response you guys are getting."

Being the smart ass that I am, I replied, "Yeah, we get that all the time."

The rest of the night was a blur. The next band, Sun Trash, rocked the house old-skool style with their sweet, lyrical blend of punk rock attitude. Awesome.

The 'Suckers put on such a great show. But that's what they do. I love seeing them live. Everything about them screams coolness.

I just hope their coolness is infectious.

Hey did you know?

Have I mentioned that my band is opening for the Supersuckers tonight? Because we are!
Ten hours and 20 minutes until show time ... not that I'm counting.

P.S. I have no idea why the poster loaded blue, but I'm going with it, because we're opening for the Supersuckers! Go us!

Sing it with me ... "the Simpsons"

Seeing people do things like this with the guitar makes me feel a little ill. Awesome but now I totally want to go home and practice my guitar.

Quote

Einstein quote of the day:

My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in the slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble mind.

Rivetergirl's response , "Yeah, what he said."

Happy day

Last Saturday our dear friends, Greg (aka Greedy) and Sarah were married.

Several months before the wedding, we were hanging out in our front yard and I was playing some songs on my guitar. They asked me if I'd be willing to play a song at their wedding ... on Sarah's deceased father's 12-string Martin guitar.

"I'd be honored, " I immediately replied.

Oh and could you sing the song, too? they asked. "Yeah, sure," I said with an unwarranted swagger.

I'm always honored when anyone thinks I'm good enough to sing or play guitar for them. Then, of course, the reality sets in and I panic.

I'm OK on the guitar. I practice a lot and try to learn new stuff all the time, but I'm no virtuoso.

And my singing ... yeah, I have no idea how to rate my singing. I don't have a great range and I have to practice a lot, but it's OK, too.

Fortunately I love to sing and play the guitar so usually it's aiight.

I worked with Greedy and Sarah on coming up with a song and we finally decided on Bob Dylan's Wedding Song, which Dylan wrote in 1973. I love me some Bob Dylan, but I'd never heard of this song before Google showed it to me. Now I love it.

The lyrics are so heartfelt and pure. When I was trying to learn this song, I kept crying because they words were so powerful. I was to play this song during the a particular moment in ceremony, so I cut some verses and rearranged these rest so it would flow the best.

Then I practiced and practiced and practiced some more. The 12-string worn my fingers and now I'm sporting some really sweet callouses.

We borrowed sound equipment from our dear friend and current drummer, Scott, and I practiced more through the little PA. I'm sure my neighbors hope to never hear that song again.

I loved playing that well-worn Martin. It's voice is so pure and rich. I hoped that I would to the guitar justice.

The wedding day came and I felt pretty good about the song and was very excited to be part of our friends' wedding. They are such a great pair and we're really happy for them as they start their new life together.

The ceremony was beautiful. Sarah's dress (which she bought in Ireland) was gorgeous. They looked so happy. My song went well and the reception was a blast. They had an Irish band play and arranged formal dances like the Virgina Reel — which we loved dancing.

All in all, it was a very happy day. And I'm very honored to have been a part of it.



But because nothing can be perfect ... I bought a dress specifically to wear to this wedding. I haven't bought a special dress in at least 8 years. And guess what? Some skinny chick showed up wearing the exact same dress, same color, same everything except the extra 20 pounds giggling all over the place. But you know what? It was such a happy day that I didn't even care (that much).

First day for everyone

It wasn't just Margaret's first day of school yesterday, but it was mine and Bill's and Sean's, too.

I started teaching my class again. I really enjoy teaching this class and even though I've been teaching it for six years, it's always different and I always challenge myself to add fresh content every semester.

Last night went well. I hope that it bodes well for the rest of the semester.

Despite the heat, I rode my beloved Electra up to campus and I locked it on the rack in front of the building. After class, I found one of my students unlocking her Blanc et Noir Electra from the rack.

She and I had a long talk about how much we love our bikes. I said that I hesitated in riding my to campus last night because I didn't want to be all sweaty for class.

She said, "Well, you can't really get sweaty riding a cruiser."

Um, skinny girl, I can get sweaty opening a tub o' frosting.

I wrote a recap of Mar's first day over here.

New beginning

That smile kills me sometimes.
Mar starts the second grade today.

We had such a great summer. I'm sad to see it end. Bill and Mar spent their days together, enjoying each day. I'm so glad that we savored these past weeks.

Today is a new beginning for her, click over here to read more.

Happy Friday?

When my alarm went off this morning, I woke completely unrested. It seems the entire family has a bad case of the jimmy legs last night. It was so bad that Bill had to seek refuge in Margaret's purple bedroom. I found him sleeping in her twin bed, barely covered by her baby quilt.

I tried to hurry though my morning routine to get to work a little early, but I've been overcome by lethargy lately. I blindly gathered my shoes, sweater, keys and bag and started my short drive to work.

Half way there I realized something was horribly wrong. The smell of cat pee scented the air. I grabbed my sweater and gave it a big sniff. It didn't smell peed on but it seemed to suggest that it had been hangin' with some piss of the feline variety.

I grabbed my bag and knew immediately that one of our cats, Ella, made me some freshly squeezed, cat lemonade. I knew it was her because she's been caught peeing on Bill's pajama bottoms last week and on the exact spot on the sofa where I stupidly had left my bag (I'm slow, I tell ya) on Tuesday.

I had told myself that I needed to take her to the vet, but our frantic schedule and my lethargy pushed the cats inappropriate urination unwisely to the back burner.

Now I arrived at work with a bag drenched in aromatic cat urine. I quickly took everything out. It's a big bag and I carry a lot of crap with me. Then I shoved those essential items — such as wallet, cellphone, checkbook — into a smaller bag I carry inside the large one (yes, I know, but let's just put my OCD, bag-carrying bizarrities aside for the moment, mmmkay?) and threw the big bag outside the car.

Then I stood there and looked at it. What should I do? I wanted to throw it away, but I like that bag and it's new and my mom just bought it for me for my birthday. After too long of a deliberation, I decided to toss the bag on to the floor of the backseat.

After washing my hands in uber-hot water, I settled in at my desk. But it was still there ... the smell of feline pee-pee. I picked up my small bag and realized that I missed the obvious — the small bag had pee on it too.

I found a plastic bag in my desk drawer and transferred my purse items there and took off to the kitchen sink to do some laundry. No use. The bag still reeked. It quickly joined its large bag brother in the car.

Within an hour of being at work, I was ready for breakfast. I had brought a package of instant oatmeal in my bag, but ... gag ... the idea of urine-tinged oatmeal makes me wanna harf. I took some change and headed to the vending machines ... but guess what? They hadn't been filled in days and were virtually empty.

Feeling that the world was out to get me today, I decided when I got a break in my work, I'd sneak out to the bagel shop for a breakie to go. As I was driving over, it started to rain — and, of course, I'd taken the umbrella out of the car so Margaret could play Mary Poppins with it last night and there were no parking spots close to the front door.

I parked behind the shop and dashed in carrying my grocery-bag-come-purse.

As I sat waiting for my bagel, I wondered why I was having such a crappy day, but then I noticed the rain had let up. My name was called and my order was complete ... maybe things were turning around for me. As I opened the door to leave, the crowded coffee shop watched as I slipped in a puddle.

Murphy ain't got nothin' on me.

UnderMargaret to the rescue!

I wrote more on Margaret's desire to fight crime over here.

More stupidity

I'm anemic (I know, that's shocking news since my skin is so transparent that you can read the serial numbers off my capillaries), so I've been instructed by a trained medical professional to take copious amounts of Ibuprofen during the heaviest days of my period to help my body from demineralizing myself such as it does.

So today, I popped four ibuprofen into my mouth and reached for the water glass (which is made out of plastic, of course, because we all know that I'm all elbows and clumsiness) I keep on my desk.

It was empty and the pills were beginning to dissolve.

So what to do:

1. Do I walk out to the reception area with four rapidly dissolving pills on my tongue to refill my glass? Or,

2. Do I spit them into my hand and walk walk into the reception area to refill my glass while carrying four smeary pills? Or,

3. Do I do something much smarter that I can't think of?

Just for the record, I chose number 2, the spit option. Because that's the kind of girl I am. But I'd like to hear what better ideas there might be ... you know, for next time.

Something to smile about

This was taken outside the venue for the upcoming show.

Riveter playing with the Supersuckers ... definitely something to look forward to.

Oh and yes, that is the orange poster I designed.

Slow on the uptake

Life, to me, is like a quiet forest pool, one that needs a direct hit from a big rock half-buried in the ground. You pull and you pull, but you can't get the rock out of the ground. So you give it a good kick, but you lose your balance and go skidding down the hill toward the pool. Then out comes a big Hawaiian man who was screwing his wife beside the pool because they thought it was real pretty. He tells you to get out of there, but you start faking it, like you're talking Hawaiian, and then he gets mad and chases you...
– Jack Handey

That delicious Jack Handey quote came from my iGoogle page. I love my iGoogle page.

I just customized it today, for the first time ... because I'm slow.

I used to have dictionary.com as my home page.

Gah, I can't even believe that I'm admitting that. Dictionary.com ... that's just sad.

But now I have iGoogle ... just like the other three katrillion people in the world who have been using iGoogle for about 35 years.

OK, I'm exaggerating ... a bit. But still.

Just call me Slow Girl.

Caught in the act

I love this picture because I caught Margaret in the act of being a kid.

Earlier this summer Margaret decided she wanted to be a crime fighter. She wanted to spend her weekend nights on the prowl looking for nere do wells all over our fair city.

When asked why she would be the protectors of the Grand Valley only on the weekends, she replied, "Because I'll have school during the week. Duh!"

Duh, indeed.

She became a bit defeated when I, in no uncertain terms, told her that she was going to have to fight crime on our block during daylight hours because she wasn't allowed to go sleuthing off across any streets by herself after dark.

Instead, she goes "on duty" whenever she might sense a crime could be eminent or when she remembers her desire to clean up these mean streets — like Saturday after we had lunch with our dear friends, Greedy, Sarah and the J-man.

As we labored down Main Street in 100-degree heat hanging up posters for my upcoming show (see the restraint I exhibited in not mentioning yet again that my band is opening for the Supersuckers?), Margaret climbed up on the wall and announced, "I'm on duty." That basically meant that she was on the lookout for suspicious characters.

Believe me, everyone on Main Street Saturday was suspicious.

This town sure is lucky to have UnderMargaret (it's like UnderDog ... I don't really get it either, but she's going with it) on duty and on the streets.

Idiotic non sequitr girl strikes again

Actual conversation I just had with a client leaving our office:

Client: How are you today?

Me: No problem.

Client: *leaves quickly*

Me to self: Gah! You're an idiot!

Happy Birthday, Bill!

Every morning I listen to NPR while I'm getting ready for work. I like how they cover the serious news, yet manage to throw in a little schmultz for spice.

This morning the newscaster announced that it was Antonio Banderas' 47th birthday today. He's exactly one year younger than Bill.

Me: Honey, it's Antonio Banderas' birthday today.

Bill: Yeah, he already called me today.

Me: Uuh, oh? Huh. Did he call you "old"?

Bill: No, he calls me "Mysterious." And I call him "Matador." Mumble, mumble, mumble.

Me: What?

Bill: We have nicknames for each other because we're such ladies' men.

Me: ...

Yes, it's the "ladies man's" birthday day. When he blows the candles out on his non-existent cake, I bet he wishes for a wife that isn't such a shrew.

Happy birthday, honey. Oh, can you make sure the lawn gets mowed today?

"Be Strong, Be Wrong"

Disclaimer: This is yet another post where I'll be gushing about how much I love the Supersuckers and everything they do and how my band is opening for them soon.

Yesterday when I got home for lunch, I noticed a package on the table. I immediately smiled and said, "Happy early birthday, Bill."
"Why?" he asked. "What's in the package?"

Without answering, I ripped out the bag and pulled out two, brand-new Supersuckers t-shirts.
I had to have a new shirt because I'm going to do the cheesy fan thing and wear one of their shirts when we open for them on August 24 (at the Mesa Theater in Grand Junction. Tickets are $15 and you can buy them online here or call 970-241-1717 — how's that gratuitous plug for ya?).

I like the one I got for me. But it's not the one I wanted. I wanted this one. But Margaret gets all indignant when I wear shirts that she doesn't feel are appropriate (does anyone else find it odd that I get chastised by my 7-year-old daughter for not being appropriate? No? Yeah, me neither). So I went with the shirt that didn't say, "Have some sex and take some drugs" just to please my kid.

Gah! The sacrifices I make for my child.

And I couldn't get myself a shirt without getting Bill one, too. He got this one:
Yes that is a jackalope in the center. It's a reference to the Supersuckers' song "Creepy Jackalope Eye," of course.

And in case you can't read the motto at the bottom:

Yep, it gives some good advice. "Be strong. Be wrong."

Awesomeness in every way.

Grumble

I can't think to write straight this morning because I'm so flippin' hungry. I don't want to have a snack because I'm going home in a bit to eat Bill's left-over pulled pork and tomatillos.

I don't want to spoil my appetite (like that could happen). We had it for dinner last night and it was awesomeness on a plate. I am so not looking forward to Bill going back to work in a couple of weeks.

I wish someone would accidentally drop a doughnut on my desk or something. Why do they just keep bringing me work? That's not going to help my grumbling gut. Gah! Some people are so mean.

And boy are my arms tired ...

I ain't afraid of no rototiller.

We spent the weekend building a play area in our backyard for Margaret. By Sunday afternoon, Bill and I could barely lift our arms. That backyard kicked our ass, but it was so worth it.

Click over here to read about it and see more pictures.

Rude awakening

I woke up early this morning. I had a bad dream; a terrible, clear-as-day, horrific dream; a nightmare.

It was awful. Too awful to retell.

As I lay there, with my heart pounding, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I keep wondering why
my subconscious would do that to me. Why are my nightmares so clear and why can I remember them so well? Was it a sign? Or just another way to torture myself?

I reached over my snoring husband, groping around to feel for Margaret's little self. I patted her back until she stirred. She was fine, sleeping in our bed, comfortable and safe.

Hours later, I'm still bothered by that vivid dream. I googled "nightmares" and clicked on this link.

I found the section on "Precognitive Dreams, Premonitions & Warning Dreams" to be helpful in the sense that I now want to run home and wrap my daughter in buoyant bubble wrap. Thanks, Mr. Google, for making it all worse.

Stupid information. Gah.

While trying to find another, perhaps more reassuring site, I clicked on this link. It offers a place where you can post your nightmares and read other people's accounts of their nightmares ... um, yeah, no thank you.

Instead, I'm just going to pretend like the dream was intended to remind me to be more vigilant and to mind my own business and hopefully I will be able to forget I ever dreamed it.

It's Friday

What are you doing this weekend?

We're going to rototill our backyard (the yard formerly knows as the dog toilet).

Oh, yeah, we're stoked. Operating a heavy piece of equipment in the heat is a fun way to spend weekend (my enthusiasm is palpable, eh?). I can't wait ... (OK, I can, but it needs to be done).

Then we're going to build Margaret a swing. She wants one. So we're building it. Woo ... or whatever.

Oh and I posted something over here.

Back in the saddle

Last night was a landmark night for my all-girl band, Riveter, we practiced with a ... gasp! ... a boy.

We are lucky enough to have Laurena's uber-husband, Scott, fill in for us on the drums. Not only is Scott a kick-ass guitar player/singer/songwriter, he's a music teacher and knows more about music that I do about being OCD and pathetic. For the last 15 years or so, he's been leading up his country-rock band, Exit 42.

Plus he recorded our first CD and is working with us on our second CD as well. So he knows our music, how we play and — most importantly — how to hit those skins.

Oh, and he's got a sense of humor, too. Before we got started last night, he said, "Since we're an all-girl band, I vote that we practice topless."

Ha! Funny guy.

Last night was our first practice in a while and right now we're preparing for what is — in my opinion — our most important show ... we're opening for the Supersuckers!

I know I mentioned this before, but this is so huge for me. The Supersuckers are my very favorite band and getting to open for them is really a dream come true.

I'm sure I'll have much more to say about this show as it all consuming for me right now.

Check out this flier I made for the show:
Yeah, that's my band's name right there along with the Supersuckers! Woot!

Sadly it's true

I forgot the book I'm reading at home today. I only have about 40 more pages until I'm done and was looking forward to finishing it this afternoon.

Instead I'm blowing into my fist, creating a seashore windy sound.

What? You have something better that I could be doing?

Now for stupid pet tricks

Here's Quincy doing her best impression of Chuck.