Ozzy buys ice cream machine

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

I thought I made it up

Whoops!

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

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

That is messed up, yo!

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

And it's why I love him

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

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

Me: *crickets* — accompanied by incredulous blinking.

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

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

Let is snow

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

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

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

Because Santa says, "Boo!"

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

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

The sky is falling!

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

Post-turkey blubberfest

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm so thrifty," I say.

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

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

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

Giving thanks

Click over here to read my sappy Thanksgiving story.

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

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

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

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

Eh, I can sleep when I'm dead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pouty McPouterson

Click over here to read about this picture:

Is that really fun?

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

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

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

First, 'the hell?

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

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

Who's a rock star?

Bill Halen is.

Almost too authentic

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

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

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

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

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

Why bother?

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

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

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

Her blog is "A Vegan Ice Cream Paradise."

She discusses vegan ice-cream recipes.

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

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

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

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

Doh!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gah. We have facilitated teenaged touching. Gah!

The horror. The horror.

Sweet 16

Sean turned 16 on Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click it ... you know you want to

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

Go figure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey, hey, we're the ...

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

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

Did you know that the Monkees:

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

Lookit number 11. The Monkees and Hendrix? Who'da thunk it?

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

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

Indeed, OK then.

Ready McReaderson

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

Man, I'm Writey McWriterson these days.