Hittin' the road

I'm taking this face on a trip to California for a while.

We won't have Internet access so this site will be dark for a week or two. I'm fine with that ... kind of. But the fact that I can't even twitter freaks me out a bit.

Last year I had to take an involuntary blogging hiatus while I was on vacation. My in-laws only have dial up and then a wind storm blew down a tree on to their phone wire ... how does that happen in the 21 st century?

Hopefully I'll be able to steal some Internet to post some pictures, but we're camping for the first week so posting will be light if not completely non-existent.

Celebrating the big 8!

We celebrated Margaret's birthday Saturday. Lookit that bright shiny Margaret face.

I wrote about it over here.

Photo Friday

My bad-ass husband and daughter ... she could totally kick your ass ... probably ... if you're five or under.
It's Jordan's birthday (yesterday). I love the expression on his face and the blurry balls (don't say "blurry balls") — I wish I could take credit for this picture, but Margaret took it.

That look on Mar's face says, "And precisely what stupid reason do you have for not coming in the pool?"

It's hot here. There is not reason for not getting in the pool.

Please save me from myself

Some people have asked why I only wear black to work. The answer is simple:

I'm stupid.

And lazy.

I have never been able to dress myself in any convincingly adult way. I end up buying stupid clothes that look stupid on me. Want some proof?

Here's a picture of Bill, Mar and I along with my brother, sister in law, niece and nephew taken 6 years ago:
Do you see what I'm wearing?

No?

Here's a closer look:
It's a green and white gingham set of sleeveless shirt and capri pants with an elastic waist (notice how cute Mar is in her denim jacket).

I totally thought that looked good.

So that's the answer why I only have a black work wardrobe — because I once voluntarily wore a green and white gingham shirt and capri set.

Just as I was writing this, Margaret walked in and saw the bottom part of the above picture. She said, "Hey, that's my bunny" as she held up that very same bunny in her little hand.

And to prove that I don't always wear black:

Oh and say hello to my enormous fivehead.

My neurosis: The evidence

This is the pencil that I use everyday at work.

It is wee.

It is hard to write using this wee pencil and even harder to sharpen.

No, I will not use another pencil — even though a co-worker gave me a blue-leaded pencil to use ... oooohhhha, blue lead.

I will not be swayed by blue lead.

My wee pencil is just fine.

I'm pretty sure I should go seek mental-health care now.

50 things I like about myself ... please

Many bloggers have completed the "50 things I like about myself" meme including my beloved TheBloggess (OK, she kind of completed the meme, but in a most brilliant way). I'm not even going to pretend that I can come up with 50 things that I like about myself.

"Liking" things in general isn't really my style. I love lots of things. I hate lots of things. I'm ambivalent about most things. I find myself utterly irritating. (I mean, what is with all of my issues 'n' shit? FFS.)

Besides "liking" is what teenaged girls do.

But yesterday I realized that there is at least one thing at which I'm "good."

Maybe I should start a meme called "50 things I'm good at" — but that title ends in a preposition and I hate ending in a preposition, so screw it.

During my lunch hour yesterday I ran up to the college campus to retrieve some stuff I need to prepare for my fall classes. In my mailbox was an envelope containing my student's evaluations from last semester.

I read down the lists of numbers which the students used to rank my performance, knowledge, enthusiasm, etc. They were good numbers.

I was not surprised.

I'm good at teaching art appreciation.

I love doing it. I let my enthusiasm show and do my best to keep my students interested and to keep the class relevant.

Of course, despite the fact that I'm good at teaching this class, I know that I can't please everyone. There's always a couple of students that don't like my teaching style or my face or whatever and say so on the evaluations. They leave mean-spirited and/or honest comments, as well.

And you know what? Their's are the only ones that I care about.

I skim over all the comments telling me that I'm an asset to the college and how much they learned from the class and how they never even cared about art until they took my class.

Instead I read over and over again the ones that tell me that I'm not "warm" enough or that I don't smile enough when I enter the classroom (really, I had a student write that one semester) or that I shouldn't read any part of my lectures from my notes ... at. all (keep in mind that my notes are only outlines and I speak extemporaneously most of the time).

And I take heed. I now smile when I enter the classroom (I told recent class about that comment and one of the comments I received this semester was "Lots of smiling. Keep up the good work." I love my students) and I try to be "warmer" and I try to never look at my notes (which means that I make up a lot of stuff ... not really... except sometimes).

But I got one suggestion this time that I won't be following.

The comment read, "Wear more colorful clothes when teaching."

'the hell?

Now, those of you who know me in the world outside of cyberspace know that my work wardrobe is entirely black (OK, I have one charcoal pin-stripe pants). Most days that I teach, I go directly from work. So I mostly wear black to teach.

Then I stand in a darkened room and lecture in front of giant color slides on a screen.

Why in the name of all things Technicolor would it make a difference if I was wearing black, red, green, yellow or plaid?

Summerfest

On Saturday, my band, Riveter, played the first annual Summerfest festival in the park near my house.
We played in the middle of the three band line up on the hottest day of the year so far. Summerfest indeed.

This is me sweating profusely. Notice the arm glisten. Yeah, hot! Please don't notice that I'm wearing flip flops ... my intention was to play barefoot, but the stage was WAY too hot for that.

There were a whole bunch of breweries pimping their beer and there were LOTS of people drinking and hanging out.

After we rocked our set (which was awesome fun regardless of the heat), we headed over to Kannah Creek's beer tent. Because we were wilty from the heat, we decided to take advantage of the liberties granted rock stars (or faux rock stars). Laurena and I took up uninvited residence in Kannah Creek's shade:

We basked in the cool shade and pimped the yummy beer as Summerfesters wandered up to the beer table.

At one point a cute gal and her boyfriend came for some beer. I gave the girl a good lookin' at and then asked on a whim, "Are you a drummer?"

The bewildered girl was stunned then said, "I just got a drum kit."

Whoa!

Laurena and Eric from the brewery were both shocked that I had surmised her drumming talent based on a cursory look.

I told the cute gal that we were looking for a girl drummer and gave her our contact information.

I even stunned myself. What are the chances that the one girl I ask, actually indeed had a drum kit?

I'm spooky.

It's hurting me with its cuteness

Thanks to Cari Taylor at Wired Originals for making me this custom sterling silver necklace of my band's name.

I don't normally wear necklaces. at. all.

I may never take this one off.

Father's Day recap

Bill's day started with me letting him sleep in AND I bought him some disgusting McDonald's food for breakfast (it's like I cooked him breakfast in bed — only better, in that I didn't have to do any actual cooking).

Then we got too much sun at the pool and lost Margaret's little friend that came with us.

We eventually found him ... alive. So that's good.

Then this:
Then to the neighbors for the setting up of the neighbor's new pool:




Then this:


Then I went to bed and Bill stole my bike and took it the store for something that I'm sure was stupid.

So all in all, Bill had a good day. I didn't yell at him once ... it's a Father's Day Miracle (but then I found out he took my bike instead of his own and he got yelled at ... what? If he's stupid, he gets yelled at).

And me? I missed my dad, but he was never one who liked tears so in his honor I celebrated with Bill with a stiff upper lip.

AhhhhhhhhZOOOMMMMMM!

... that's the sound of this day skidding by.

But I did get the bike shop to fix the seat of my bike. Apparently my big, fat butts made some screws loose ... oh there's a million ways I'd like to follow that up, but no time, people. You're on your own with that one.

Tomorrow, my band has a show. Click here to read about how you can drink beer and watch us play. We're fun.

How to not get a discount on your insurance

Hilarious, but not really appropriate for work ... uh, which is why I totally watched this ... uh, at ... home. Yeah, I watched it at home.

For her wedding

I made my daughter a promise at lunch today.

I vowed that on or around her wedding day, I would be displaying this picture:

Charming, no?

She laughed and suggested that I would never remember. I promised her that I would. I then tapped my head and told Mar that my mind was like a steel trap (Ha! A rusted, old steel trap used to pick up poop.)

Then she tried the old "I point my blue crayon at her" fear tactic:
I'm not threatened by her stick o' wax.

I will remember that picture AND I will have it blown up huge and carry it with me from rehearsal dinner to the ceremony to the reception.

Or I'll forget about it just like the little puke said ... it's like she knows me or something.

Who doesn't love cool, FREE stuff

They lovely gals at Domistyle have given the Haute Mamas an apron to give away.

This ain't yo' mama's apron. These aprons have great patterns and colors. They look like something you'd actually want to wear.

And we're giving one away for FREE. No strings attached.

All you gotta do is click here, check out the aprons and leave us a comment.

Go on and click already. You know you want to.

Oh Ma Gah, a Free Dyson!

Ohmygodohmygod ... over here, this lovely person is giving away a DYSON vacuum cleaner.

Anyone who knows me, especially my husband, knows that I've wanted a Dyson ever since I saw that pony-tailed and accented dude talk about how their vacuums never lose suction.

Never lose suction?

'the hell?

I must have one. I MUST HAVE ONE. That has been my thoughts for oh these many months.

But my bank account says, "Let's buy food and gas instead."

Stupid back account.

But now I've entered — and you can, too — to win a DYSON for free.

Oh the glory of having my own Dyson.

No more cat hair balls rolling across the floor. No more tiny dog hairs on all the beds in the house. No more dirt tracked from back door to front.

Oh please free Dyson contest people and/or person, let me win the new Dyson.

I will totally kiss on the lips anyone who gives me a Dyson — with tongue if necessary.

Why I'm still worried about DHS coming for me kid

Admitting to the fact that we're not above bringing adult beverages to our kid's sporting events is just one thing on the long list of reasons why I'm a pretty sucky parent.

Believe me, it is a LONG list.

But I think I'm getting better at pretending like I'm a decent parent ... kinda like I play one on TV, so people shouldn't fear my skills at keeping kids alive. But like wearing clothes of sugar and gum paste, as soon as I start to move, the facade crumbles.

Mar and I walked over to her tennis lesson last night. Because I've grown resistant to carrying a purse all the time (which is why I lost my ID and debit card a couple weeks ago), I had the dog's leash in one hand and a water bottle in the other. In my front pocket was my iPod and my camera was in my back pocket.

So when I wanted to take a picture I had to do something with the bottle and leash. The bottle got left on the bleachers, the leash was tucked under my foot.

I snapped a few pictures.

Just so you know, around 7:00 on long spring evenings, the light can be gorgeous.
Then I wanted to listen to my iPod.

Camera gets tucked back into my pocket, water bottle tossed aside, dog told to sit and stay "or else." Then I begin the process of unwinding the iPod headphones, queue up the music, try to get those earbud things to stay in my ears and then ... up walked Bill and Greg freshly stinky from sticky pucky (I tried to find the entry where I defined sticky pucky but I couldn't find it and it's almost lunch time so just know that sticky pucky is a time hockey players can go skate and hit things with their sticks or something.)

Then Mar's lesson was over.

Whoops. I forgot to watch the lesson. So when Bill asked me how she did, I hedges, "Um, she totally hit the ball."

Yep, that's me, best mom ever (not). That should be an actual award ... the Best Mom Ever (NOT!) Award.

I'd win it every year.

But because I like tennis and my guilt over spending an hour fumbling with my stupidity led me to rummage around until I found the tennis racket I used to play in high school 20 years ago (gah!). And Margaret even let me show her a couple of things after her lesson last night.

OK, maybe I'm not the worst mother ever, maybe I just play her on TV.

Monday

Last Monday was my birthday. I received birthday wishes via e-mail from three school friends that I hadn't heard from in quite a while.

While it was so nice to be remembered by the these long-time friends, I hated having to reply to them solely because I had to tell them that my dad had passed.

Being that these ladies were my childhood friends, they all knew my dad pretty well. I hated giving them that news. After I sent the e-mail, I had to go cry a little in the bathroom, silently and then pretend I hadn't just been in the bathroom crying at work. Again. (If we had a yearbook at my work, I'd be voted "Most Likely to Cry at her Desk." Yeah, I'm a fun co-worker.)

But I've come to terms with my dad's death for the most part. I'm still sad over the circumstances, but life goes on. Like Stephen King wrote, "Get busy living or get busy dying."

Later this month, we're having a memorial for my dad in California. We're going to spread his ashes.

Just thinking about that gives me a sense of relief, the closure is much needed. But it also overwhelms me with sadness.

Towards the end, my dad fought every day, every minute, every second to stay alive. Believe me, it wasn't pretty. But I learned that life is a gift that we must celebrate every day — even sad Mondays.

Friday follies

This is the actual subject line of a spam e-mail I got this morning:

what a stupid face you have here rdearing

That's just mean. My face might be stupid, but still ... who sends out messages like that?

Mean people.

Yo, mean people, you suck.

Non sequitur here:

I made cake-sicles last night.

Watch out people, I'm fancy now that I've landscaped my dog toilet.

Yet another non sequitur:

I'm sweaty this morning from riding my bike to work fast.

I mean really fast. I was peddling so fast I almost kept up with the other bike traffic.

This week I rode three out of five days — Wednesday and Thursday it rained and there ain't no way this girl is riding her bike in the rain ... unless I invent a plastic bike riding bubble ... hmm, plastic bike riding bubble ... don't steal my idea.

Last non sequitur for today:

I have a container of edamame in my bag which I'm going to eat for breakfast right .... now ... no wait, I'm going to post this first, then eat my soy beans.

Woot to Friday.

Drinking in the park

Who'da thunk Bill and I would become "those" parents.

Our yard ... finished

All-time new low

Today I ate lunch out with Bill and Margaret ... at Sam's Club.

It's an all-time low for me.

Mar had a hot dog and Icee. Bill and I each had a polish dog and a giant diet soda.

It cost $6.22. Not apiece but for all three of us.

It was cheap, quick and convenient because we had some shopping to do — and totally unhealthy. But that's American way, no?

I've been totally eating better for a while now and really like it (that's not to say that I won't gorge myself on cookies given the opportunity), but I'll pick a salad over a burger any day.

So today when I found myself eating a polish dog that I found disgusting yet delicious, I was conflicted.

But what else is new, eh?

I wish this weren't true

These are the actual pictures on the pool passes that Bill and I have had for two years. These are our permanent passes for anything we do through the city's park and rec program.

Forever.

Sad, I know. Especially when this is what we actually look like:

This new camera can even make the public "booger" pool look good:

Picture bonanza

Can you hear the dead thud of my feet running me to death? Why am I so busy? It doesn't really suit me.

But I got a new camera (thanks Bill, you're the best). Here's the proof:
Our now-completed back yard. Go us!

Margaret during her first tennis lesson. The girl has a killer backhand. You might notice this picture is a little grainy, but I was sitting three courts away, zoomed in and cropped. Still pretty good.

This is another one I cropped. I love the light on her sweet nut face.
It doesn't get more pathetic than this, no?

No, really. It's our backyard

Yes, this is what is called "reverse canoing." And a little look at our backyard. It's not complete yet, but we're on our way.