Picture-y goodness!

Most awesome picture of Mar ever

I have no story to accompany this picture, but it's so awesome in so many ways. I may have to make up a story about it so I can post it tomorrow on my Haute Mamas blog.

Speaking of the Haute Mamas, today is our 1-year anniversary, so click over here and read what we have to say about our blog so far. You can see pictures of us trying to get our picture taken.

Garbage game

Lookit this pile o' garbage. What do you see?
Do you see a child's booster seat? Why yes indeed. Do you see a plastic lawn mower? No, you don't.

I am the winner. The winner of the garbage game. Woo hoo!

It's a tie

Regarding Bill and my bet on the curb junk, by the time I got home from work yesterday both CD rack and the bed frame were gone.

We're now wagering on a plastic lawn mower(me) and a booster seat(Bill).

Now it's getting personal.

Fruita Fat Tire Festival 2007

Like I said Friday, my band played the Fruita Fat Tire Festival last year and we had a great time, so we were looking forward to playing it again this year.

We had such a good time last year that I was afraid that this year would pale in comparison.

There was not reason for worry. We had a really fun time. The weather was gorgeous (last year was really windy and cold) and the crowd ... let's just say that despite our fears that last year was a fluke, the crowd had a great time.

So did we. Check out these pictures:
And the best part was these guys came back again this year:
They have special t-shirts made for each year and are happy to give us more cowbell. These cyclists are a super fun time and they even gave me one of their t-shirts which I'm wearing in these pictures but I wasn't smart enough to get a picture of it. Also one of their guys, who couldn't make it this year, is now nicknamed Ham Pants after our ever-endearing song about lucious rumps. How awesome is that?

Now there's a dog AND a guy named Ham Pants! Sweet!

We kept calling them the mustache guys because of their t-shirts from last year (I'll take a picture of the t-shirt at home during my lunch hour — it's so not appropriate for children or those who have a sense of decency, but it's funny). Next year I'm going to learn their names.

It's Monday (in case you didn't know)

I posted twice — TWICE, I know! — in one day over here.

You should click to see the pictures of Margaret's little quilt that we finally finished yesterday. You know you wanna.

Man, Monday again. The weekend whirled by.

Let's see what I want to write about today and what I want to leave for later. Hm.

Here's my little band sans our Rosie jumpsuits doing the acoustic thing for a fund-raiser for KAFM.

Bill took video of us playing, but I haven't looked at it. Don't know that I will.

I'm glad we did it, I got to sing three songs and that part was fun. But I'm just not proficient enough with the acoustic to feel comfortable. It's amazing how sweaty I got just sitting on that stool.

Plus, like a light switch getting flicked on, now it's summer here. It was in the 80s all weekend and just beautiful. And with the changing of the seasons from spring to summer comes the migration of the junk from the recesses of everyone's houses to the curb in honor of spring clean-up ... or as we like to call it, the tweaker's buffet.

Our fair city hosts a spring clean-up where you can put up to one dump-truck load of garbage outside and they'll come pick it up for free! We, like most folks, put our stuff out early so all the gleaners can pick through our garbage and hopefully recycle it.

It's a veritable parade of tweakers (aka meth heads aka those of few teeth) as they cruise their jalopies slowly through the neighborhoods looking for suitable tweaker junk.

So far someone took an old keyboard that Margaret no longer uses. Bill and I have selected our junk of choice (Bill chose the CD rack and I chose the twin bed frame) and are watching to see whose junk gets taken first.

Fun with junk. That's what we've become.

This just in

He's alive!

Oh yes, people, time to rejoice. Abe Vigoda is still alive!

Glad I could make everyone's Friday that much brighter.

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

In other news, my lil' band, Riveter, is playing two shows this weekend.

That's right — TWO SHOWS!

Tonight we're playing all night long at the Fruita Fat Tire Festival. We'll be rockin' out the tunes from 6 to 10 at that park in downtown Fruita (let's all say "Ooooohhha!" at my precise and detailed directions).

We played the Fat Tire Fest last year and we had a really good time. So we're looking forward to tonight.

Then tomorrow, we're playing an acoustic set — wha'? Riveter unplugged? 'the hell? — for the KAFM Vinyl Sale at the Mesa Theater.

The sale is a benefit for our local community radio station and we're one of three bands providing the background entertainment. This is going to be the first time we've attempted an acoustic set.

It's good to try new things.

Bunny

Click over here to read about this member of our family.

Field trip

I spent this morning helping to escort Margaret's 1st grade class on a field trip to the Western Colorado Center for the Arts.

My parents often volunteered to go on field trips when I was in elementary school and I remember appreciating the fact that they helped out. So when Margaret brought home a notice saying they would be making this trip, I made sure that I could volunteer to help out.

The plan was to walk 21 first graders the approximately 10 blocks to the Art Center, have them participate in a couple of activities, then walk them back to the park where they would play and eat lunch, then head back to school.

I was concerned about the walking all those children all that distance without losing them or them tiring out or ... who knows with a bunch of 6 and 7 year olds.

But they did great. The stayed together and minded what the teachers were saying ... for the most part.
Here's most of them after we arrived at the art center. Look how it looks like they are behaving.

Amazed, I am.

And pleased.

Margaret's teacher did a great job keeping the kids on task. I don't envy her job.

Bouquet surprise!

It's Administrative Professionals Day — formerly known as Secretary's Day.

I never keep track of such things so it was a great surprise when these arrived this morning:
A lovely arrangement, indeed, made very interesting by two of these flowers:
I have never seen this type of flower before, but it's spiny strangeness makes them the coolest ever. I wish I knew what they are.

Irises

Open Letters

Dear Migraine Headache:

I don't mean to be rude, but I hate you! (And I truly do mean that exclamation point! ... and that one, too.) Actually, you deserve my rudeness.

I mean, really, what is the deal? Why do you have to be all coming back day after day burrowing your insidious self into my head and nagging every fiber of my being?

I waited as long as I could last night to take my last migraine pill, fighting waves of nausea like a crab boat on the Behring Sea (OK, maybe I do watch too much of "The Deadliest Catch"), to assure that I wouldn't be dealing with you again today — yet here you are, beating your drum over and over and over again, pounding that one spot just above my eye.

But you know that it's these kinds of migraines that get to me the worst, the ones that turn every thing I do into an excruciating exercise in will power and determination just to function like a normal person.

These are the migraines that grind me down and force me into submission, leaving me a sobbing heap on the floor wondering, "Why me?" in that pathetic way that I loathe.

When you've left and I feel like a normal person again, I joke that I get migraines because I'm a bad person. But when you've settled into your routine of punishment, I can't imagine what I could ever possibly do to deserve this torture.

What ever the reason, enough is enough. Leave already. Or at least subside until my next batch of pills come in the mail, so I have some kind of protection from your evilness. I'd much rather deal with the horrible side effects from the medication than from your pervasive pain.

Oh and you can kiss my third ass.

I've had enough,
RiveterGirl

Dear pharmaceutical manufacturers:

What in the hell do you put in migraine medications, like MaxAlt, Zomig, Imitrex, etc., that makes it cost almost $20 a pill? Gold? Titanium? Moon dust?

And since it costs more than most illegal drugs, why can't you package it so that poor saps like me can buy it a couple pills at a time?

Cut us poor migraine sufferers some slack already.

Really, make your money off Viagra.

Fer crying out loud,
RiveterGirl

It's a miracle!

Bill went out of town and I didn't whine about being home alone. Go me!

Bill took a group of students to a skills competition. It was a tough trip for him.

He's got an extremely full plate as it is and then he had to drive a group of high-school students (his own college students drove themselves) over the Continental Divide to Colorado Springs. When they got there, they had all kinds of software problems that caused him hours of extra work.

Click over here to read about how the competition ended up for Bill.

When he got home Saturday afternoon, he was utterly exhausted. He dozed most of the afternoon and then ended up going to be early.

He's still learning to live with his diabetes. Even though he can keep his glucose levels relatively low, he could really feel the effects of not drinking enough water and not eating the best foods.

But he's home now. Safe and sound. Thank goodness.

Dodging bullets

When I picked Margaret up from school yesterday, she was wearing a small, plastic, tooth-shaped box on a string around her neck. She had lost yet another tooth — she's up to 8 now.
She wore the necklace all evening long and we carefully put it under her pillow with the string hanging out just a bit, so it would be easier for the Tooth Fairy to get.

Mar was exhausted from a long day. She had to get up and get herself dressed early and come to work with me. She had a field trip and then Mar and I had a meet and greet meeting with the charter school people in the afternoon.

Thursday night's are always a day I look forward to as our dear Tracee Trace and I bask in the guilty pleasure that it Survivor — although neither of us scored even on point in our made-up Survivor game yesterday.

Usually, I work on the week's laundry Thursdays but I was just too run down. I went to bed early and read.

And I forgot about the Tooth Fairy completely.

At some point in the middle of the night, Margaret came in my bed. After I got out of the shower she was sitting on the edge of my bed with an excited look on her face

"Can I check under my pillow?" she asked.

Oh shit. I forgot.

Quickly, I said, "We gotta hurry this morning, so why don't you get dressed first." Then I rushed off and helped the Tooth Fairy with her tooth donation.

Then I came back into the bedroom with my toothbrush and said, "Oh, OK, go look."

Phew!

Oh that darn weather

It's springtime and for us here in the Grand Valley, that means winds. We get some crazy-assed winds around here.

60 mph yesterday. Margaret's piano teacher said the roof on her covered porch started to lift off and all sorts of debris went a-flyin' all over town.

I had to leave Mar with our dear Tracee Trace while I went to band practice last night. Mar became infatuated with the stuff roaming around the 'hood. She opened the porch door to check out a tree skeleton that that had made its way into our yard and the wind caught the door taking Margaret with it.

She clung to the door and was sucked out much like those Mary Poppins wannabes with their umbrellas. Her grip slipped and she skidded down the concrete steps leaving her with this raspberry:

Needless to say, she's one sore little kid today.

The scariest half a minute of my life

I posted the story over here.

It happened so quickly I still tremble when thinking about it.

Karma rivetergirl-style

So, like I said yesterday, I wrote a column about the problems we are having with Margaret's school. It ran in the paper Sunday.

Today I called Margaret's school to leave a message for her teacher saying I wanted to volunteer to help an upcoming field trip.

Do you think I could be so lucky as to have the nice secretary answer the phone?

Uh, nope.

The principal answered.

Gulp!

The first thing out of her mouth was, "We're so sorry to hear that Margaret won't be attending here next year."

What are the chances that one of the three times I've called in the last two years, I get the principal?

But that's how things seem to work for me.

I told her that we've decided nothing and that we don't even know what our options are for next year.

She did share with me that there would be multi-aged classes next year. To which I replied that Bill hates the idea of multi-aged kids. I'm not sure why he hates this idea so much, but a lot of schools use this model and I went to a school that had multi-aged classes.

Does anyone know what the advantages are?

Now, it seems that we're faced with a bunch of choices that we don't know anything about.

Gah! and double Gah!

Monday wrap-up

Yep, I'm wrapping things up on Monday this week. And why the hell not?
See, there is no good reason.

First, this:
Yes, Easter has passed but last week, Sexy Bunny Man (aka Markel d'Farkel) and his dear wife had to put down their kitty and it just didn't seem right to be exploiting his sexy bunny-ness during such a sad time for them.

And while it's still a sad time for them, Markel spent several hours at our house Saturday night kicking our asses at Guitar Hero II. My stepson left his PlayStation 2 at our house and we rocked the night away playing this game. It is so much fun and waaaaayyyy too addictive to be healthy.

Second, our trusty friend and sitter, Tracee Trace, mustered her non-contagious self and sat for us Friday night so Bill and I could go be the rock and/or rollers that we are.
Here's Bill on the harmonica during their cover of Love and Rockets' "No new tale to tell" while rhythm guitar player, Danny, fills in on Bill's bass.

Pretty flippin' sweet!

And here we are, rockin' our jumpsuits.

It's fun playing shows where we only have to do one set. We had a good time!

Third, I finished the quilt that my mom and I started last month. I took my time and it really came out nice:
Yes, the cats love it, too. You can put anything on the floor without at least one animal getting on it.

Here's how it looks on the futon where it's going to be living:
Just lovely! Thanks Mom!

Oh and click over here to read the Haute Mamas "Fun Monday" project.

Or click over here to read the column I wrote that ran on Sunday's opinion page. I've never felt so bad about being honest before. I basically spent the whole weekend trying to pretend like I didn't out my kid's school.

Gah! Who says honesty is the best policy?

Friday nonsense

It's Friday. Whoop de doo.

Both my and Bill's band plays tonight. Our dear friend, Tracee, was on deck to sit for Mar, but she went and got herself so sick that she couldn't even come over for Survivor night last night! (Hope you're feeling better soon, Tracee Trace!)

So we might not have a sitter. We'll have to figure something out. Fortunately we live close to the venue and we could do the ole switcheroo if we have to — leaving one of us at home to watch Mar while the other one plays.

Let's see ... oh, it's deviled egg day in the newsroom. So that's something to look forward to.

Yeah, that's all I got — eggs and illness.

Click here and read about the Fun Monday for the Haute Mamas.

Lemonade

I could hear the train whistle as I drove back to work from lunch today.

I willed the light to turn green. It did, but it was too late. The railroad crossing arms had already descended. The lights were flashing.

"Zephyr ... please be the California Zephyr," I chanted over and over again hoping it was an Amtrak train instead of a long, slow, frequently stopping coal train.

It was a coal train.

Damn!

I pulled up to the crossing, put my car in park and pulled my copy of Amy Tan's The Kitchen God's Wife out of my bag.

Oh well, at least I had some time to start my latest read.

I love Amy Tan's books. I read "The Joy Luck Club" when Margaret was just a toddler and was taken by the honesty with which she wrote about mother-daughter relationships.

After reading for about 15 minutes, the end of the train was in sight. I closed my book and shoved it back in my bag. I slipped my shoes back and put the car into drive.

Sometimes the drive to work took 5 minutes, sometimes 20.

I used to get uptight about having to wait for the ever-present coal trains that snake through our valley. Now I just see them as providing a little time to relax and enjoy a good book.

Very special

Today on Haute Mamas, the heathen mom talks about religion. (Said in that whispery serious tone of voice only used by TV announcers and mothers who are trying to discipline their other children while the baby naps)

Gasp! The heathen mom discusses religion?

Oh dear reader, it's true. I, of my own volition, have engaged a topic about which I do not subscribe.

See how I am?

And to prove just how much of a rabble-rouser I am, I'm posting this picture ... again.


Two days in a row!!

And I'm doing it because I like this picture. I'm having it printed as I type and then I'm gonna frame it and then I'm gonna tell Bill everyday how much I like this picture and then he'll be all, "Uh, OK." and then I'll be all, "Why do you gotta be like that for?" and then he'll be all, "Well, it's a picture of a tiny pot of clover and a whistle." and I'll be all, "Yeah, that's why I like it." and then he'll think, "Okie dokie" but he won't actually say that, no, instead he'll just say, "OK." — see how he is?

Springtime anniversary

So not only did we celebrate Easter last weekend, but Bill and I also celebrated our 7th wedding anniversary on April 7th. 7th on the 7th, huh.

I didn't end up getting Bill the sling-shot man undies that I threatened here. Instead we went out and saw a bunch of local bands. It was fun — mostly, of course, because of Bill. He's a good time, fer sure.


Here are a couple of spring flower pics ... just because I like taking pictures of pretty things:

And my favorite picture of Bill. He looks all bright and shiny, yet I look like I took a mob hit to the nose:

Thank heavens for Spandex

For today's discussion, we will be examining the very popular Deadly Sin of: GLUTTONY!

Yep, gluttony!

Why? Oh, because I'm a gluttonous sack o' poo.

To celebrate Easter yesterday, our neighbors hosted a potluck — and it sucked!

Why, you ask again? Because our friends make food that is WAAAAAYYYY too good.

Way too good. Too good to not eat until I was horribly distended in every possible direction. Afterwards, I could only sit there and moan about how I'm a gluttonous sow.

(But it was — oh — so — good! Creamy, cheesy mashed potatoes ... channa dahl — oh, how I love you channa dahl ... pork and beef roasts with chutney AND au jus ... Easter candy, blah, blah, blah and more food words and more food talk. Yummy!)

So from about 4 p.m. until bedtime yesterday, Bill, Mar and I stacked ourselves on to the futon in our new little sitting room and clicked around the TV stations moaning and complaining about eating too much and passing too much gas ('cause we're all classy like that).

I didn't eat again until lunch today when I had a salad — which was still too much for my normally hearty constitution.

Gah! You Food! How dare you be so delectible.

And Gah! To my lacking sense of decorum, which should have stopped me after my second helping.

But Easter just isn't about violating the prohibition against the Seven Deadly Sins, it's also about candy and plastic eggs.

As per usual, Margaret and Kate got up early to search the yards for Easter eggs. While we adults were bleary eyed, the girls were blurry balls of activity fueled by anticipation of candy goodness:

So much for 'no gifts'

Look what I got sent to me at work today:
I know, Bill's so sweet. Why he even wants to stay married to me is a mystery! But I'm glad he does.

And just because it's Friday, here are a couple more pictures:

Holding Quincy's leash in this picture is newly-spayed Frida (or as we all say "F-wee-dah Nut Nut"). She survived her trip to the discount spay place ... who takes their pets to the fly-by-night discount surgery places?

Oh yeah, we do.

It just ain't right

Saturday is Bill's and my 7th wedding anniversary.
Seven years ... that's the longest I've ever been married — by far.

We're going to go out to eat and see some local bands play downtown. I'm looking forward to having a night out in which neither Bill nor I are playing. It's been a while since he and I have had a date that didn't include a guitar.

We don't normally exchange gifts on our anniversary. But I owe him something nice — see, he's mad at me. I don't think it's a justifiable madness, but he's perterbed anyway.

Yesterday, I went with Bill to get his diabetes check up with our family doctor. Bill told the doctor that he's had a pain in his foot for a long time and while the doctor was checking it out, I offered up the cause of the ailment.

Bill hurt his foot while he and Davy were drunk skateboarding. I threw that tidbit into the discussion just to add some color to the story. Bill didn't think it was necessary to make the story more colorful.

Because Bill's been through so much lately, I thought I'd surprise him with a nice gift for our anniversary.

He needs a new swimsuit. I think I like this one:

My folks

My folks are back in the land of Califorinicators.

We miss them.

Mama Drama's challenge

Richie messaged me at work today saying that she was disappointed that she missed April Fool's Day because she would have liked to have pulled this prank on someone.

Basically, someone suggested that this woman had a bunch of bizarre tattoos and posted pictures of them. Today she revealed that they were, indeed, not her tattoos and said that some moms had admitted to having tattoos.

She also challenged other moms (and non-moms) to submit links to pictures of their own tattoos. So here are my tattoos:
I realized that the picture is totally skewed but I couldn't for the life of me take a better picture. There is just no easy way to photography one's own back.

Yep, I — like every other American female under the age of 27 — have ass antlers. But in my defense, I got inked the first time back before every red-blooded chick across the country decided it was the thing to do.

Lo those many years ago I thought I was all cool with my back tattoo, but then everyone jumped my train and now I'm just one of the crowd.

Oh well. I really like my tattoos. Don't know that I'll get anymore, but it's a possibility for sure.

Things you don't wanna know

My mom called me after she read this blog entry of mine and asked why my husband let me write such things about him. I told her that if he didn't do such things, then I wouldn't write about such things.

The following story is one that is completely self-indulgent and falls into both the "too much information" and the "why does your husband let you write such things" categories:

Last night before we fell asleep, Bill and I delved into a conversation about diarrhea (yeah, you can see that this is heading nowhere fast). I was complaining about the "butt pee" variety of diarrhea — you know the kind where it's like you're peeing out your butt. Yeah, butt pee.

Then Bill chimes in, "But butt vomit is worse."

"Butt vomit?" I incredulously ask.

He explained that "butt vomit" is the volatile form of truly liquid fecal material that explodes from ... uh, the human body at an incredibly high rate of speed — like your pooer was projectile vomiting. Bill accompanied this description with the sound, "phffffffffffffffffffffffffscht!" Sounding kind of like a faucet turned all the way to 11.

Because my sense of humor never develop beyond that of a 13-year-old boy, I began laughing hysterically at this and even asked him to make the noise again.

Today as I was using the facilities here at work, I began thinking about trying to recount that conversation here in this blog and was again struck by the humor in my husband describing "butt vomit"and could not for the life of me control the onslaught of laughter that ensued — which was really unfortunate in that I was still in the bathroom stall and really needed to get out and get back to work.

It took a couple of moments and many deep breaths (never a good thing in a pubic bathroom) to compose myself enough to be able to exit that stall and not appear as if I was some kind of freakish deviant who finds great joy and laughter in the process of relieving myself.

Fortunately, no one else was in the lavatory and could all my giggles to return as I exited the facilities without running into anyone else. Because explaining my joy of the restroom was one conversation that I didn't want to have.

I want to ride my bicycle

Sunday saw Bill and Sean going for a mountain bike ride — gah, I couldn't imagine a better way to ruin a perfectly good day than to ride on a strenuous and rock-laden path for no good reason. Mountain biking ... yeah, I just don't get it.

Margaret and I rode our bikes — yep, Margaret's riding her own bike now — down to the botanical gardens on paved, smooth road.

The gardens are so gorgeous. Read about it and see bunches of more photos over here.

Friday, cry day

Hurray for Friday!

I'm exhausted and tired and sleepy and unrested and ready for a nap.

And I could use some sleep.

Fortunately, we don't have much going on this weekend. Me survivor buddy, Tracee-Trace, is having a Pampered Chef party. I'm gonna go buy some knives that I use to cut the cheese. (I'm punny.)

I've gotta come to work for a bit tomorrow but that's no big whoop. Then I'll be lying around in the filthy house trying not to club anyone with a baseball bat.

Good times.

In the meantime, you should click over here. They guy's flippin' hilarious. Click on his "How much is inside" link — they dude represents. He totally dedicates himself to the cause of finding out how much is inside. Brilliant! Go click over there, don't waste your time here.

Eatin' shit sandwiches

Yesterday I wrote this about my mom and I making quilts to post today my Haute Mamas blog. It's got nice pictures of the quilts that we've made. Doot, doot, doot. La, la, la.

Meanwhile, Bill and I had no clue that his son was the driver in this incident on Tuesday night. Sean almost killed his best friend due to his own stupid and careless actions. Sean's mom didn't call Bill until 3:30 yesterday afternoon.

Needless to say, it's all shit sandwiches for us today. Bill is devastated. I'm so angry I could ... well, let's just say that I should be kept away from baseball bats or other blunt instruments.

Oh, and what has happened to Sean so far? He's gotten a ticket for reckless driving. A ticket. He almost killed his friend and he gets a ticket.

What is wrong with this picture?

The happy hitcher

Last night on the way home from dinner my dad was telling us about a hitch-hiker that he gave a ride (Who picks up hitch-hikers anymore? Oh yeah, my dad):

My Dad: "The kid was dressed really nicely for a dishwasher. I think he was gay."

Margaret: "You mean he was happy?"

My Dad: *without skipping a beat* "Yep. Happy." And he continued on with his story.

If she knew that gay meant happy, why did she ask for clarification?

She's so like that.

Dude, where's my bench?

As I mentioned in my Haute Mamas post from yesterday, someone "borrowed" the bench from our front yard while Bill and I were in Austin.

Bill was lamenting the theft of the bench when I suggested that maybe someone actually did borrow it and just forgot to return it. He said I was being naive and that it was stolen. I'm having a hard time believing that.

I mean, how could someone or someones walk into our yard and carry the thing off? It's heavy and cumbersome and since I haven't sealed the wood in several years, it's all splintery, too.

Then the question arises of who would want it? It's all splintery and the black paint is chipping off the white paint which is covering the cast iron in so many layers that ... well, it's just not very attractive.

But we liked it.

We liked to sit on it. We liked to display our pumpkins on it:
Margaret and her little girl friends liked to play on it and lay on it and pretend to sleep on it, covering themselves with newspapers like tiny, Central-Park bums.

Our crumby bench got sat on a lot during the nice-weather months when we'd have people over for the expressed reason of sitting around in our front yard. Now all we have left is crusty, plastic lawn chairs.

Oh what a sad spring and summer it will be without our worn, but loved bench.

Good-bye, bench! We'll miss you! Oh and we hope that your crappy slats split and cause the person who stole you to smack their fat melon on a concrete curb ... or something.

Flowers and all the joys of spring

It's spring ... what? You knew that already? Allergy sufferers sure know. Bill's nose has been like a faucet, poor thing.

Anyway, I wrote about our early spring over here.

So it's not just my kid ...

I love how the mom tries not to laugh and every time she does, it makes the little girl smile bigger.

We learned that the hard way — if you laugh they say it over and over again.

Cut the power

I'm looking our the list of songs that my band covers right now. The list contains two columns: covers and originals.

The column of originals is now longer than the list of covers. Yep, we've got 19 covers and 21 originals. It's a good place to be.

I'm searching our list because of what I read in this column which appeared in The Daily Sentinel's entertainment magazine, Out & About today. For those who are click-o-phobes, the column says that my kick-ass rock 'n' roll band is doing an acoustic set for a fundraiser for the local community radio station, KAFM.

Yep, acoustic.

We've been talking about doing this fundraiser, but I didn't realize that it was acoustic until I read that.

At first, I was all — 'the hell? But now I'm really warming up to the idea. We could show the softer side of Riveter and feature Kelley's amazing pipes and be all sweet and cuddly and make more people love us.

It will be interesting, to say the least, to see how this turns out.

Going to the well

I started this blog over a year ago and in that time I've never had this happen: I've gone to the well of good blog ideas and have come up dry.

Sometimes I don't have time to write or don't have the energy or whatever. But today, I have the time — I'm all caught up on my work and am just waiting for the time to skedaddle. I have the energy — I want to write something interesting and/or witty and/or relevant.

But I got nothing.

I went to fark.com to see if I could find a crazy news story to comment on and ... nothing.

I'm trying to think of a funny or even stupid anecdote – nothing.

Gah! I hope this isn't the start of something bad.

Instead you should click here to read about how Richie is not like Ugly Betty or here to read about how Dooce's kid said, "Shit" at the dinner table.

An open letter to the Japanese guy

Dear Japanese guy with the spiky hair sitting a couple rows in front of us on the plane Friday,

You're welcome.

For what, you ask?

For saving you from probable neck injury and possible paralysis when I threw all concern for my own safety to the wind and caught that dangerous carry-on before is smacked you on top of the head. I torqued my upper body perfectly in order to grab that heavy piece of luggage just as it grazed your nicely coiffed hair, thereby, assuring you a good flight, instead of a trip to the emergency room.

Like, I said before, you're welcome. It's the least I could do considering it was my bag and I was the one who let it go before it was carefully stowed in the overhead compartment just above your delicate cranium.

Yes, I realize that you were just sitting there quietly, not encouraging anyone to bludgeon you with their luggage, but I could've saved my rock-starself and let it ker-plop your skull like a ripe melon. I didn't. So, you're welcome.

I know, I know, I'm so kind and considerate — it's just one of my many magnanimous character traits. So, I'll just sit here and suffer from the horrendous spasms in my own neck, happy to know that yours is OK.

I would suggest, however, that next time you wear a hardhat and duck when you see me coming with luggage.

Yours in neck pain,
rivetergirl

Half-cup Bill

In learning how to correctly feed ourselves since Bill's diagnosis, we discovered that often, one serving equals a half of a cup. Um, yeah, we've been serving up way more than that, so there's still a lot to learn.

Bill's doing well. Click over here to read more about his disease and how we're all coping.

Basking in the afterglow

First, Riveter owes a giant THANK YOU to Madalyn Sklar and GoGirlsmusic.com for including us in their Saturday night showcase.
Like I've been saying over and over again, we had a great time. The crowd was great to us. We were treated wonderfully by Madalyn and the other GoGirls folks. The sound guy did a great job with a limited amount of equipment. The other bands were fun and friendly (for the most part).

The fact that the venue was off the beaten track and down a ways from the main portion of SXSW was actually better for us than if we'd been downtown because the people who were there, stayed there — instead of being lured off to another venue.

During the day Saturday, we would walk from venue to venue watching a band for a song or two and then moving on — because you never knew who was going to be playing just around the corner. With our venue on Saturday night, we had more of a captive audience — and what a great audience it was.

While we were playing, I kept having to pinch myself. I couldn't believe that we were playing in Austin during SXSW. Whoda thunk a little, girl band from western Colorado would be playing in such a place?

We love you, SXSW

Trying to recap our whirlwind trip to SXSW would be like trying to describe the horrendous stench that sometimes escapes from my husband's nether regions — I could tell you about it, but unless you witness it in person, you can never really appreciate its awesome power to overwhelm.

Like this:

Friday we arrive in Austin, check into the hotel then drive downtown. We find a miraculous parking spot (thanks to my lucky coldsore — yeah, don't ask) near the fest and we just start walking randomly down the street.

We hear bands from every direction. Bill says, "Let's go over here, it sounds cooler."

Then we find ourselves standing outside Stubb's. Bill cocks his head like a Golden Retreiver listening for the sound of a pheasant hitting the dirt and says, "That sounds like Pete Shelley" and he marches over to the guys guarding the entrance Stubb's garden.

Guess what? It was Pete Shelley and the rest of the legendary Buzzcocks. They were playing just yards away from us.

Bill tells that guy at the gate that he's just got to let him in and the dude did ... and us, too. Just like that, we were standing there taking it all in. I thought Bill was going to bust at the seams.

As soon as they finished playing, Bill says, "OK, I don't need to see anything else and I can go home a happy man."

The whole trip was so much fabulous fun that I'm still trying to take it all in.

You can read more about our show Saturday night here.

Look out Austin

Here comes Riveter!

Bill, Mar and I are driving to Denver with my parents tomorrow, then Bill and I are flying to Austin Friday morning for our debut performance the the Invasion of GoGirls.

I don't think that I'll be updating much, so I'll leave you with this:

After dinner last night:

Margaret: "Gramma, open your mouth."

Gramma opens her mouth.

Mar: "No, like this." She bares her clenched teeth. "So I can see her teeth."

Gramma clenches her teeth so Margaret can see.

Mar looking intently: "Yeah, you got something stuck in your teeth that you can probably floss out."

Indeed.

Driving to the cars

Monday, we packed into our car and took the drive to Gateway to see the Discovery Channel's John Hendricks' car museum.

The weather was beautiful and the drive nice dispite some traffic. You can read about our trip to the museum and see a couple snapshots here.

(But I'll give you a hint, we all — my mom, dad, husband and kid — walked out of there knowing that we saw some really special stuff.)

Where did Monday go

Man, time flies when you're having fun.

First, a note on Bill. He's doing pretty well. We're making the necessary changes, but still have a lot to learn — like if you can't eat cereal or eggs, what do you have for breakfast? Fortunately, we've got an appointment with the diabetic counsellor today and we'll have some of our questions answered.

So that's going as well as we could expect.

Second, Saturday night my little band rocked the Quincy Bar. I was blown away by the many, many people who came out to send us off to Austin — and boy, were they generous. The money we made that night will make a huge difference for us. So a humungous thanks to all those that came and supported us.

We had a great time. Really.

Here's a short slideshow from that night:



Friday we fly to Austin for our big Invasion of the GoGirls gig and we couldn't be more excited. Here's an e-mail I got from Kelley this morning:

can't wait can't wait can't wait can't wait can't wait can't wait can't wait
can't wait can't wait can't wait can't wait can't wait CAN'T WAIT!!!
hope you're having a great week with yo family. see ya wednesday!
kel

So, yeah, excited says it pretty good.

And third, my parents are here visiting. It's been a year since they've been able to come visit and it's been great. I keep hoping that they are going to move here ... or just live in their RV in our driveway. Either way would be great.

I took the day off work yesterday, but I'll write about that tomorrow.

It is what it is

And it is diabetes.

I think we're all resolved to the fact that our lives are forever changed and we're OK with that.

I wrote more about it over here.

We still don't know if it's Type 1 or Type 2, but he's home and managing his sugar level with oral medications at this point.

We're hopeful and optimistic — like we always are.

Ups and downs

Yesterday I was squeaking over our guitar endorsement and our trip to Austin.

Today I'm dealing with a sick husband. Scary sick but manageable. He'll be home from the hospital in a day or two and we'll make the necessary lifestyles adjustments. Life will go on ... thank goodness.

We're official

It's an exciting time for my little band, Riveter.

Next week we're playing GoGirlsMusic.com's Invasion of the GoGirls SXSW in Austin.

GoGirlsMusic.com is proud to present the 7th annual Invasion of the GoGirls during Austin's annual "South by" weekend


March 15-18, 2007




And just today we learned that we have received an official endorsement from Daisy Rock Guitars.



If you click to Daisy Rock's site and then click on the "Artists" button at the top, you'll find us listed under Riveter.

Other than having our shows listed on their myspace and listed on their Web site, we have no idea what that means, but, honestly, we don't care.

We love Daisy Rock Guitars and being endorsed by them, whatever that means, is just a hugely awesome thing for us.

Huge.
Awesome.
Riveter.

Of mommies and daughters (who love their daddies)

As I stood over the bed and strongly encouraged Margaret to get up this morning, she squeezed her little-girl eyes shut and bleated, "I like the way daddy wakes me up better."

Certain that this conversation is going to end badly for me, but I ask anyway, "How does daddy wake you up?"

"With hugs and kisses," she cries.

"Oh," I mumble as the bright-red, "shitty mom" sign appears over my head.

And so it goes when Bill is out of town. Luckily he gets back tonight and all will be right with the world again.

In the meantime, click over here to read about Margaret's sonatina concert.

End of an era

All good things must come to an end ...

I took this picture at my desk this morning. Do you see it?

It's my neck ... out there in the open ... flappin' in the breeze.

Yep, today marks the end of my black, cotton, Old Navy, turtleneck sweater marathon. I lasted 47 consecutive work days of wearing one of my six turtlenecks.

Even though I was getting a bit bored of wearing those sweaters, I loved the fact that I never had to worry about that I was going to wear to work in the mornings.

But the weather is turning nice again and I hate being overheated, especially in a turtleneck. So today I'm all v-necked up.

Now, I'm looking for the next black, cotton, Old Navy turtleneck sweater. I hoping to find the perfect, light-weight, fine-guage, short-sleeved, black — of course, sweater that I can wear all spring. I'm going to to have try out a couple and see what works.

And the search is on ...

Incorrigible

At lunch today the gal behind the counter asked: "What name shall I call when it's ready?"

Bill: "Latchmi."

Gal: *crickets*

Me: "Bill. His name is Bill."

Gal: Sigh and nervous laughter, "Oh good, I didn't know how to spell that other one."

Bill: "But isn't Latchmi more interesting."

Gal: *crickets*

Me: "Yeah, in your own head."

If it's not me taking pictures and movies while we're eating, it's Bill making up stuff to entertain himself.

It's a wonder we haven't been banned from moving freely in public.

Effects of the evil orb

Some of you may remember this rant that I wrote last December about trying to see the dermatologist about what I thought was a return of my skin cancer.

What? You don't remember and you just aren't in the mood to click the link? Fine, here's the Reader's Digest version:

I had skin cancer surgery in May of 2005. Late in 2006 I noticed a growth that looked just like the original cancer on the same spot. I made an appointment with my not-any-longer-because-his-office-doesn't-believe-in-customer-service dermatologist, who then proceeded to essentially stand me up, so I refused to go back.

Not being one to just let potential skin cancer eat away my face, I made an appointment with Richie's plastic surgeon (he's been treating her for skin cancer), way back in December. His first available appointment was Feb. 26. Believe me, this annoyed me but I couldn't go back to the old dermatologist on account of the big fit I threw in their office (my blood starts to simmer just thinking about it).

So Monday, I ran off to see the plastic surgeon for what I assumed would be a consultation appointment. Dude, was I wrong.

The guy — who was very thorough and very odd ... he says, "uuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" a lot — checked me all over for other signs of skin cancer (none of the other two DERMATOLOGISTS looked anywhere but where I pointed) and spent a long time checking out the lumps and bumps on my face.

It was a good news/bad news situation:

The good news was that the cancer had not come back. The thing I thought was a cancerous mole was actually a milia (a little cyst thing) that formed along the scar — ick and whatever ... the doctor cut it open and cleaned it out and now it's all good.

The bad news is that he found yet another spot of skin cancer on my face. Nice. I'm all skin cancery. 'the hell?

Anyway, he froze that off with the liquid nitrogen.

Oh and he did all of that sans any type of anesthesia which is fine but still ... ouch.

So that's that. I have skin cancer. I have to keep going back and having him say, "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhh" while looking all intensely at my face.

The sun is evil, mmmkay?