Markel Farkel Friday

Could some one please explain butthole bleaching, cuz 'the hell?

I win, you win — that's how Rivetergirl rolls

Last week, I was a loser and a breaker. I love my favorite scarf my mom gave me for Christmas (if someone goes to the Quincy would you mind asking if they have it in their lost and found?), I broke my camera, dented my bike fender and lost one of my custom "Robin" Valentine's Wired Originals earrings.

This week, I'm a finder and a winner.

On Tuesday, Cari from Wired Originals sent me a replacement earring. When I got home for lunch, shortly after getting the replacement, I found the missing earring. It was sitting on one of the chairs at our kitchen table. 'the hell?

Then I opened the mail.

I won, not one, but two prizes from the Lions Club raffle.

Two prizes, no shit.

The first prize was a hunndert dollars cash. I'm keeping that — mama, needs a guitar case for her Flying V.

The second prize is equally as cool, but I'm giving it away.

Click over here to read about it.

Wordless Wednesday: Anatomy of a Bromance

Why cottage industries rock

I believe in being up front about what I need and want in my marriage. It makes things a lot easier when I don't have to rely on Bill's mind-reading skills.

Years ago, I plainly told Bill that cards and flowers are nice, but what I really wanted for Valentine's Day was a box of chocolate nuts and chews.

And guess what? Every year, I've been lavished with flowers and a nice big box of Enstrom's chocolates.

Awesome.

This year since I'm still trying to lose weight in my office's Biggest Loser challenge, I told him to skip the candy.

He did.

Awesome.

Instead he got me a pair of custom earrings from my favorite jewelry maker, Cari at Wired Originals.


Even more awesome.

Bill's smart that way.

You probably noticed that there's just one earring there. Click over here to read what happened and why cottage industries kick so many kinds of ass.

A horrible reality

Friday evening, Bill and I planned a night of hanging at our friend's house playing games.

Around 9, Bill got a call from a local promoter saying the bass player for the Denver rockabilly band scheduled to play the Quincy Bar had gotten stuck. He needed Bill to fill in. So we scrambled for a sitter, packed Bill's gear and headed to our favorite watering hole. (It turned out that Bill didn't play, but he ran their sound, so it wasn't all for naught.)

The Quincy Bar in Grand Junction has a reputation. It's known as the gay bar in town. And while there are gay people who hang out there, I like to think of the Q as a bar where everyone can feel comfortable.

We've always loved the Q and named our dog after the beloved bar 9 years ago. It's where Bill and I fell in love. We love playing music there, we love hanging with our friends there; it's the bar that we always pick to go to because it's fun and there's always an interesting crowd.

Friday was no exception. The band scheduled to play was a rockabilly band, so the crowd consisted of lots of pompadours and tattoos. There were lots of people there I'd never seen before, but that's not unusual at the Q anymore.

Bill was getting the band's sound dialed in and I was flitting about waiting for friends to show up. As I was making a pass around the bar, I was stopped by a dude I'd never seen before. He was there with a group of friends who were all laughing and enjoying themselves.

He tried a lame line on me and I called him on it.

"Really," I said acting surprised, "that's the line you're using to pick up girls?" I laughed, he laughed and the conversation continued. He asked my name and my story. I shared that I was married, he said he wife was too.

Um, what?

He paid some compliments. I said, "Oh, go on." He did.

But then (cue ominous music now) in the course of the conversation, he said these words, "Well, you know, I'm just your straight-forward skinhead."

Screech! There was a buzzing in my ears. Um, 'the hell did that guy just say to me?

I paused and said, "What does that mean?"

Honestly, I was not — in any way — prepared for what came out of this person's mouth.

He said, (and I'm going to censor the comments because I find them so ungodly horrible) "Yeah, I hate ******* and all sub-human races."

While I stood there blinking in disbelief, he started pointing out his tattoos.

Just like that, like he was telling me that he was a mechanic or that he had a dog named Fido.

I went from amused to instantaneously horrified ... and very scared.

I was standing alone in the middle of a group of unabashed skinheads.

I'm always leery of pissing people off at the bar. I know that alcohol can turn even the meekest person violent, so I always tread lightly.

At this moment, I couldn't tread lightly enough. I wanted to get away fast but without provoking them.

I can only imagine the look on my face, but I mustered a fake smile. I reached over and shook the guy's hand and said, "Well. It was really nice to meet you."

He grabbed my hand tighter and said with a smile on his face, "You may hate me now. But you won't when we end up on top."

Those words. Exactly. They are burned into my memory.

I was reeling.

Did that just happen? Was John Quinones going to come out of the men's room with a camera crew for a segment of "What would you do?"

How can people say things like that, let alone believe them? How? Why?

My head was spinning. I walked over to my friends.

As I began to tell what had just happened, I made a horrible, horrible realization. That guy stopped me and shared his "beliefs" with me because of the way I look.

I'm blonde, blue-eyed and fair skinned. An Arayan's wet dream.

When I replay those events in my mind, I'm disgusted.

I'm disgusted that there are people who could choose to espouse a belief system based on hatred. Disgusted that I would be considered someone who might share those beliefs. Disgusted that that happened in my town, in my bar.

I'm also disgusted with myself. I chose to turn tail and run, instead speaking up. I'm disgusted that I didn't see the hatred in his eyes immediately. Disgusted that I even stopped to talk with them in the first place.

I'm also left wondering why this happened now? Is this a sign of the times? Has the economic crisis we are now facing disenfranchised people to the point of needing a scapegoat?

Now, even days later, I'm still shocked and horrified.

Markel Farkel Friday

Click this ad to enlarge. Really it's worth the click.

I could kiss today on the mouth

WARNING: Be prepared for an indulgent, feel-good, gush. It's sickeningly optimistic. I hate myself a little for writing it, but sometimes a girl has to give herself some props!

If today was a person, I'd totally give it a big ole kiss right on the mouth.

Today is the week 6 weigh in for my office's Biggest Loser challenge.

Last week I flat lined. No gain, no loss.

This week?

I am down three pounds!!! Woo Hoo!

That makes it a cool 16 pounds I've lost so far. I'm stoked.

I started to get complacent last week, but am back to my diligent self. And believe me it hasn't been easy, especially since we've been eating out more. But I've found that most chain restaurants have nutritional information on their Web sites. So I just look up the menu and the nutrition before we eat out and decide what to get.

For the local places that don't have Web page nutritional listings, I've been using the calorie counter on my iGoogle page. I estimate what I had and figure out the calories.

Last night was my mom's last night in town (she's going to California and Washington and Las Vegas ... we're glad for her but sad for us. Bye Mom! We'll miss you!) so we took her to the local gourmet pizza place.

I had one big piece and one half piece. I was full, but I had the hardest time seeing the left over pieces sit there exuding their deliciousness. Instead of indulging, I hid the leftovers in a take-home box.

I try to keep my calorie count between 1,500 and 1,800 per day and actually have been pretty successful.

I'm also exercising at home most evenings in front of the TV.

It's been working for me, so I'm going to keep it up.

Go me.

Who the bleep is Flat Stanley?

Last week, my coworker dropped an envelope on my desk. He said he wasn't going to open it for fear it contained anthrax.

I looked at the return address and laughed. It was from my kid with her school's address.

Inside was Flat Stanely.


In an attempt to learn about our area, Margaret's class sent sent their Flat Stanleys to interesting places around the valley. Mar picked The Daily Sentinel.

I wonder why.

Click over here to see how Flat Stanley's visit went to the newspaper.

Go on click. There's a video. Oooohhhhah!

Food, food glorious food

Just one more reason why I wouldn't want me as a little sister.

oes nooooooooes! by wotthe7734

I see no difference between the words "comfort" and "food." Food is comfort for me. When I'm stressed out I'll eat just about anything. I've eaten candy I don't like, just because it was candy and I was having a sugar attack.



But the one thing that I back to time and again is cereal, especially Cheerios. I can't even imagine how many boxes of Cheerios I've eaten in my lifetime.



Here's a story that should be too disgusting and embarrassing to share, but I am going to anyway.



Growing up, my brother always ate raisin bran and I always ate Cheerios. I've never liked raisins (why take a perfectly good grape and make it all not perfectly good?). But I've always had a sweet tooth.



I remember one day when I was 5 or 6, wanting something sweet, but couldn't find anything. I remembered that the raisins in Roger's raisin bran were sugar coated (do you see where this is going? yeah, it's not good).



So being the disgusting little kid that I was, I picked out all the raisins, licked off the sugar and ... yep, put them back in the box.

Duped

So I've been urging y'all to hurry and get your t-shirthell.com t-shirts before they went out of business and guess what?

I, like many other people, were duped.

Oh well, at least we got some funny-assed shirts.

Markel Farkel Friday

My plinky advice to you my dear rivetergirl readers

Never, ever, wear shoes that are too small or pants that are too tight. Life is too short to suffer with bunions and muffintops.

Apologies, rivetergirl style

And it's true, I am sorry for what happens later.

Don't wait, get your t-shirthell.com shirt before they go out of business.

Markel Farkel Wordless Wednesday

In case you can't read the sign on the post:

Notice
While you are reading this there is a man in one of the windows high above you who is taking your photograph. He will then make a wee model of you and put it with other wee models of other people. Then he plays weird games with them.

What's your definition of "moderation"?

I'm home sick today with a gastric horror that has kept me ... uh, let's just say, I'm not leaving the house today. And there's lots of whining.

But the t-shirts Bill and I ordered from t-shirthell.com showed up today. They are going out of business because some sad people started threatening the employees because they didn't like the t-shirts. Yeah, really.

A little bit can go a long way

A couple years ago, there was a reported at my newspaper who was fun and quirky and pretty and awesome.

And then she quit.

I still miss her, but she's gone off to help make a difference by becoming a Peace Corp volunteer. Emily is in Senegal where's she's just starting a library for her village and now she is desperately trying to raise enough money to get computers as well.

Here is her plea:

Hi everyone,

If you’re broke stop reading now and forward this post to anyone with disposable income.

As you may or may not know, my main objective here is to provide my middle/high school with computers. Recently I learned World Computer Exchange is sending a shipment of computers to Senegal and if I had a paltry $1,725 I could get 33 computers for my school and community.

Now, $1,725 is slightly more than the average annual salary here, but my village has given about $200 and committed to maintenance, transportation, and installing Internet for the student’s use (I’m going to have a serious talk with admin. about porn and online scams).

I could expound on how amazing these computers would be for the students, but I’ve been told to keep these blog posts short. Still, most of these students have never used a computer before in their lives. If they can get the computers the school will incorporate computer classes into next year’s curriculum, allowing everyone access.

I’m under a bit of a deadline (seriously, I learned about this last minute when I visited a cyber café on a whim). So if you can square it with your conscience skip the church offering this week and click HERE. Please DO NOT forget to designate the donation to “PCV Emily Morris in Senegal.”

This is a sustainable project. All maintenance and Internet installation will be handled by the school. Seven teachers on staff will conduct training for the other teachers, who in turn will instruct the students. Frankly, I don't see a downside but feel free to contact me if you have any questions.

P.S. I could say that I encourage you to send this blog post to other people, but I'll quit dodging the issue - I'm begging you.

I know times are tight, but anything you can spare will go a long way.
Thanks!

UPDATE: Emily achieved her goal. Here's what she has to say:

On behalf of all Senegalese Peace Corps volunteers, I want to thank you for your incredible generosity. Thanks to your contributions, I was able to raise more than $2,000 in three days. The money keeps coming in and I've exceeded my goal!

I will now be able to create an additional computer lab in my village, and the excess money will go to provide children in other villages the same access. I tried to personally thank all of my donors, but some of you chose to remain anonymous, so please know you helped this become a success.

And Dawn in Paonia, please contact me! I want to send you my personal thanks, and the World Computer Exchange wants to send you a receipt.

Gratefully,

Emily Morris

Markel Farkel Friday

Conversations with an 8-year-old

Margaret: I want to have my own band someday and I want to sing.

Me: That would be awesome, Mar. Let's make that happen.

Mar: Naw, my vocals are all jacked up.

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

Me: Great another strip mall.

Mar: Oh. Do a lot of people not want those because of all the girls and ... you know, their clothes are little and stuff?

Me: (raised eyebrows and thinking, " 'the hell?" then it dawns on me) Oh, honey, it's not a "strip club," it's a "strip mall." Where they have stores and stuff.

Mar: Ooooh. Is that where the strippers buy their stuff?

I'm losing it

I didn't want to be all braggy on the Haute Mamas blog, but I've lost 13 pounds so far.

Canna getta Woot! Woot! Huh?

Yeah, the sad thing is that I have no idea where those pounds are coming from. I still have all three of my asses: the upper, the lower and the middle one — which is constantly being strangled out by the upper and lower ones. My gut still jiggles like a bowl full of jelly, too.

But my clothes fit better and/or looser, so it must be coming from somewhere.

Any way, you can read about what I've been doing to shed the pounds here.

Twitter shoe bonanza

I've been Twittering for sometime now. I use it to update my Facebook status and I have my Twitter feed right over there ... see it on the right?

I like Twittering. It's all about precision and economy of words. Plus I can Twitter from the bar (which is a Twitter etiquette no-no, but I do it anyway).

I've been Twittering about not being able to find the perfect black boots and then about finally getting a pair. Today I Twittered the health benefits of wearing high heels.

That was a really smart thing to do.

Shortly after I received notification that Heels.com is following my Twitters.

And then they sent me a coupon for shoes.

Oh what a glorious Twitter day it is.

If I were a superhero, I would certainly wear tights and a skirt and tall boots and a cape, of course

I just discovered my superhero alter ego Friday night outside the bar. I'm Super White Girl.



I helped to tiny Hispanic girls get their completely-passed-out cousin into their car before the cops showed up.



After I smacked the drunk dude in the head with the door and suggested they step away from the car until the cops had passed, they said in disbelief, "Of all the people here, we never thought the white girl would be the one to help us."