Where is the world is Rivetergirl

I'll give you one guess:

Rockin' our CD release party

Saturday night, my band, Riveter, had our CD release party for our new EP "Snatch."

Man, oh, man, what a great show. The place was packed ... packed I tell ya! And the crowd was awesome.

We had a great time playing and the whole night kicked a huge assortment of ass.

My mom, aunt and uncle had a good time, too. They said that watching the crowd was just as entertaining as watching us play and I have to agree. There is nothing like the nightlife at the Quincy Bar.

Introducing Markel Farkel Friday

Today, I'm excited to announce a new feature here on 'the Hell.

Dah, da, da, dahhhhh ... It's MARKEL FARKEL FRIDAY!!!

Yay!

Each Friday I will be showcasing a bit of Internet pop culture funniness found out there in the cyber world by my dear friend Markel Farkel.

Markel is one funny dude and he's been sending me the best of the crazy Internets for a while. And now I'm going to share some of those things with y'all on Fridays, so we start our weekends out right.

So without further ado ...

Now there's some good advice!

More poop talk

Just call me the poop mom.

On second thought, don't, because that just ain't right.

But do click over here to read the encounter I had with Margaret's teacher last night.

Yeah, she reads my Haute Mamas blog.

On family and rock 'n' roll shows

Last night at band practice, we were gearing up for our big CD-release party show Saturday night. We are focused on putting on a kick-ass, edgy rock 'n' roll extravaganza.

Yeah, we're planning on bringing out the big guns for this show.

Our first song of the night is a brand-spankin'-new cover, Hell on Wheels, by our beloved nasty girls, Betty Blowtorch. These chicks rocked hard and were so naughty, they make us look like Catholic school girls.

It's one hell of a way to start a show.

At one point, Kelley was singing about how we are "dirty, fuckin' bitches" and as I brought back to a conversation I had earlier that day with my mom.

My mom, who just arrived to spend the winter with us (yay), told me yesterday that not only was she coming to our show but my Aunt Pat and Uncle Tom will be there as well.

I have a great family and am excited that my aunt and uncle will get to see my band, but what will they think of all the debauchery that we are planning for this show?

I talked to the girls and Scott about this. At first we were all a little blushed about my mom and aunt seeing us rock our nasty selves out. But then I came to terms with the fact that I'm 38 years old.

I'm old enough to rock with my band and put on a good show.

Because, after all, it is just that, a "show."

So mom and Aunt Pat, we're all glad you're coming and don't be surprised when you hear us drop a gratuitous amount of F-bombs and talk way too much about people getting kicked in the ding dong.

A letter to my neighbors

Dear neighbors,

I'd like to explain that giant pile of recycling that is on the curb this morning.

Yes, I realized that mound of cardboard is big enough to build enough shanties to house a small city of tiny cardboard dwellers. And yes, I realize there is an inordinate amount of Bud Lite Lime bottles stacked in haste along my curb.

But, please understand that we missed last month's recycling day. I don't know how, but we did.

And then our friends kept coming over with their beer bottles and leaving them in our backyard (OK, in their defense, the bottles were full when they first showed up at our house).

Of course, I have to take responsibilities for the Bud Lite Lime bottles. Most of them are mine. I can't help it. I like Bud Lite Lime.

I know, I know, that makes me a one of "those" people. But, but ... have you tried it? It seems pretty fay, but it's tasty, really. Even our neighbor who brews his own beer said that it tastes good, so please save the humiliation for Bill and his "Surrounded by Nuts" pants, please.

Plus my mom is coming today (yay) to spend the winter and we're totally going to try to act more right while she's here (it's a long shot but you never know!).

So, as you drive by our house today, just at the other houses that don't recycle and be satisfied that, at least, we're doing our part to save the world.

Sincerely,
Your (drunken-on-Bud-Lite-Lime) nieghbor

Republicans get a kick to the balls

Sarah Palin is holding a rally at the park two blocks from my house. My neighborhood is cluttered with the cars of Republicans.

My husband and neighbor rode their bikes over to the stadium just as Palin was taking the stage. She began talking about energy.

Palin claimed that she and John McCain were going to drill, baby, drill.

To which the large crowd shouted, "Drill, Baby, Drill!" over and over again.

Really? Because 'the hell?

Margaret had piano lesson today and traffic in our normally uber quiet neighborhood was really busy. I reminded her to be extra careful crossing the street because the Republicans were all over the place.

Mar said, "What? Who are the Republicans? Are they going to get me?"

I assured her that they were probably not out to get her, but to be extra careful crossing the street.

Mar shouted, "Well, if they do try to get me, can I kick 'em in the balls and run away?"

My reply, "Of course, honey, just like if the Germans are trying to get you."

I think it's good for a child to have a healthy fear of Republicans and Germans.

Pumpkin patch season

Several families from our neighborhood took a trip to the pumpkin patch Sunday.

Among the five families in our 'hood, there are seven girls and two boys. If our neighborhood is any indication, we are about to be overrun with a nation of girls.

New t-shirts, too

We can't have a new CD and a new logo without having new t-shirts, now can we?

Check 'em out:

And here's one without Chub-a-lub (aka Ella, but all of our cats have to have nicknames). Cats just can't help themselves when it come to stuff on the floor. Chub's all, "Hey thanks for the shirts. I love putting my cat butt on new shirts."



And a great, big happy birthday to my mama!

Hey y'all Christmas shoppers

I know, I know, it's too early to start thinking about Christmas shopping. But have I got a deal for you!

The lovely and talented Cari Taylor from Wired Originals hand-crafted jewelry is offering Haute Mamas readers a deal.

Click here to find out how you can get a screaming deal on Cari's beautiful jewelry.

All-new Riveter stuff

Next Saturday, my band, Riveter, will be releasing our newest 5-song EP "Snatch."

We are so in love with this CD.

All five songs are strong representations of who we are. We are gritty and hard rockin', but also nuanced and funny. Sometimes we're even a little nasty (after all, Laurena and I try to think up nasty lyrics for Kelley to sing just because it delights us).

After almost 5 years, we have a sound we love, songs that rock and a whole new kick-ass attitude.

We'll be bringing all of our hard-driving music to the Quincy Bar next Saturday and plan on putting on one hell of show. We're starting our show with a brand new cover song of our most favorite band right now, Betty Blowtorch, just to get the tone set right and rockin'.

We are very excited about this show and this new CD.

Below are the poster for the show and our newest logo which rocks.

Oh and you can listen to our new songs on our myspace page and on our Reverb Nation page.

The songs are: Free Me, Snatch, Good Girl, Handlebars, Get Out.

Poop riot

I don't know if you read my "Everyone poops" blog entry over here, but the comments (many of which are mine) are pretty flippin' funny.

Everyone poops, people. Let's not get indignant about it.

Wordless Wednesday

Now I've done it

As many of y'all know, I co-author a mommy blog for my newspaper's Web site, called Haute Mamas.

I keep it relatively tame over there, mostly talking about my kid and parenting. But now I've done it.

I wrote about poop. More specifically, I write about how we should be able to poop with impunity. (I think I might get that on a t-shirt.)

Really.

Click here to read it.

I think I'm going to start a movement and call it Poop With Impunity.

This one's for you, mom

Yes, mom, that's our hall cabinet.

And it's organized.

When we moved into our house almost 9 years ago, I was 7 months pregnant. I was fat and tired. Moving day happened while I was at work. Bill and his friends moved everything so that I wouldn't be inclined to "help" (and by "help" I mean tell them what to do and then yell at Bill when he wouldn't do things the way I wanted).

We just crammed things where ever they would do.

I'm now starting to get things organized ... but only because my mom started it first.

Earlier this year while she was here she organized a big cabinet in our kitchen. It's messy again, but still way better than before.

And you know what? I like organized.

Oh and the hall closet's not all, mom. Wait until you see the front porch. We bought a book shelf and crammed all of our board games on it which cleared up a bunch of space.

Margaret's closet is next.

So, mom, we're getting ready and we can't wait until you get here.

Oh and a big hello to all the surfers coming in via Good Mom/Bad Mom. Jenny linked me on their BS Sunday for my "kick 'em in the ding dong" post.

Ah, kicking people in the ding dong ... good times.

Just another picture of myself

Wha'?

Jessica (the lovely gal in this picture with me) posted this on my facebook page. I immediately thought it would make a great obituary picture for when I die.

I mean who wouldn't want to be remembered like this?

Now with far less volatility

As I sat like Jabba the Hut on my futon last night waiting for the new episode of Project Runway to come, I asked Bill, "So when do I start acting like a bitch?"

With fear in his eye and knowing that my "P" day was imminent, he looked at me quizzically and pretended he couldn't hear me with his headphones on.

I persisted.

Exasperated, he finally jerked the headphones off and said, "Well normally it starts about two weeks after your last period, continues for about a week or so. Then it starts all over again."

Oh no, she's writing about her vagina again!

No, actually I'm writing about my hormones and how they jack my shit up.

It's taken me way too long to figure out that I'm a hormone driven beast. Sometimes, I'm normal, sometimes I'm crazy and sometimes I just mean (and not in a funny way).

And sometimes I'm all of the above.

Those are bad days for everyone involved.

It was really the monthly migraines I used to get that finally pointed a big, shiny, blood-red arrow to the fact that I am, indeed, affected by my period.

And not just with cramps.

In everything.

How I've been able to stay married to a good, decent man for all these years, and be all crazy and mean every month, I'll never know. But I'm sure as heck glad.

Especially now that I seem to have things under control ... somewhat.

I'm still crazy and I still do get the occasional migraine, but for the most part, I'm much more even-tempered these days (but still, I wouldn't push me because you never know when my crazy brain might snap).

I'm taking a drug that I affectionately call my "crazy pill."

And it works. I'm still me only with less nastiness. It rocks ... for the most part.

Since I've started taking my crazy pills, I'm more compassionate. I try to be kind and thoughtful in my daily actions toward my husband and daughter. I want to be with them all the time and tell them how much I love them.

It's like I've turned into a girl or something.

It's weird.

But I'm going with it.

That is until I wake up one day and realize that I've turned into June Cleaver and then I'll probably have to beat the shit out of myself.

But until then, watch me rock the positive attitude.

But don't worry, my sour-casm is still in tack.

Yesterday I answered a question Margaret asked me in a concise and positive manner.

Mar replied, "Mom, why do you always use sour-casm?"

My answer, "Because I love you."

See how it's working!

Cougar Grandma

Check out grandma hanging with the shirtless young men:



And why the hell not? I mean what else do you have to look forward to in your old age if not doing keg stands, eh?

Baracking out

Saturday night, Bill's band, the Wrong Impressions, played the Rock for Barack show at the Mesa Theater.

I love going to Bill's shows and supporting him (even if his shows always seem to give me the stomach flu the next morning ... I wonder why that happens), but I was bitter that I was going to have to buy a ticket since there was no guest list.

I was kvetching about that with some friends and one said that if I came, he'd get me in. And he did. So I went — yes, that's how I roll.

The show was really fun even if there were too many people wearing political t-shirts. Bill wore this shirt — which is awesome in its ain't-rightedness (see making up words is easy people, let's all do it).

Check out these pictures I snapped while simultaneously drinking Bud Lite (yeah, I'm drinking Bud Lite now ... what's become of me?).

Thank goodness for bike builders

I've said before that we have great friends. Friday evening we learned just how great one of them is. Margaret got hurt and Serg saved the day. Read about it over here.

Inconvenient photo op

Getting a new restaurant in Grand Junction is exciting. Getting a new buffet restaurant is wholly thrilling if your our 8-year-old kid.

Over this past summer, Margaret developed quite a love of the buffet. For the past couple of months, she always picks our local salad bar restaurant, Garden of Eaten. We eat there a lot because it's hard to say no to a kid that wants salad for dinner.

Although Margaret's salad is different than a regular person's salad in that is contains so lettuce, just vegetables.

Anyway, when we saw that the Grand International Buffet was coming, we were excited. Mar has been asking, "Is the international buffet open?" everyday for weeks. Luckily it's now open.

We took her there Wednesday. And we all enjoyed it (that was until Mar sat with a half-full plate of desserts and noticed the soft-serve machine. I wouldn't let her get any, because I'm mean). The food was good for buffet food, not too mushy or too tough, just good.

Then I went to the bathroom. There were three stalls, one of was out of order and one was occupied. As I approached the open stall, I noticed this:

The lock on the door says, "Nobody." I laughed — which I'm sure was disconcerting to the occupant of the other stall.

Because my curiosity was piqued, upon exiting the stall I turned the handle. This is what I found:
"Has th person" it reads.

I laughed again. And to further distress the poor person trying to poop, I took out my camera and shot numerous shaky photos of the door lock. I was trying to be quick before someone else came in and found me taking photos of a bathroom stall door. The pictures came out a bit fuzzy. But you can't really blame me for not getting out the tripod, eh?

Thank you CBS!

I work for a newspaper. At my newspaper, I do a lot of work on the editorial page (I don't, however, have any decision making in the content — just so y'all don't start asking me why we endorsed Meis or why your letter didn't make it to print).

On a daily basis, I am inundated with politics — all day long, every week day. It's my job.

I like my job a lot. But this campaign season — on top of a lot of other things going on in my life this year — has dragged me down, down, down.

I'm utterly and completely disgusted with our political system, politicians on the state and federal level and ESPECIALLY with this presidential election.

Both presidential nominees can simultaneously kiss my ass and go suck it.

Having said that I feel that I must admit that I did watch the first presidential debate and I was planning on watching some of the vice presidential debate (that is until Palin's nasal voice and idiotic responses forces me to gouge my eardrums out with a dull chopstick), but I was only going to watch the debate after we were done watching Survivor tonight (because watching a schmaltzy reality show where they have scantily clad people running around with their junk out is always going to beat out politicians spouting our their nonsensical rhetoric).

But then this morning I became afraid that the second week of Survivor was going to be preempted by the debate. So I checked the listings.

Phew!

Those in the know over at CBS had the good sense to push back their coverage of the vice-presidential debate until after their popular reality show.

And that's what I'm talking about, right there. Common sense. Fake "reality" TV trumps real reality. Awesome.

Wordless Wednesday: The bounty of fall

How to be adored

Bill often will say that my bandmates and I can be ... well, uh ... mean.

I think he's a pussy.

We three girls are nothing but delightful and hilarious.

(Yes, we do have a fourth member of the band, but he's a dude and therefore denied entry due to our vagina stipulation. But I should mention that Scotty "Boom-Boom Chuck-Norris-on-drums" Davis is an integral part of our little band. Boom Boom is to Riveter such as Billy Preston was to the Beatles — and by saying that I'm in NO WAY implying that we are anything like the Beatles in that from all accounts it seems that the Beatles were actually able to play lots of things on their instruments. Plus they coordinated their haircuts and that's just something we won't be doing.)

The following is a series of e-mails sent amongst the girls of Riveter and punk-rock legend (in his own mind) Bill Halen (aka my long suffering husband and oftentimes our sound guy):

(I should also note — because I seem to be enjoying the parentheses today — that I'm reprinting these e-mails without consent and that they may or may not be exaggerated depending upon whether you want to fire us or something equally bad. So if necessary, just pretend that I made this all up ... which I did not ... maybe.)

Me: I just heard back from Michelle at the Quincy. She's putting us on the calendar for October 25th. Woot! to that.

Bill Halen: Good times!

La La: Kick ass!

BH: I'll do sound for a free drink and added to the guest list!

Me: We can add you to the guest list, but I'm not sure about the free drink.

Kelley: how bout a free kick in the dingdong? or maybe just a free drink.

BH: You guys are mean! Geeeshhh, girl bands, hruumph!

Me: Consider yourself lucky. There are lots of guys who would pay to have Kelley kick them in the dingdong.

Kelley: yeah, alot of guys would pay for me to do that! (wha?) I'll make sure to not wear my really pointed shoes, would that be better?

La: You buy us drinks, Boy-Bitch!

Kelley: yeah, you buy us drinks you ho!

BH: Ok that's it, the price keeps going up with your shinanigans...now I want
drinks, guest list, cheese and crackhoes, pay up beeoutches!

Me: You get to help us load in and out. You get to do the sound. You get on the guest list and you get Kelley to kick you in the dingdong with her pointy shoes.

BH: Ok, only if she sticks a marshmallow on the tip of her pointy shoes. I don't
wanna leave a mark.

La: Yeah, and no farting when you get kicked, either.

Kelley: a marshmellow? wha? OK, why don't I just not kick you in the dingdong. pussy.

La: This is the best conversation ever. This is exactly why we should be reality stars.

Kelley: precisely. but the bottom line is, Bill, that I would never actually kick you in the crotch because I like you so much. but I might threaten to kick you in the crotch if... for example: we were doing sound check and I got shocked in the face.

BH: That is totally fair, but what if instead of a shock to the face you got cockamole on you faceadilla? That would suck or blow depending on what side you were on. Oh, I like you too!!!

Me: OK Bill, are you happy now? You got to you use the "cockamole on your faceadilla" joke.

Kelley: wow. little did I know that I was setting myself up for THAT. I have no quick comeback for the likes of that one, Bill.

See? I told you we were nothing but the epitome of grace and elegance.

Where did they all go?

Where have all the Paul Newman's gone?

Mama needs a brand new bag

I have issues.

Yes, I'm sure there's a collective gasp of disbelief.

Oh, but it's true.

I like to have my stuff, the way I like to have my stuff. I fold towels exactly the way my mom taught me. I shower in the exact same way every day ... blah, blah.

But yet other areas of my daily life are completely chaotic.

Our hall closet is literally jammed full of bottles, boxes, bags of crap. Crap that we need, but can never find because it's so disorganized.

My mom once proclaimed that we have a lot of "junk drawers" in our kitchen. Except for the silverware drawer and the drawer where we keep our dish towels, it's true that the rest of our drawers are a complete mess.

The dichotomy of organization and chaos in our house is pretty astounding.

The same goes for my purse/bag situation.

I have a nice, grown-up, black, leather purse that has my ID, credit cards, cell phone, camera, etc. that I carry everywhere. But I don't like it.

It's too thick and the strap is too thin ... it's uncomfortable.

Then there's my bag.

My bag is what I carry to work and band practice and class and places where I need more than just my purse stuff.

Since I'm not teaching in the classroom this semester (yay, online class), my bag carries my purse (yeah, it doesn't make much sense to me either), the book I'm reading and a giant, plastic ziplock baggie. (When I am teaching in the classroom, I've often got my class notes, etc. in there, too.)

In that baggie, I have a small notebook and a kajillion folded pieces of paper. Those pieces of paper are song lyrics, flight reservations, sympathy cards, recipes ...

Last week at band practice our non-girl drummer, Scotty Boom-Boom Chuck-Norris-on-drums Davis commented on my plastic bag of papers. I fiercely defended my right to keep all my important and not-so-important stuff in a plastic baggie.

But he's right. I need a better system.

I need a smallish, large bag (see my issues) that can carry a cellphone, iPod and cable, camera and cable, lip balm eyedrops, wallet, checkbook, whatever book I'm reading at the time, small notebook and a giant stack of papers.

And it needs to have a long strap that I can wear bandoleer style.

Is there such a thing?

Dork night

Toward the end of my pregnancy, I started getting bloated. I looked like the corpse of a pot-bellied pig dredged out of a lake after a week and a half.

And my blood pressure started going up.

A week before my due date, my doctor put me on bed rest ... and I was thrilled. I got permission to lay my bloated carcass on the couch and watch TV. It was awesome.

During that time, I started watching a brand-new TV show. A show unlike the sit-coms and medical dramas, I'd watched in the past. It was at the forefront of a new genre called reality TV.

That show was the first season of Survivor.

I watched that show while I was on maternity leave and since I've seen every season.

I'm not bragging, I'm just saying I'm one of those people.

My name is Robin and I watch reality TV.

But I'm not alone. (Thank goodness!) My dear friend, Tracee, has been making the trek to my sofa every Thursday to watch Survivor with me for ... gosh, how long as it been, Trace? A couple years at least.

A couple seasons ago, we thought it would be more fun if we devised a game to play along.

I had to take a break from our Survivor game the last couple seasons, but we are back at this time.

And better than ever, I must add.

Last night we watched the 2-hour season premiere and took notes. We got to know the characters and started looking for possible winners.

We also did this:

We crafted up our Survivor bulletin board.

What?

See, this season, not only are Tracee and I playing, but so are my gramma and my mom. So we had to get organized. We each have our own square where we'll have our weekly ballots. There's a place for pictures of the contestants along with a place for those voted out.

Yeah, I know. We're dorky dorks. But sometimes you have to let your innerdork shine.

Ours are blinding our husbands.

Let's just pretend mommy's on vacation tonight

So tonight begins the fall television season for me. And it's going to be a jammed packed night full of TV watching.

So please don't call me tonight. Or drop over ... unless you want to sit quietly and look at the idiot box.

Oh and if you're my kid, don't need anything from me after 7 p.m. tonight. I know you're sick, kid, but isn't that just a better reason to go to be early and not be all, "I can't breathe" and "I think I have rickets."

Mommy's gotta watch the 2-hour season premiere of Survivor and the 1-hour premiere of The Office, so she's going to be too busy to get you tissues or water or a college savings account or whatever else you think you need to get through the night.

Daddy gets home at 8, you can survive on water and bake Cheetos until then. Mommy's gotta watch TV.

Sick day

There are chewed up tissues all over the house.

Margaret has a cold and the dog is loving it. Quincy loves to chew on used tissues. Could there be anything more disgusting? Oh yeah, eating cat shit — which she does all the time.

I love cats and dogs. But you never see a cat eating dog shit. So ...

Yeah, so Margaret's sick. We decided about 3:30 a.m. last night after she got up for the kajillionth time because she couldn't breathe that she needed the rest and wouldn't be going to school today. Shortly after that Bill jumped out of bed and said, "Do you want to come watch Conan with me?"

At 3:30 a.m.? No thank you.

But Bill wakes up many nights at 3:30 a.m. and watches Conan O'Brien. He loves himself from Conan.

But I don't care how much you love some guy's hair, there no way in Hades I' m hauling my cookies out of bed at 3:30 a.m. to watch TV.

And just because I'm awake at 3:30 a.m. doesn't mean that I want to take advantage of my lucidity to watch late-night TV. Bill does, though, all the time.

Yeah, he's got insomnia. But he seems to enjoy it a little too much. It's like he enjoys his alone time with Conan in the middle of the night.

What's up with that?

Who else would it be?

Saturday evening Margaret, my mom, Bill and I sat our on our back patio talking and playing games.

Mar sat cross-legged on her chair and started saying "Aaahhmmmmm" as she moved her hands from a praying gesture into a Gyan mudra gesture.

After staring at her with raised eyebrows, my mom finally asked her what she was doing.

Exasperated, Mar replied, "Aaahhhhhmmmm. This is what they do. Aahhmmmmm"

My mom asked, "Who's 'they'?"

Without pausing, Mar replied, "The Amish. Aahhmmm."

Well, duh.

Whachoo talkin' about Willis?

I love this picture of Bill. It was taken by our friend the Shock Doctor at our neighborhood block party.

It needs a good caption, don't cha think? Leave your suggestions in the comments.

What's on your shopping list?

I found my shopping list had been amended to include "butt paste" yesterday. And that is why living with an 8-year-old is never dull.

Click over here to see a picture of four generations of women in my family. It may take all four of us to finish a puzzle, but we have a good time doing it.

They just don't make ads like they used to

Again thanks Markel aka the dude who finds all the great stuff on the Interweb.

Husband logic

My husband called me at work laughing just now. "So, can you pop popcorn with a cell phone?" he asks.

He was, of course, referring to my post from yesterday linking to my Haute Mamas blog video where my co-workers and I try to recreate the myth that you can pop popcorn with cell phones.

Spoiler alert! You can't.

But it was fun to try.

(Click here to see Richie and me on GJSentinel.com's 60-second update. We're haute.)

We're going to be doing more "experiments" like this in the future so keep checking in with the Haute Mamas. Oh and if you have any ideas of things you'd like to see us do, leave a comment. We're game for most things (and by most things, I mean things in which we keep our clothes on, thankyouverymuch).

When I revealed to Bill that no, you cannot pop popcorn with cell phones, he laughed more and said, "Of course you can't, there's no heat source." (If you click the snopes.com link on the Haute Mamas blog you can read how they edited the footage to make it seem like the popcorn was popping.)

Whatever. Smart guy.

And while he is a smart guy, he has some crazy logic sometimes.

Recently our cleaning service came to try to make our house presentable. We just aren't very good housekeepers. Things were dirty.

You should've seen how excited I was to see that the inside of our microwave was clean. Oh and behind our toaster, too.

We're fancy now with our clean house (or what used to be our clean house ... several days of living in our clean house has made it not so clean anymore ... I wonder why that is?).

While we were admiring our clean house, Bill decides that we need to get a new vacuum.

Me: Why? Ours works good enough to vacuum two rooms of carpet.

Bill: Yes, it's good enough for us, but not for them.

Me: Huh?

Bill: What happens when the belt slips off and they can't vacuum.

Me: They'll clean something else instead.

Bill: Yeah, we need to get a new vacuum.

Me: (blinks incredulously)

So we're in the market for a new vacuum — not because I've wanted one for the past two years, but because someone else is using it.

Does that make sense?

I don't think it does, but I've been lusting after a Dyson for a long time, so I'm going to keep my mouth shut (for once).

Dispelling myths one slow day at a time

Yesterday Richie e-mail me this video:

Pop Corn téléphone portable micro-ondes
Uploaded by sassiere

It seemed pretty easy and straight-forward so we decided to give it a try. Click here to see our own video of cell phones attempting to pop popcorn.

Watch out snopes.com, here come the Haute Mamas.

When advertising goes horribly wrong ...

I can add nothing to this masterpiece.



Thanks Markel!

Block party 2008

Our annual block party. Planned and organized by all the other neighbors (because I'm a bitch).

We* got a permit to block off the street and a local cyclery, Brown's Cycles, lent us an assortment of fun bikes and a whole bunch of Green Machines — which are fun until one particularly surly Green Machine decides to throw you off in the middle of the street resulting in various minor scrapes and bruises.

*And by "we" I mean, someone other than myself, because all I did was bake three batches of brownies.


Yes, that is my daughter eating the forbidding cotton candy.

I mean, people, seriously, it's whipped sugar. But since I was too distracted (and remarkably not drunk — I wasn't in the mood for beer and too lazy to get something else) to watch her, Margaret smiled when she said, "Don't be surprised when you hear that I had six cotton candies."

But the best part was the the cops only showed up twice.

Once they were invited by us. The nice officer spoke about how important it is to have a strong community, blah, blah and gave us ("us" meaning the kids and myself) "Junior Officer" badge stickers.

I wore mine proudly until Johnny and Bridget's mean baby stole mine.

And the second time when one of our charming neighbors complained about Bill's band making a racket.

The band played from 6 to 8 p.m. and we had a permit.

Luckily another really nice officer showed up and said he had no problem with the music and actually that it was great we were getting together as a community.

So suck it neighbor who called the cops on us.
And despite the fact that both Greedy and Flendard said that there could be nothing gay about Green Machines, they proved themselves wrong by choreographing tandem burn outs in a might gay fashion.

The video proof is below:

I wrote about politics

Gasp! I know.

I've been very jaded this political season. And honestly I've had it up to here (insert hand gesture indicating somewhere very high) with the whole spectacle.

There are people out there who are all fussed up over this election. And I don't really want to hear about it any more.

I wrote yet another very restrained blog about it all over here.

I left out the part about how people should stop yelling at me and my co-workers — mostly because I like my job and want to keep it. But also because people are crazy and they might come after me so I'm leaving that part out.

On a completely different note, my neighborhood is having a block party tomorrow.

Sounds fun, huh?

As much as I love my neighborhood, our block party irritates me. Mostly because people are all enthusiastic about it and want to do things like have a bump 'n' jump for the kids.

Me? I just want to drink directly from the keg.

But it's always turns out to be a good time because of all my neighbors are good people who take the time to plan fun things. And I can just sit around and drink directly from the keg.

So, tomorrow should be a good time. Wanna come?

Don't say, "It's time to face the hole."

OK, I was raised watching Family Feud and The Price is Right.

I watched a former neighbor's granddaughter win a million big ones on Deal or No Deal recently.

Even though I failed the test to become a contestant on Jeopardy, I still watch it.

I like games shows.

But I don't know about Fox's new game show Hole in the Wall.

It's based on a Japanese game show — which means that it's silly and degrading ... two of my most favorite things.



But there's something about the American version that just makes me cringe.



And it's got nothing to do with the game itself.

It's the silver, clingy unitard that all contestants must wear.

Yeah, it's just way too clingy ... especially in the ... um, down-there area.

Hello Fox TV, please spare us the man camel toe or camel Joe or package highlights or whatever you want to call the outline of man junk.

It's too much.

And that's saying a lot coming from me.

It wasn't all broken sprinklers and flat tires

We did manage to have some fun over our Labor Day holiday. Read about it over here.

And don't forget to enter our free giveaway of servello skin care products. Free skin care products and all you have to do is click and comment.

Easy as pie.

Mmme cake.

Why Sundays rock

Bloody Marys at Peach Street Distillers.

I've been linked

Hey y'all from Good Mom/Bad Mom.

I've been reading Min and Jenny since they were still Mama Drama mamas ... these gals are awesome.

So, it's uber cool for little ole rivetergirl to be featured on their BS Sunday. Thanks Jenny and Min!!

Of course, it had to be the vagina attendant post that got me linked to the big time.

Who knew that writing about my woman parts would make me so popular?

Who let the dog in?

Yesterday after work, we were standing around talking to the neighbors when our dear friend Tracee pulled up with her back seat loaded with their home-grown peaches.

She jumped out of the car and exclaimed, "I just saw Dog the Bounty Hunter down at the blue goodies store."

Because we're dorks, we all jumped in our car and went off in search of Dog and his posse.

Unfortunately they were no longer at the blue goodies store (formerly known at the "big chicken" until the big chicken went MIA — I have no idea what the actual name of that store is), so we went to dinner.

But we were sure to check GJSentinel.com to see if there were any other Dog sightings.

Oh man, not only is Dog and his posse in town, but they are hunting tweakers.

I didn't know it was tweaker season.

Dog and his posse should be easy to spot around town as they are said to be driving around in two gold Cadillac SUVs.

Have you seen Dog?

Labor Day mayhem

Murphy's Law hit the Dearing/McCracken household over the Labor Day weekend ... big time.

You can read about that over here.

These pictures will make more sense after you read the story.


OK, I don't actually mention that Bill was helped in his endeavor by a tie-dyed and kilted Greedy.




Nor do I mention the giant thistles.

Or the giant coral mushrooms.

Um, maybe these photos aren't clarified by the story, but they are still awesome in oh-so-many ways.