Who'da thunk Bill and I would become "those" parents.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
All-time new low
Today I ate lunch out with Bill and Margaret ... at Sam's Club.
It's an all-time low for me.
Mar had a hot dog and Icee. Bill and I each had a polish dog and a giant diet soda.
It cost $6.22. Not apiece but for all three of us.
It was cheap, quick and convenient because we had some shopping to do — and totally unhealthy. But that's American way, no?
I've been totally eating better for a while now and really like it (that's not to say that I won't gorge myself on cookies given the opportunity), but I'll pick a salad over a burger any day.
So today when I found myself eating a polish dog that I found disgusting yet delicious, I was conflicted.
But what else is new, eh?
It's an all-time low for me.
Mar had a hot dog and Icee. Bill and I each had a polish dog and a giant diet soda.
It cost $6.22. Not apiece but for all three of us.
It was cheap, quick and convenient because we had some shopping to do — and totally unhealthy. But that's American way, no?
I've been totally eating better for a while now and really like it (that's not to say that I won't gorge myself on cookies given the opportunity), but I'll pick a salad over a burger any day.
So today when I found myself eating a polish dog that I found disgusting yet delicious, I was conflicted.
But what else is new, eh?
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
I wish this weren't true
These are the actual pictures on the pool passes that Bill and I have had for two years. These are our permanent passes for anything we do through the city's park and rec program.
Forever.
Sad, I know. Especially when this is what we actually look like:
This new camera can even make the public "booger" pool look good:
Forever.
Sad, I know. Especially when this is what we actually look like:
This new camera can even make the public "booger" pool look good:
Picture bonanza
Can you hear the dead thud of my feet running me to death? Why am I so busy? It doesn't really suit me.
But I got a new camera (thanks Bill, you're the best). Here's the proof:
Our now-completed back yard. Go us!
Margaret during her first tennis lesson. The girl has a killer backhand. You might notice this picture is a little grainy, but I was sitting three courts away, zoomed in and cropped. Still pretty good.
This is another one I cropped. I love the light on her sweet nut face.
It doesn't get more pathetic than this, no?
But I got a new camera (thanks Bill, you're the best). Here's the proof:
Our now-completed back yard. Go us!
Margaret during her first tennis lesson. The girl has a killer backhand. You might notice this picture is a little grainy, but I was sitting three courts away, zoomed in and cropped. Still pretty good.
This is another one I cropped. I love the light on her sweet nut face.
It doesn't get more pathetic than this, no?
Sunday, June 01, 2008
No, really. It's our backyard
Yes, this is what is called "reverse canoing." And a little look at our backyard. It's not complete yet, but we're on our way.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Now with more stuff
Now we have a gravel play yard, grass and a paver and stone walk way. Next up, an extended patio. The rest we're covering in bark and plants.Go us, with a regular backyard like normal people.
Woot!
Also, my Haute Mamas post where I try not talking about sex with Margaret is featured on FiveStarFriday. Click over there and give me some love.
Oh and I had to drive my car to work today (for the first time this week) because I couldn't figure out how to get the plate of brownies I'm bringing for potluck into the basket on the front of my bike.
So today I'm increasing both my carbon footprint and my waistline.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Not quite the same
Today Bill and Margaret met me downtown so I could have a decent healthy lunch instead of the handfuls of rice crackers that have been passing for my meals of late.
I wheeled my bike on to Main Street, careening around pedestrians and skidded to a stop in front of the table where Bill and Mar sat.
There was a motorcycle helmet on the table.
Why did you bring a helmet to lunch? I asked warily.
Mar chimed in, "Daddy says I have to wear a helmet to ride on the motorcycle."
And there is was, "the other woman," the bike, the Triumph, parked in a spot on the street.
Cue hyperventilation now.
My little girl on the back of a motorcycle? 'the hell?
But then I remembered that the reason I wanted Bill to have this bike was because of the memories I have of my dad taking me for rides on the back of it.
I started to breath more normally. Then I ate my lunch.
It was all good until they got ready to go. Margaret donned the helmet, but Bill did not.
"I told you, that you HAD to wear a helmet if you are going to ride the bike," I bitched.
Bill smiled. "I don't like you riding YOUR bike without a helmet."
Oh.
But come on. It's different, right?
Yes. I'm sure I'm right on this one. Everyone who thinks my husband should be wearing a helmet, please raise your hands ...
See, that's all of you.
(OK, it was just me, but still ... )
I wheeled my bike on to Main Street, careening around pedestrians and skidded to a stop in front of the table where Bill and Mar sat.
There was a motorcycle helmet on the table.
Why did you bring a helmet to lunch? I asked warily.
Mar chimed in, "Daddy says I have to wear a helmet to ride on the motorcycle."
And there is was, "the other woman," the bike, the Triumph, parked in a spot on the street.
Cue hyperventilation now.
My little girl on the back of a motorcycle? 'the hell?
But then I remembered that the reason I wanted Bill to have this bike was because of the memories I have of my dad taking me for rides on the back of it.
I started to breath more normally. Then I ate my lunch.
It was all good until they got ready to go. Margaret donned the helmet, but Bill did not.
"I told you, that you HAD to wear a helmet if you are going to ride the bike," I bitched.
Bill smiled. "I don't like you riding YOUR bike without a helmet."
Oh.
But come on. It's different, right?
Yes. I'm sure I'm right on this one. Everyone who thinks my husband should be wearing a helmet, please raise your hands ...
See, that's all of you.
(OK, it was just me, but still ... )
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
He's a happy camper now ...
Lookit ... Bill's riding his bike on the street and he's legal.Click over here to see the license plate we got for the bike. Is that coincidence or fate?
Yee-haw, Granny, the Clampets got grass
That's our backyard.With grass.
It's a Mother's Day AND Memorial Day miracle!
For way too many years, our backyard has been nothing but a dog and cat toilet. (My concern now is where are my animals going to poop? Can I install some sort of dog toilet?)
But now we have a gravel play yard complete with swing set that Bill and I built for Margaret last year. And this year we dun got grass.
No, not for smoking, it's fer lookin' at ... at least for now.
Now the trick is to see if we can actually keep it watered.
Yeah, that seems easy, but we're approximately one mile from the sun and it's hard to keep things watered here in the high desert. This is precisely the reason we only put a little grass in the back.
We're landscaping the rest with drought-tolerant plants.
But if this mild spring continues, we've got a shot at keeping the grass (at least for this summer!).
So far we've had good luck with things that grow, check out my roses:
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Tuesday's randomness: Part 2
I'm totally great at embarrassing my 17-year-old stepson. Sunday, Tracee and I were after some margarita mix (surprise, I know) so we decided to pay Sean a visit while he was working at the local grocery.
Sean was bagging groceries when I asked him where I could find the margarita mix. His reply: "Uh, I dunno."
He's great at his job.
Then on the way out, just to make sure I continue to hold the title of Evil StepMother, I stopped in front of him while several teen girls where waiting breathlessly to have their groceries graced by Sean's sturdy teen/man hands.
Me: So Sean what time are you off tonight? (Said in my best mother tone and hands on hips.)
Sean: Uh, 9 (glancing around to see teen girls staring at him, followed by a nonchalant — and uber cool — shoulder shrug).
Me: OK then we'll see you at 9:05, right?
Sean: (blushing from the Evil Step Mother's third degree — and yes, one question is the third degree in teen world) I guess so (Oh he wanted to be all, "I'll be home whenever." But he's a pretty smart kid and the last thing he wanted was to have to utter more words to me than necessary.)
Me: K. Bye.
And I sauntered out.
As we left the store, Tracee declared that of all the people in the store and in the parking lot, including girls, Sean was the most beautiful of them all. She said when he turned and flashed his $3,000 smile, it was like a light shone down from the heavens illuminating him like Adonis.
I have to agree, he's a pretty good lookin' kid. But I have to say that because I'm married to his dad.
Sean was bagging groceries when I asked him where I could find the margarita mix. His reply: "Uh, I dunno."
He's great at his job.
Then on the way out, just to make sure I continue to hold the title of Evil StepMother, I stopped in front of him while several teen girls where waiting breathlessly to have their groceries graced by Sean's sturdy teen/man hands.
Me: So Sean what time are you off tonight? (Said in my best mother tone and hands on hips.)
Sean: Uh, 9 (glancing around to see teen girls staring at him, followed by a nonchalant — and uber cool — shoulder shrug).
Me: OK then we'll see you at 9:05, right?
Sean: (blushing from the Evil Step Mother's third degree — and yes, one question is the third degree in teen world) I guess so (Oh he wanted to be all, "I'll be home whenever." But he's a pretty smart kid and the last thing he wanted was to have to utter more words to me than necessary.)
Me: K. Bye.
And I sauntered out.
As we left the store, Tracee declared that of all the people in the store and in the parking lot, including girls, Sean was the most beautiful of them all. She said when he turned and flashed his $3,000 smile, it was like a light shone down from the heavens illuminating him like Adonis.
I have to agree, he's a pretty good lookin' kid. But I have to say that because I'm married to his dad.
Tuesday randomness
Great Memorial Day weekend — except for the part where some asshat set fire to my neighbor's garage causing it and the garage next to it to burn to the mofo ground.
Instead of retelling my stories of riding my bike with my drunk friends at night during which time no one peed in the middle of the street and/or ran into a closed gate at full speed (I, of course, was not drunk), I thought I'd just post some random thoughts.
What? It's my blog. Get your own blog if you have a different story to tell.
So here are some random things that I have probably already twittered:
Instead of retelling my stories of riding my bike with my drunk friends at night during which time no one peed in the middle of the street and/or ran into a closed gate at full speed (I, of course, was not drunk), I thought I'd just post some random thoughts.
What? It's my blog. Get your own blog if you have a different story to tell.
So here are some random things that I have probably already twittered:
- Mar to Bill: Are people born goth or is it a choice?
- No one will sell you sod on Sunday, even if you have already rototilled your entire yard.
- Squatting down to move and level patio pavers will totally give your inner thighs a killer work out. I'm still walking like I spent the weekend on a horse. 'the hell?
- I heard on NPR this morning that to test the nose of a drug-sniffing dog, a DEA agent put a brick of weed in some unassuming traveler's bag. The dog didn't sniff out the drugs and the agent forgot which bag he put the marijuana in.
- I said bad words several times in front of my dear friend's tiny Mormon nephew, but I figured it was OK because his uncle dropped him on his head — on the concrete — leaving a big, red welt. My words left no noticeable mark on the child. We'll see what happens later when he drops a mofo bomb on his nice parents.
- I lied in my last post when I said I wasn't drunk in that picture of me lying on my back porch talking on my cell phone.
- Just kidding, I wasn't drunk. I was — and still am — stoopit. And just enjoy making people laugh at my own and other's expense.
Monday, May 26, 2008
It's a Memorial Day miracle
This is the kind of weekend I'm having:
What? Jealous?
Awesome.
Also water rocks.
P.S. I wasn't drunk. I'm just stoopit.
What? Jealous?Awesome.
Also water rocks.
P.S. I wasn't drunk. I'm just stoopit.
Friday, May 23, 2008
She don't need no stinkin' 2nd grade
Tuesday was Margaret's last day of school. She passed the second grade with flying colors ... not that kids really pass grades anymore, but instead get shuffled onward regardless of their progress, but I'm not in the mood for ranting about our failed education system right now.
I'm just glad school is out for summer. Now Bill is on duty.
I love summers. I get to have lunch AND dinner with my family every day, regardless of the fact that I'm the only one that has to get up early during the week.
Mar's going to be in third grade next year at a new school. I wrote about that over here.I feel like I can finally exhale. No more classes, no more writing curriculum (OK, I will be writing curriculum for the 19th c. class I'm teaching in the fall, but I'm not counting that) and no more worrying about homework or piano lessons.
Thank gravy for summer.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Tot awesomeness
Saturday, Bill and our neighbor, Greedy, were playing what I like to call "hockey pucky." Hockey players call it "stick and puck" — I think they smoke too much crack. Hockey pucky is so much more awesome and can be used interchangeably with "sticky pucky."
So Bill and Greedy were at the ice rink. Greedy's wife, Sarah, and I decided to ride our bikes with our kids down the mosquito-laden riverfront trail and skeetch off at the rink to see the boys play hockey pucky.
We gathered up the kids and off we were.
It was a looooong, but completely awesome ride.
When we came up on the back of the ice rink we debiked and tumbled over the dirt and debris between the trail and the rink parking lot. Those 90 seconds saw us each get eaten alive by mosquitoes. Ick.
We parked the bikes and walked in to find the Zamboni on the ice and the boys not. They had just finished. Doh!
Oh well. We decided to have a cook out to celebrate a friend's college graduation. As we were planning the details, Greedy said, "We've got tots."
Margaret immediately chimed in, "Hey Napoleon, gimme some of your tots."
She's more awesome than I could ever imagine.
So Bill and Greedy were at the ice rink. Greedy's wife, Sarah, and I decided to ride our bikes with our kids down the mosquito-laden riverfront trail and skeetch off at the rink to see the boys play hockey pucky.
We gathered up the kids and off we were.
It was a looooong, but completely awesome ride.
When we came up on the back of the ice rink we debiked and tumbled over the dirt and debris between the trail and the rink parking lot. Those 90 seconds saw us each get eaten alive by mosquitoes. Ick.
We parked the bikes and walked in to find the Zamboni on the ice and the boys not. They had just finished. Doh!
Oh well. We decided to have a cook out to celebrate a friend's college graduation. As we were planning the details, Greedy said, "We've got tots."
Margaret immediately chimed in, "Hey Napoleon, gimme some of your tots."
She's more awesome than I could ever imagine.
I wonder why ...
I wonder why I never posted this picture of Laurena from the Fruita Fat Tire Festival:
I know, we are the epitome of classy.
Last night at practice we were working on a new original song that is based on a certain reality TV show. While Rock of Love was airing, discussion of each episode took up much rehearsal time. To say we enjoyed this show is the understatement of the year ... we reveled in the jacked up nature of this train wreck.
And to show our love for all things Bret Michels (thank you Bret Michaels), we're including references to our favorite parts of season 1 and 2 of Rock of Love in our new song.
That's right, Riveter is uber-classy.
Oh, we love acting out this SNL spoof, way too much:
I know, we are the epitome of classy.
Last night at practice we were working on a new original song that is based on a certain reality TV show. While Rock of Love was airing, discussion of each episode took up much rehearsal time. To say we enjoyed this show is the understatement of the year ... we reveled in the jacked up nature of this train wreck.
And to show our love for all things Bret Michels (thank you Bret Michaels), we're including references to our favorite parts of season 1 and 2 of Rock of Love in our new song.
That's right, Riveter is uber-classy.
Oh, we love acting out this SNL spoof, way too much:
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
At least I'm not sweaty
Throb, throb, throb ...
My eyes opened early this morning and it was excruciating.
Pound, pound, pound ...
Argh, my head.
I tried going back to sleep because I'm stupid and lazy, but the pain was overwhelming.
I stumbled to the hall closet and began to blindly search for migraine drugs. Bill came to my rescue and handed me the box of gold-plated pills (OK, they aren't gold-plated, but they cost enough to be. 20 bucks a pill is just crazy, drug-company people. Make Viagra $20 a pill. Give us our migraine pills on the cheap, ffs.)
I choked down a pill and fell back into bed.
Ten minutes later the nausea brigade were doing a dance in my gut. Thank all things lucky that I still had some nausea medication left over from my fun bout with the stomach flu.
Once I start puking from a migraine, I always end up on the losing end of an IV in the emergency room. (I once had an ER doctor say to me, "Oh yeah, you're migraine puker." Neat! I'm the migraine puker. Good times.)
I choked down another pill, sent my boss an e-mail telling him I'd be late to work then buried myself in my pillows waiting for the evil to leave my body.
Migraines can kiss all three of my asses.
So, no bike ride for me ... but today I am far less sweaty.
My eyes opened early this morning and it was excruciating.
Pound, pound, pound ...
Argh, my head.
I tried going back to sleep because I'm stupid and lazy, but the pain was overwhelming.
I stumbled to the hall closet and began to blindly search for migraine drugs. Bill came to my rescue and handed me the box of gold-plated pills (OK, they aren't gold-plated, but they cost enough to be. 20 bucks a pill is just crazy, drug-company people. Make Viagra $20 a pill. Give us our migraine pills on the cheap, ffs.)
I choked down a pill and fell back into bed.
Ten minutes later the nausea brigade were doing a dance in my gut. Thank all things lucky that I still had some nausea medication left over from my fun bout with the stomach flu.
Once I start puking from a migraine, I always end up on the losing end of an IV in the emergency room. (I once had an ER doctor say to me, "Oh yeah, you're migraine puker." Neat! I'm the migraine puker. Good times.)
I choked down another pill, sent my boss an e-mail telling him I'd be late to work then buried myself in my pillows waiting for the evil to leave my body.
Migraines can kiss all three of my asses.
So, no bike ride for me ... but today I am far less sweaty.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Still biking it
I've always been envious of people who can ride their bikes to work. I love riding my bike, but have been too afraid of looking like a dork in my work clothes to actually do it myself.
Then I realized I always look like a dork anyway so why not just go full-on dork.
Yep, I rode my bike to work again today. It's been four days since I've driven or even ridden in a car. And I came oh-so close to biffing it scared the bejeezers out of me.
I was trying to adjust the location of my water bottle in my basket when I took both hands off the handle bars ... uh, hello stoopit, 'the hell? Luckily I have cat-like reflexes when faced with eminent road rash and I saved myself.
The wild wobble just adds to my dork allure, I'm sure.
I don't think it's going to last much longer, as it's supposed to be 95 degrees today. But whatever.
Not only have I been logging the miles on the bike, but Mar has, too. I wrote about how I spent the weekend nagging her over here.
Then I realized I always look like a dork anyway so why not just go full-on dork.
Yep, I rode my bike to work again today. It's been four days since I've driven or even ridden in a car. And I came oh-so close to biffing it scared the bejeezers out of me.
I was trying to adjust the location of my water bottle in my basket when I took both hands off the handle bars ... uh, hello stoopit, 'the hell? Luckily I have cat-like reflexes when faced with eminent road rash and I saved myself.
The wild wobble just adds to my dork allure, I'm sure.
I don't think it's going to last much longer, as it's supposed to be 95 degrees today. But whatever.
Not only have I been logging the miles on the bike, but Mar has, too. I wrote about how I spent the weekend nagging her over here.
Monday, May 19, 2008
More proof my sanity is closer than ever to being theoretical
The following is a conversation between me and the iced tea sitting in my bike's basket on the way back to work after lunch:
Me to iced tea(out loud so everyone who thought I was a dork for riding my bike to work would have more proof they were correct): Oh no! Why do you keep popping your lid off?
Iced tea (not to be confused with Ice T — whose real name, by the way, is Tracy ... huh): Splash, splash, spill.
Me: Doh. Come on, now. Keep your lid on. We're almost there.
Iced tea: Pop. Spill.
Me: Oh man, my tea's spilling (this was said to no one and hopefully that's who heard me talking to my cup of iced tea while I rode my bike back to work).
Iced tea: Dribble, dribble.
Me: Why did I even bother trying to bring a drink with me.
Me to iced tea(out loud so everyone who thought I was a dork for riding my bike to work would have more proof they were correct): Oh no! Why do you keep popping your lid off?
Iced tea (not to be confused with Ice T — whose real name, by the way, is Tracy ... huh): Splash, splash, spill.
Me: Doh. Come on, now. Keep your lid on. We're almost there.
Iced tea: Pop. Spill.
Me: Oh man, my tea's spilling (this was said to no one and hopefully that's who heard me talking to my cup of iced tea while I rode my bike back to work).
Iced tea: Dribble, dribble.
Me: Why did I even bother trying to bring a drink with me.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Why me?
Why do I have to be the one who talks to my kid about sex? Can't she just learn about it from her friends or read about it in the dictionary?
Gah! Sometimes being the mom is a bum rap.
Click here to read about the awkward conversation I had with my kid about s-e-x.
Why do I have to be the one who talks to my kid about sex? Can't she just learn about it from her friends or read about it in the dictionary?
Gah! Sometimes being the mom is a bum rap.
Click here to read about the awkward conversation I had with my kid about s-e-x.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Cockroach induced screaming
From the "It's a small world" files, I got this e-mail from a friend about the video I posted yesterday of the weatherman freaking out over the cockroach on his foot:
So to the dude who got fired, thanks. Thanks for sacrificing your job so we could laugh at that dude screaming like a girl over a bug. It was totally worth it ... for me.
And I would like to note that we have no bug-related incident at band practice last night and only one incident of Boom Boom, our dude drummer, shaking his head in disgust when we refused to listen to his lesson on music theory.
We're rockin' chicks, we don't need no stinkin' music theory.
I worked with that company during that freak out. The weatherman was with SNN, and I worked for the same company. Management freaked out when it started circling. The guy apparently got a ton of offers, including Leno, but they told him they would fire him if he accepted. The guy who leaked the footage totally got fired.
So to the dude who got fired, thanks. Thanks for sacrificing your job so we could laugh at that dude screaming like a girl over a bug. It was totally worth it ... for me.
And I would like to note that we have no bug-related incident at band practice last night and only one incident of Boom Boom, our dude drummer, shaking his head in disgust when we refused to listen to his lesson on music theory.
We're rockin' chicks, we don't need no stinkin' music theory.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Why crickets are evil AND why girl bands are awesome
Here in western Colorado we have bugs. Huge, black, blood-lusty crickets and giant, flat, stupid "water bugs" that are actually Oriental roaches. Oh and spiders — we've got spiders and lots of them.
Almost every week during band practice there is some sort of bug incident.
The most notable was a tragic event that occurred at the end of a practice a while ago. We were sitting around in our pink, feather-trimmed negligees breathing heavy and dabbing at our glistening decolletes after our obligatory pillow fight (What? You don't think that is what goes on during our band practices? Believe me you'd be surprised. Just ask our dude drummer, Boom Boom. Why do you think he agreed to drum for a bunch of girls?) when Laurena shrieked, threw her bass case across the room and started frantically swatting her head.
Somehow a huge, black, blood-lusty cricket had hopped in her mop and was trying to bore its way into her brain.
It was horrible (for her — hilarious for us).
Today she forwarded me this video, proving that we are not alone with our distaste for the creepy crawlies.
Funny Videos
That dude screams just like Laurena.
Almost every week during band practice there is some sort of bug incident.
The most notable was a tragic event that occurred at the end of a practice a while ago. We were sitting around in our pink, feather-trimmed negligees breathing heavy and dabbing at our glistening decolletes after our obligatory pillow fight (What? You don't think that is what goes on during our band practices? Believe me you'd be surprised. Just ask our dude drummer, Boom Boom. Why do you think he agreed to drum for a bunch of girls?) when Laurena shrieked, threw her bass case across the room and started frantically swatting her head.
Somehow a huge, black, blood-lusty cricket had hopped in her mop and was trying to bore its way into her brain.
It was horrible (for her — hilarious for us).
Today she forwarded me this video, proving that we are not alone with our distaste for the creepy crawlies.
Funny Videos
That dude screams just like Laurena.
The Count loves to ... what?
Hil-flippin'-larious! It's remarkable how something from Sesame Street is simultaneously appropriate yet seemingly inappropriate for work.
Oh and I totally stole this from Jenny over at Good Mom/Bad Mom who herself is simultaneously appropriate yet inappropriate at all times. And that's what I love her
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Her lovely five-head
I love this picture of Mar. Her sweet little face, her little girl arms and her general pinkness.She drew that chalk drawing for a sidewalk contest during the Art and Jazz Fest over the weekend. I love that she does non-objective drawings; she's so avante garde.
I wrote more about my Mother's Day over here.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Time for some mofo celebration!
Friday was our first, white-trashy, front-yard sit of the yard-sitting season. It was so nice to to see our friends again ... it's as if we hibernate for the winter or something. We're like bear-people who just forage for buried roots and berries during the winter, but when spring comes and the first crop of beer is harvested, everyone comes outside.
Our skin is all pasty and translucent (OK, OK, my skin is always pasty and translucent) and we have to wear sunglasses or the diffused spring light will burn our retinas. This changes as spring becomes summer and we move to within a mile from the sun.
Then everyone (except me) gets all tan and vigorous from doing all the outdoorsy things that we like to do.
I was having a really good time unwinding Friday night until Margaret went to bed.
I made a rookie mistake. I laid down with her.
The next thing I know I hear the sounds of people leaving. It was midnight.
I crashed like a first-year freshman at 10 p.m. Luckily no one wrote on my face with a Sharpie ...
But it makes sense. For the past six weeks, I've been spending every spare — and some non-spare — moments writing curriculum for an online course I will be teaching. Six weeks of sitting in my tiny office-like room on my exercise ball trying to be smart, interesting, thorough and correct.
The stress was starting to get to me. Any time I took time to do things like clip my toenails or sleep, I would stress that it was time lost I could be writing. And then like magic, Saturday morning I finished my last little bit of writing.
Sunday after having a lovely Mother's Day weekend, I uploaded all my files and called it good.
Bill went to the grocery. Margaret went to a friend's house. I sat to watch some Deadliest Catch, but I. could. not. relax.
I was sure that there was something I should have been doing. I was anxious. I kept trying to tell myself it was all OK, but I've trained myself these past six weeks to keep working.
Tonight I give the final in my class then I'm off for the summer. No class to teach, no curriculum to write, just my own stuff to do.
My own stuff? What do people do when they don't have to work? How will I pass my free time?
I guess I'll just have to figure it out through the trial and error method. I do think I'll try by adding a bunch of Sauza Hornitos and see what happens.
Our skin is all pasty and translucent (OK, OK, my skin is always pasty and translucent) and we have to wear sunglasses or the diffused spring light will burn our retinas. This changes as spring becomes summer and we move to within a mile from the sun.
Then everyone (except me) gets all tan and vigorous from doing all the outdoorsy things that we like to do.
I was having a really good time unwinding Friday night until Margaret went to bed.
I made a rookie mistake. I laid down with her.
The next thing I know I hear the sounds of people leaving. It was midnight.
I crashed like a first-year freshman at 10 p.m. Luckily no one wrote on my face with a Sharpie ...
But it makes sense. For the past six weeks, I've been spending every spare — and some non-spare — moments writing curriculum for an online course I will be teaching. Six weeks of sitting in my tiny office-like room on my exercise ball trying to be smart, interesting, thorough and correct.
The stress was starting to get to me. Any time I took time to do things like clip my toenails or sleep, I would stress that it was time lost I could be writing. And then like magic, Saturday morning I finished my last little bit of writing.
Sunday after having a lovely Mother's Day weekend, I uploaded all my files and called it good.
Bill went to the grocery. Margaret went to a friend's house. I sat to watch some Deadliest Catch, but I. could. not. relax.
I was sure that there was something I should have been doing. I was anxious. I kept trying to tell myself it was all OK, but I've trained myself these past six weeks to keep working.
Tonight I give the final in my class then I'm off for the summer. No class to teach, no curriculum to write, just my own stuff to do.
My own stuff? What do people do when they don't have to work? How will I pass my free time?
I guess I'll just have to figure it out through the trial and error method. I do think I'll try by adding a bunch of Sauza Hornitos and see what happens.
kirtsy.com
When big corporations throw their weight around solely to crush little guys or girls, it tees me off.
I'm teed off.
Alfter following the conflict between the Web site formerly known as Sk-rt.com (now kirtsy.com) and Skirt! magazine, I'm simultaneously relieved for the uber-cool gals of kirtsy.com — who chose the path of least resistance, which is smart — and really pissed about that stupid magazine being all stupid.
For a more thorough rant, click over to the Bloggess. Jenny lays it all out there is her rant on the indignities of it all.
There's no reason this for kind of behavior from big corporations. They can go suck it.
I'm teed off.
Alfter following the conflict between the Web site formerly known as Sk-rt.com (now kirtsy.com) and Skirt! magazine, I'm simultaneously relieved for the uber-cool gals of kirtsy.com — who chose the path of least resistance, which is smart — and really pissed about that stupid magazine being all stupid.
For a more thorough rant, click over to the Bloggess. Jenny lays it all out there is her rant on the indignities of it all.
There's no reason this for kind of behavior from big corporations. They can go suck it.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Google Ads: Thems some funny shit
If you scroll down past my Twitters you'll come to my nary clicked on Google Ads.
Right now, as I type this, the top one says "Your Pretty Mexican Bride."
'the hell?
Right now, as I type this, the top one says "Your Pretty Mexican Bride."
'the hell?
I going toward the light
Oh, it's so dark in here and I feel all ... funny.
Holy shit, look. There's my lifeless, bloated body slumped over the keyboard.
I should try to get back there. Or ... I could go toward the light and forget all this work and parent-teacher conferences (which was awesome, by the way) and stomachs that still are completely right and migraines ...
But, wait. Bill just got promotion and Survivor was awesome last night (man, those girls couldn't believe their sham actually worked - amazing) and we have people coming over tonight for the first yard sit of the season. AND, I'm a half of a chapter from completing my online curriculum (that's 20-1/2 chapters done and 1/2 to go).
Screw this being dead stuff, I'm heading to the light at the end of tunnel — NOT the light of the Pearly Gates (alright, alright, I know I'm kidding myself about my dead self heading to the Pearly Gates. I'm sure I'll be on the express hand basket to Hades).
Holy shit, look. There's my lifeless, bloated body slumped over the keyboard.
I should try to get back there. Or ... I could go toward the light and forget all this work and parent-teacher conferences (which was awesome, by the way) and stomachs that still are completely right and migraines ...
But, wait. Bill just got promotion and Survivor was awesome last night (man, those girls couldn't believe their sham actually worked - amazing) and we have people coming over tonight for the first yard sit of the season. AND, I'm a half of a chapter from completing my online curriculum (that's 20-1/2 chapters done and 1/2 to go).
Screw this being dead stuff, I'm heading to the light at the end of tunnel — NOT the light of the Pearly Gates (alright, alright, I know I'm kidding myself about my dead self heading to the Pearly Gates. I'm sure I'll be on the express hand basket to Hades).
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Portrait of crazed, overworked woman
I took these pictures of myself ... while I was sitting at my desk ... at work.
Really.
I sit near the front desk where people come in to see how professionally we can all act.
I think I represent well ... or not.
Why did I sit at my desk taking pictures of myself?
What? Don't you do the same thing?
Well, I do, but this one time I actually had a reason. We're making a Web ad for our Haute Mamas blog and I needed a picture. Guess which one I ended up using for the ad ...
Really.
I sit near the front desk where people come in to see how professionally we can all act.
I think I represent well ... or not.
Why did I sit at my desk taking pictures of myself?
What? Don't you do the same thing?
Well, I do, but this one time I actually had a reason. We're making a Web ad for our Haute Mamas blog and I needed a picture. Guess which one I ended up using for the ad ...
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Another cute kid that's not my own
I'm going to keep this picture and bring it out when Jordan starts dating.Click here to see how he re-decorated the bunny doll house.
Someone help me out with this
I love Etsy and all their handmade things. Very cool.
But I'm not sure how I feel about these:
They are ankle spats.
Um, really? Because I don't get it. Help me out here.
But I'm not sure how I feel about these:
They are ankle spats.Um, really? Because I don't get it. Help me out here.
Monday, May 05, 2008
U.S. Postal Service: We Care!
Today I dragged myself home with my grainy, vomit-colored, green-tea smoothie (the idea of the green-tea smoothie was a lot better than the actual green-tea smoothie). I stood at the table to sort the mail before I spent most of my lunch hour at my appointment with the toilet.
I had to laugh when I came across this piece of mail from Bill's dad in a plastic baggie with "WE CARE" emblazoned across the top:
If they care, why are they taking giant bites out of the mail. Don't they feed their employees?
I had to laugh when I came across this piece of mail from Bill's dad in a plastic baggie with "WE CARE" emblazoned across the top:
If they care, why are they taking giant bites out of the mail. Don't they feed their employees?
And the grumbly remains
I barely made it home from work Friday before my guts erupted all over the carpet, the floor, the door, my clothes. It was disgusting and I was home alone.
After cleaning up my puke-o-rama. I laid in my bed shivering. Bill came home and took me to the doctor where I got some anti-nausea medicine that worked wonders.
By Saturday, I felt fine ... the operative word is "felt." I was not fine, I just thought I was.
I worked on my class and rode my bike downtown with Margaret. The weather was glorious. Saturday night we watched a movie with some friends (Walk Hard, again. That movie is way funnier than it has any right to being).
Sunday ... ick. Sunday I was sick again. I stayed in my pajamas and missed a party I really wanted to go to. I was too sick to get any work done and too sick to sleep. I mostly ate Popsicles and watched stupid TV holed up in my tiny, back-room sanctuary.
The weather was gorgeous again and I missed it all.
A co-worker just told me he had the exact same thing as me along with the eruptive vomit storm and the Saturday lull.
My neighbors were sick in the stomach as well with e.Coli. Fer reals e.Coli. They have no idea where they got it and luckily they are much better after being down for five days.
I'm managing alright, but am in a sour mood to match my stomach. Being sick can kiss my ass.
After cleaning up my puke-o-rama. I laid in my bed shivering. Bill came home and took me to the doctor where I got some anti-nausea medicine that worked wonders.
By Saturday, I felt fine ... the operative word is "felt." I was not fine, I just thought I was.
I worked on my class and rode my bike downtown with Margaret. The weather was glorious. Saturday night we watched a movie with some friends (Walk Hard, again. That movie is way funnier than it has any right to being).
Sunday ... ick. Sunday I was sick again. I stayed in my pajamas and missed a party I really wanted to go to. I was too sick to get any work done and too sick to sleep. I mostly ate Popsicles and watched stupid TV holed up in my tiny, back-room sanctuary.
The weather was gorgeous again and I missed it all.
A co-worker just told me he had the exact same thing as me along with the eruptive vomit storm and the Saturday lull.
My neighbors were sick in the stomach as well with e.Coli. Fer reals e.Coli. They have no idea where they got it and luckily they are much better after being down for five days.
I'm managing alright, but am in a sour mood to match my stomach. Being sick can kiss my ass.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
NOOOOooooooooooooo!
No, no, no, James can't leave Survivor because of an injured finger. That's just not fair, Survivor people.
Oh James, I'll miss you and your rock hard abs.
Oh James, I'll miss you and your rock hard abs.
Compelling reading
Jennifer Plesko twittered that these blog entries were riveting. She was so right. If I didn't have to do all this stupid work, I'd be reading this woman's accounts of being admitted to mental hospital all day long.
And some people think twitter is a waste of time.
And some people think twitter is a waste of time.
It's May 1st, here's some snow for you
One of the nice things about living in western Colorado is the temperate climate.
Or I should say normally temperate climate. We just got through one doozy of a winter, but spring was here ... wait ... we thought spring was here. 'the hell?
I think Mother Nature's gone off her med or she's aching for an ass kickin'.
Or I should say normally temperate climate. We just got through one doozy of a winter, but spring was here ... wait ... we thought spring was here. 'the hell?
I think Mother Nature's gone off her med or she's aching for an ass kickin'.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
I didn't want to like it
I didn't even want to watch it, but I was peer pressured into watching Into the Wild with Bill.
I don't like the idea of being alone in the wilderness. The idea of wandering off into the wilderness is about as foreign to me as reading Chinese or understanding physics. Plus it scares the bejezuses out of me.
Bill read Krakauer's book years ago and really liked it and was excited to see the movie. I told him he was on his own. I wasn't interested.
Turns out I was wrong. This story is so interesting.
Of course the movie takes some liberties and there is some conjecture about the events at the end of the story, but the story is so compelling, I couldn't not watch.
I'm always so surprised when my initial visceral reaction to something is so very wrong.
But then again, being wrong is something that I've grown used to.
I don't like the idea of being alone in the wilderness. The idea of wandering off into the wilderness is about as foreign to me as reading Chinese or understanding physics. Plus it scares the bejezuses out of me.
Bill read Krakauer's book years ago and really liked it and was excited to see the movie. I told him he was on his own. I wasn't interested.
Turns out I was wrong. This story is so interesting.
Of course the movie takes some liberties and there is some conjecture about the events at the end of the story, but the story is so compelling, I couldn't not watch.
I'm always so surprised when my initial visceral reaction to something is so very wrong.
But then again, being wrong is something that I've grown used to.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The good, the bad and the ugly truth
The good news is that I'm four chapters from completing the curriculum for an online course I'm going to be teaching.
The bad news is that I still have four chapters to go until I'm done with my online curriculum.
The ugly news is that I've been working all. day. long. every stupid day. I work my day job, then my teaching job, then I come home and work on my curriculum. I take an occasional break to pretend I'm a rock star, but then I'm back at it.
It's more boring and tedious than you can imagine ... or I guess you could imagine if you've been reading this blog or my other blog. I've been writing some pretty lame crap, I know.
I'm uninspired and tired. But Jenny at The Bloggess said she loved me because I posted a picture of myself on the crapper yesterday. And that is pretty much the most awesome thing ever, because that chick is awesomely hilarious in a biting sourcastic way (I'm making it my personal mission to replace the word "sarcasm" with Margaret's "sourcasm" ... just like those people did with the coffee in those commercials all those years ago ... does that make sense to anyone other than myself?). So expect more pictures of myself doing things that would embarrass my mother. (Hi mom!)
If I stay on schedule, I'll be done with my curriculum this week and I get back to my regularly scheduled life which should be including yard sitting (it's that time of the year again) and incessant rambling about things that are funny to me.
Because I used to think I was hilarious, I hope to get that way again.
The bad news is that I still have four chapters to go until I'm done with my online curriculum.
The ugly news is that I've been working all. day. long. every stupid day. I work my day job, then my teaching job, then I come home and work on my curriculum. I take an occasional break to pretend I'm a rock star, but then I'm back at it.
It's more boring and tedious than you can imagine ... or I guess you could imagine if you've been reading this blog or my other blog. I've been writing some pretty lame crap, I know.
I'm uninspired and tired. But Jenny at The Bloggess said she loved me because I posted a picture of myself on the crapper yesterday. And that is pretty much the most awesome thing ever, because that chick is awesomely hilarious in a biting sourcastic way (I'm making it my personal mission to replace the word "sarcasm" with Margaret's "sourcasm" ... just like those people did with the coffee in those commercials all those years ago ... does that make sense to anyone other than myself?). So expect more pictures of myself doing things that would embarrass my mother. (Hi mom!)
If I stay on schedule, I'll be done with my curriculum this week and I get back to my regularly scheduled life which should be including yard sitting (it's that time of the year again) and incessant rambling about things that are funny to me.
Because I used to think I was hilarious, I hope to get that way again.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Oh how we love the Fruita Fat Tire Festival
Saturday my band Riveter played the Fruita Fat Tire Festival. This was our third year playing the festival and we love it more each year.
The crowd was huge and awesome despite the fact it was pretty dang cold, but people stayed and were rocked by our hot selves.
I wrote last year about Team 'Stache. These guys are so much fun and so nice that they made us t-shirts.
Here's mine:
Classy, no?
Needless to say, we had so much fun playing this show. I can't wait until next year.
It's our dude drummer, Scotty "Boom Boom" Davis doing his best Bret Michels impression along side Punk Rock legend Bill Halen aka free sound guy.
Does it look like we're having fun? Because we totally were.
We're so cute we can even rock the shizzle out of mustaches.
Sometimes a girl needs sometime to read an atlas. What? Jealous?
This was actually taken while Laurena, Kelley and I were getting ready for the show in the bathroom of Over the Edge Sports. We neglected to tell them what we were doing and some of the patrons seemed a bit miffed we spent so much time in there spraying glitter and fluffing our hair.
Our rock star lives are so tough.
The crowd was huge and awesome despite the fact it was pretty dang cold, but people stayed and were rocked by our hot selves.
I wrote last year about Team 'Stache. These guys are so much fun and so nice that they made us t-shirts.
Here's mine:
Classy, no?Needless to say, we had so much fun playing this show. I can't wait until next year.
It's our dude drummer, Scotty "Boom Boom" Davis doing his best Bret Michels impression along side Punk Rock legend Bill Halen aka free sound guy.
Does it look like we're having fun? Because we totally were.
We're so cute we can even rock the shizzle out of mustaches.
Sometimes a girl needs sometime to read an atlas. What? Jealous?This was actually taken while Laurena, Kelley and I were getting ready for the show in the bathroom of Over the Edge Sports. We neglected to tell them what we were doing and some of the patrons seemed a bit miffed we spent so much time in there spraying glitter and fluffing our hair.
Our rock star lives are so tough.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Attack of the stomach
For the last couple of years Margaret has an on-again, off-again relationship with monster in her stomach. Sometimes she's fine and sometimes she isn't. Today she isn't.
I think she's reacting to all the crappy food that Bill lets her eat.
While my mom was here, she and Bill would go to Sam's Club while I was at class and stock up on sugar cereals and packages of cookies and crackers and cheese.
Recently I stopped eating this kind of food in an effort to made myself a healthier person. Bill continues to eat the crap and feed it to my kid. So it's all Bill's fault.
OK, OK, it isn't all Bill's fault that my kid is sick, but it's so much easier to have someone to blame. Having to come to terms with my kid's delicate stomach is much harder.
I think she's reacting to all the crappy food that Bill lets her eat.
While my mom was here, she and Bill would go to Sam's Club while I was at class and stock up on sugar cereals and packages of cookies and crackers and cheese.
Recently I stopped eating this kind of food in an effort to made myself a healthier person. Bill continues to eat the crap and feed it to my kid. So it's all Bill's fault.
OK, OK, it isn't all Bill's fault that my kid is sick, but it's so much easier to have someone to blame. Having to come to terms with my kid's delicate stomach is much harder.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
My double Doh day
When Margaret was in kindergarten she got a report card that said she was still learning how to keep her hands and feet to herself. I was horrified that my kid was one of those kids; you know the ones that don't keep to themselves.
She seemed to have gotten better about that over the last year or at least I thought her had.
Click over here to read about my kid's anger issues. Double dirty Doh!
She seemed to have gotten better about that over the last year or at least I thought her had.
Click over here to read about my kid's anger issues. Double dirty Doh!
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Is there a grace to growing old?
When I look in the mirror I see tired bags under my eyes and gray in my hair. I just spend a chunk of my hard-earned cash on several vials of potions to help my skin look better, less lined and old. And I go to the salon regularly to get my gray covered (it used to be because I wanted blonde hair ... now it's a necessity. Doh!)
I wear sunscreen on my face everyday and wear a hat and sunglasses when possible outdoors. I want to preserve what's left of my youthful skin (of course, I want to avoid more skin cancer, too). Must. Not. Look. Old.
But then I see people like Priscilla Pressley:
and I think, "Why would she do that to herself?" When she talks her upper lip doesn't move, nor does she seem to have much expression in her face. She's 63 years old and she's turned her face into a mask. Is looking old so horrible that we chose this instead?
It seems so.
At lunch today I was watching a show on the CMT station (yeah, I have no excuse for why) where some girls are trying out for a traveling singing and dancing group or something. One of the contestants is 37 (my age) and she looked pretty good, but the judges kept calling her an old dog and suggesting she couldn't learn anything new.
'the hell?
What ever happened to growing old gracefully?
I wear sunscreen on my face everyday and wear a hat and sunglasses when possible outdoors. I want to preserve what's left of my youthful skin (of course, I want to avoid more skin cancer, too). Must. Not. Look. Old.
But then I see people like Priscilla Pressley:
and I think, "Why would she do that to herself?" When she talks her upper lip doesn't move, nor does she seem to have much expression in her face. She's 63 years old and she's turned her face into a mask. Is looking old so horrible that we chose this instead?It seems so.
At lunch today I was watching a show on the CMT station (yeah, I have no excuse for why) where some girls are trying out for a traveling singing and dancing group or something. One of the contestants is 37 (my age) and she looked pretty good, but the judges kept calling her an old dog and suggesting she couldn't learn anything new.
'the hell?
What ever happened to growing old gracefully?
Monday, April 21, 2008
Blurzerb, zert, guglug
Between the gas and oil fumes emanating from Bill and the grinding of my overworked brain, I'm more than a bit fried.
I grapple (I so wanted to type "scrapple" there — while living in Pennsylvania a friend once asked a deli counter woman what scrapple was. She replied, "Well, it's ... uh ... scrapple." Warning enough, no?) with common words and have to think really hard to get them out.
I can't even muster a witty twitter this morning. And I have no pithy repartee on the Rock of Love Reunion show yesterday — despite the fact that seeing Heather grab Daisy's weave and punch her in the head over and over was beyond awesome.
Gah, I becoming ... slow and dull ... shoot me now.
I grapple (I so wanted to type "scrapple" there — while living in Pennsylvania a friend once asked a deli counter woman what scrapple was. She replied, "Well, it's ... uh ... scrapple." Warning enough, no?) with common words and have to think really hard to get them out.
I can't even muster a witty twitter this morning. And I have no pithy repartee on the Rock of Love Reunion show yesterday — despite the fact that seeing Heather grab Daisy's weave and punch her in the head over and over was beyond awesome.
Gah, I becoming ... slow and dull ... shoot me now.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
If they didn't already
the neighbors are going to now ...
Bill got "the bike" the started. He's still got some issues to work out, like a sticking carburetor, but the ole Triumph is running.
When I called Bill on my way home from band practice last night, he sounded giddy. Then ecstatic when he revealed that he got the bike to turn over. I was like he won the lottery.
Awesome.
Bill got "the bike" the started. He's still got some issues to work out, like a sticking carburetor, but the ole Triumph is running.
When I called Bill on my way home from band practice last night, he sounded giddy. Then ecstatic when he revealed that he got the bike to turn over. I was like he won the lottery.
Awesome.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
RIP Green Pants
Anyone who knows me in the real world and outside of work* knows that for the last four years I've been wearing a pair of Old Navy cotton capris almost every day during the spring and summer.
Every year when it would get nice enough to start wearing capris I would bring out my favorite green pants. I would finger the fraying seams and worn fabric and wonder how many more years I could get out of my beloved green pants. Then I'd worry about what I was going to do when the knees wore through or a seam split.
This spring was no exception. I unfolded my trusty green pants noticing the stains and wear was getting quite noticeable. I didn't care. I love my green pants, so on they went.
Then two weekends ago, we decided to take Margaret to the movies. As I was hauling my fat ass into the back seat of my mom's new car a tragedy happened.
The fabric that once covered my ample left buttock gave way with a hideous scream. I knew immediately what happened. I jumped out of the car only to witness rolls of gelatinous blubber oozing out of the tear of my green pants.
The fabric split on the left hip area; not on a seam, but right between the seam and the back pocket.
Margaret laughed heartily at my ripped pants. I wanted to cry.
My mom offered a few suggestions on how to attempt a repair, but I knew it was a lost cause. My beloved green pants are dead.
I tried to throw them away, but that just seemed too sad. So now they are in a heap on my closet floor waiting for their trip to the land fill.
Oh green pants, I will miss you.
P.S. I went back through my iPhoto to find some pictures of me wearing my green pants. Out of the 5,730 photos I have this is the only one of me wearing my green pants.
Moral of the P.S. is that I don't have many pictures of myself. Huh.
(* People who only see me at work would be aghast that I have loved a pair of green pants, as I only wear black to work. Really. Only black every day. What? It's easy and I'm lazy.)
Every year when it would get nice enough to start wearing capris I would bring out my favorite green pants. I would finger the fraying seams and worn fabric and wonder how many more years I could get out of my beloved green pants. Then I'd worry about what I was going to do when the knees wore through or a seam split.
This spring was no exception. I unfolded my trusty green pants noticing the stains and wear was getting quite noticeable. I didn't care. I love my green pants, so on they went.
Then two weekends ago, we decided to take Margaret to the movies. As I was hauling my fat ass into the back seat of my mom's new car a tragedy happened.
The fabric that once covered my ample left buttock gave way with a hideous scream. I knew immediately what happened. I jumped out of the car only to witness rolls of gelatinous blubber oozing out of the tear of my green pants.
The fabric split on the left hip area; not on a seam, but right between the seam and the back pocket.
Margaret laughed heartily at my ripped pants. I wanted to cry.
My mom offered a few suggestions on how to attempt a repair, but I knew it was a lost cause. My beloved green pants are dead.
I tried to throw them away, but that just seemed too sad. So now they are in a heap on my closet floor waiting for their trip to the land fill.
Oh green pants, I will miss you.
P.S. I went back through my iPhoto to find some pictures of me wearing my green pants. Out of the 5,730 photos I have this is the only one of me wearing my green pants.
Moral of the P.S. is that I don't have many pictures of myself. Huh.(* People who only see me at work would be aghast that I have loved a pair of green pants, as I only wear black to work. Really. Only black every day. What? It's easy and I'm lazy.)
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Half moon
I took this picture Saturday night while we were standing around looking at Bill's motorcycle. I was hoping to capture the half moon and it kinda worked. Go little Nikon.
Monday, April 14, 2008
In case you were wondering ...
this is what a ’69 Triumph motorcycles looks like in the back of a Ford Explorer:
And this is what it looks like out of it:
And this is what it looks like out of it:
Saturday, April 12, 2008
It's in and he's on his way home
Bill sent me this picture from his cell phone yesterday:
It's my father's 1969 Triumph motorcycle, partially disassembled and loaded in the back of the 1999 Ford Explorer — both of which are gifts from my mother. Both of which are essentially gifts for Bill.
He's been salivating over that motorcycle ever since he first saw it 9 years ago sitting in my dad's storage shed. And now it's on its way to Grand Junction.
Bill's original plan was to rent a trailer and pull the motorcycle home. But U-Haul will not rent trailers to people driving Ford Explorers. Nice vote of confidence for our new-to-us car.
Then he was going to use my mom's snowmobile trailer (and leave the snowmobiles sitting in the dirt until he brought it back in June), but then he finally decided to disassemble as much as possible and get the neighbors to help him load it in the back.
When he and my mom arrived in Truckee Thursday afternoon, he barely let my mom in the front door before he began the quest to get the motorcycle out of the storage shed at the back of the house.
Luckily for him the 10 feet of snow that had been blocking shed access had mostly melted. Then he fussed and fretted and made calls and focused all his energy yesterday on how he was going to get that motorcycle home.
I know Bill to be a guy that likes to get the job done, but he was obsessed with that bike. Obsessed with getting it home.
Barring any unfortunate incident between here and where ever he is in Nevada (knock on wood), that mission will be over sometime tonight.
Wish him luck.
Oh and if you happen to know anything about Triumph motorcycles, lemme know, as we're still not sure of the model (and the title is sitting in my parent's safe ... and my mom doesn't know the combination ... doh!).
ETA: Oh never mind. Bill researched the good ole Internets last night and found out that it's a 1969 Triumph TR6R Tiger 650.
It's my father's 1969 Triumph motorcycle, partially disassembled and loaded in the back of the 1999 Ford Explorer — both of which are gifts from my mother. Both of which are essentially gifts for Bill.
He's been salivating over that motorcycle ever since he first saw it 9 years ago sitting in my dad's storage shed. And now it's on its way to Grand Junction.
Bill's original plan was to rent a trailer and pull the motorcycle home. But U-Haul will not rent trailers to people driving Ford Explorers. Nice vote of confidence for our new-to-us car.
Then he was going to use my mom's snowmobile trailer (and leave the snowmobiles sitting in the dirt until he brought it back in June), but then he finally decided to disassemble as much as possible and get the neighbors to help him load it in the back.
When he and my mom arrived in Truckee Thursday afternoon, he barely let my mom in the front door before he began the quest to get the motorcycle out of the storage shed at the back of the house.
Luckily for him the 10 feet of snow that had been blocking shed access had mostly melted. Then he fussed and fretted and made calls and focused all his energy yesterday on how he was going to get that motorcycle home.
I know Bill to be a guy that likes to get the job done, but he was obsessed with that bike. Obsessed with getting it home.
Barring any unfortunate incident between here and where ever he is in Nevada (knock on wood), that mission will be over sometime tonight.
Wish him luck.
Oh and if you happen to know anything about Triumph motorcycles, lemme know, as we're still not sure of the model (and the title is sitting in my parent's safe ... and my mom doesn't know the combination ... doh!).
ETA: Oh never mind. Bill researched the good ole Internets last night and found out that it's a 1969 Triumph TR6R Tiger 650.
Friday, April 11, 2008
1974 Weight Watchers Cards
Sometime back, Candy Boots found a stack of Weight Watchers recipe cards from 1974 and posted them along with her comments on her site.
Every time I see them, I am immediately turned into a 14-year-old boy. I get totally distracted and completely absorbed in laughing at these cards.
So now that Lynn linked to them today on our Haute Mamas site, I've become utterly useless (not that I wasn't before).
The one that gets me — and — into the most trouble is this one.
Richie and I spent several days a few years back talking about nothing other than the certain word that we learned which was associated with that recipe.
Every time I see them, I am immediately turned into a 14-year-old boy. I get totally distracted and completely absorbed in laughing at these cards.
So now that Lynn linked to them today on our Haute Mamas site, I've become utterly useless (not that I wasn't before).
The one that gets me — and — into the most trouble is this one.
Richie and I spent several days a few years back talking about nothing other than the certain word that we learned which was associated with that recipe.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Gramma driver
My mom has this way of driving where it doesn't matter if she's accelerating or not, but it always seems like you're slowing down.
To say she's a conservative driver is a big understatement so I was not at all surprised to have this conversation with Bill yesterday an hour after he and my mom had left for their trip to California.
Me: Where are you guys?
Bill: Well, your mom forgot she had to get gas so we had to stop at Sam's Club.
Bill: Then she forgot she wanted to take her shoes off, so we had to stop so she could take her shoes off.
Bill: Then she forgot she wanted to take her coat off, so we had to stop so she could take her coat off.
Me: Ha-ha.
Bill: So we're just outside of Fruita. And I forgot I wanted to take my pants off so we're going to have to stop for that shortly ...
Plus, she's insisting that they not drive over 65 mph ... for some gramma reason that I don't understand.
And don't think that Bill will be able to drive faster while she sleeps because on our trip from California to Colorado when I was just out of high school, any time I went over 70 she'd wake up enough to say, "SLOW DOWN."
She has some sort of internal speedometer. It's a little scary.
To say she's a conservative driver is a big understatement so I was not at all surprised to have this conversation with Bill yesterday an hour after he and my mom had left for their trip to California.
Me: Where are you guys?
Bill: Well, your mom forgot she had to get gas so we had to stop at Sam's Club.
Bill: Then she forgot she wanted to take her shoes off, so we had to stop so she could take her shoes off.
Bill: Then she forgot she wanted to take her coat off, so we had to stop so she could take her coat off.
Me: Ha-ha.
Bill: So we're just outside of Fruita. And I forgot I wanted to take my pants off so we're going to have to stop for that shortly ...
Plus, she's insisting that they not drive over 65 mph ... for some gramma reason that I don't understand.
And don't think that Bill will be able to drive faster while she sleeps because on our trip from California to Colorado when I was just out of high school, any time I went over 70 she'd wake up enough to say, "SLOW DOWN."
She has some sort of internal speedometer. It's a little scary.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Bye Mama
I don't know what her problem is? I mean why would anyone want to leave our house?
For the past 6 weeks, my mom has been staying in our house, sharing a room with her precocious ... er, I mean, precious 7-year-old granddaughter. She got an entire drawer in Margaret's dresser and a spot in her closet for hanging stuff. We shared our bathroom with her and gave her room for her stuff. What else could a grandma want?
And while we were at work, the cats and the dog kept her company ... oh wait, she doesn't like animals that much and she especially hates them to touch her.
So what if she has her own roomy house with her own bedroom and her own bathroom ... OK, three bedrooms and three bathrooms without a dog or cat in sight.
I mean we only called her once to come get us because Bill and I decided to share an entire bottle of tequila (Hornitos, of course) with our friends. We'll just forget that Bill forced her to take us to Weiner Dog. She got the last laugh in in that we called at 10 p.m. ... yeah, we're not the late-night partiers we once were.
But whatever.
The good news is that she's going home to get her house ready to sell, to sort through the garage full of my dad's prize possessions and then she's going to move here.
So even though she won't move into our tiny house with us now, she is moving here and that's awesome news indeed.
For the past 6 weeks, my mom has been staying in our house, sharing a room with her precocious ... er, I mean, precious 7-year-old granddaughter. She got an entire drawer in Margaret's dresser and a spot in her closet for hanging stuff. We shared our bathroom with her and gave her room for her stuff. What else could a grandma want?
And while we were at work, the cats and the dog kept her company ... oh wait, she doesn't like animals that much and she especially hates them to touch her.
So what if she has her own roomy house with her own bedroom and her own bathroom ... OK, three bedrooms and three bathrooms without a dog or cat in sight.
I mean we only called her once to come get us because Bill and I decided to share an entire bottle of tequila (Hornitos, of course) with our friends. We'll just forget that Bill forced her to take us to Weiner Dog. She got the last laugh in in that we called at 10 p.m. ... yeah, we're not the late-night partiers we once were.
But whatever.
The good news is that she's going home to get her house ready to sell, to sort through the garage full of my dad's prize possessions and then she's going to move here.
So even though she won't move into our tiny house with us now, she is moving here and that's awesome news indeed.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
1943 Guide to Hiring Women
The following is an excerpt from the July 1943 issue of Transportation Magazine. This was written for male supervisors of women in the work force during World War II.
"Eleven Tips on Getting More Efficiency Out of Women Employees: There's no longer any question whether transit companies should hire women for jobs formerly held by men. The draft and manpower shortage has settled that point. The important things now are to select the most efficient women available and how to use them to the best advantage.
Here are eleven helpful tips on the subject from Western Properties:
1. Pick young married women. They usually have more of a sense of responsibility than their unmarried sisters, they're less likely to be flirtatious, they need the work or they wouldn't be doing it, they still have the pep and interest to work hard and to deal with the public efficiently.
2. When you have to use older women, try to get ones who have worked outside the home at some time in their lives. Older women who have never contacted the public have a hard time adapting themselves and are inclined to be cantankerous and fussy. It's always well to impress upon older women the importance of friendliness and courtesy.
3. General experience indicates that "husky" girls - those who are just a little on the heavy side - are more even tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.
4. Retain a physician to give each woman you hire a special physical examination - one covering female conditions. This step not only protects the property against the possibilities of lawsuit, but reveals whether the employee-to-be has any female weaknesses which would make her mentally or physically unfit for the job.
5. Stress at the outset the importance of time the fact that a minute or two lost here and there makes serious inroads on schedules. Until this point is gotten across, service is likely to be slowed up.
6. Give the female employee a definite day-long schedule of duties so that they'll keep busy without bothering the management for instructions every few minutes. Numerous properties say that women make excellent workers when they have their jobs cut out for them, but that they lack initiative in finding work themselves.
7. Whenever possible, let the inside employee change from one job to another at some time during the day. Women are inclined to be less nervous and happier with change.
8. Give every girl an adequate number of rest periods during the day. You have to make some allowances for feminine psychology. A girl has more confidence and is more efficient if she can keep her hair tidied, apply fresh lipstick and wash her hands several times a day.
9. Be tactful when issuing instructions or in making criticisms. Women are often sensitive; they can't shrug off harsh words the way men do. Never ridicule a woman - it breaks her spirit and cuts off her efficiency.
10. Be reasonably considerate about using strong language around women. Even though a girl's husband or father may swear vociferously, she'll grow to dislike a place of business where she hears too much of this.
11. Get enough size variety in operator's uniforms so that each girl can have a proper fit. This point can't be stressed too much in keeping women happy."
As amazingly obtuse these are, I can't argue with No. 11 — there's nothing worse than a stack full of smalls and no x-larges for us big uns.
Speaking of big uns, let's address No. 3, shall we?
Speaking from experience, "husky" girls aren't more even tempered, they are more hungry. But I do have to say that the reference to "their underweight sisters" was quite delightful.
I'm going to stop calling skinny girls "skinny" and start calling them my "underweight sisters." I think they'll like that.
"Eleven Tips on Getting More Efficiency Out of Women Employees: There's no longer any question whether transit companies should hire women for jobs formerly held by men. The draft and manpower shortage has settled that point. The important things now are to select the most efficient women available and how to use them to the best advantage.
Here are eleven helpful tips on the subject from Western Properties:
1. Pick young married women. They usually have more of a sense of responsibility than their unmarried sisters, they're less likely to be flirtatious, they need the work or they wouldn't be doing it, they still have the pep and interest to work hard and to deal with the public efficiently.
2. When you have to use older women, try to get ones who have worked outside the home at some time in their lives. Older women who have never contacted the public have a hard time adapting themselves and are inclined to be cantankerous and fussy. It's always well to impress upon older women the importance of friendliness and courtesy.
3. General experience indicates that "husky" girls - those who are just a little on the heavy side - are more even tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.
4. Retain a physician to give each woman you hire a special physical examination - one covering female conditions. This step not only protects the property against the possibilities of lawsuit, but reveals whether the employee-to-be has any female weaknesses which would make her mentally or physically unfit for the job.
5. Stress at the outset the importance of time the fact that a minute or two lost here and there makes serious inroads on schedules. Until this point is gotten across, service is likely to be slowed up.
6. Give the female employee a definite day-long schedule of duties so that they'll keep busy without bothering the management for instructions every few minutes. Numerous properties say that women make excellent workers when they have their jobs cut out for them, but that they lack initiative in finding work themselves.
7. Whenever possible, let the inside employee change from one job to another at some time during the day. Women are inclined to be less nervous and happier with change.
8. Give every girl an adequate number of rest periods during the day. You have to make some allowances for feminine psychology. A girl has more confidence and is more efficient if she can keep her hair tidied, apply fresh lipstick and wash her hands several times a day.
9. Be tactful when issuing instructions or in making criticisms. Women are often sensitive; they can't shrug off harsh words the way men do. Never ridicule a woman - it breaks her spirit and cuts off her efficiency.
10. Be reasonably considerate about using strong language around women. Even though a girl's husband or father may swear vociferously, she'll grow to dislike a place of business where she hears too much of this.
11. Get enough size variety in operator's uniforms so that each girl can have a proper fit. This point can't be stressed too much in keeping women happy."
As amazingly obtuse these are, I can't argue with No. 11 — there's nothing worse than a stack full of smalls and no x-larges for us big uns.
Speaking of big uns, let's address No. 3, shall we?
Speaking from experience, "husky" girls aren't more even tempered, they are more hungry. But I do have to say that the reference to "their underweight sisters" was quite delightful.
I'm going to stop calling skinny girls "skinny" and start calling them my "underweight sisters." I think they'll like that.
When tattoos go wrong ...
Very wrong.
(Thanks Markel for forwarding this to me. Nice way to start the morning.)
(Thanks Markel for forwarding this to me. Nice way to start the morning.)
Monday, April 07, 2008
8 years and counting ...
The traditional gifts for the 8th wedding anniversary is something made from either bronze or ceramic.
Let's see. Bill and I are celebrating our 8th anniversary today maybe we should get something like this:
We could save money in that ... uh, yeah, right. Eight years and we still haven't figured out the meaning of the words "savings account."
Or this:
Everyone knows how much we likes ourselves some nekkid goddess and cupid sculptures.
The modern gift for the 8th wedding anniversary is something made of linen or lace.
So we could look for things like this:
Linen is oh-so practical for a guy who works in a greasy machine shop all day.
So this?
Um, do you really want your lingerie to blend in with your skin and extrude your fat rolls out? Because if the answer is yes, then that is all me. But I'm thinking, yeah, no.
So I guess Bill and I will have to go with our usual gifts which is constant love, thankfulness that we found each other and a heaping dose of goofiness. And just to mix it up this year, we're going to throw in a little backyard landscaping — because we're so romantic like that.
Let's see. Bill and I are celebrating our 8th anniversary today maybe we should get something like this:
We could save money in that ... uh, yeah, right. Eight years and we still haven't figured out the meaning of the words "savings account."Or this:
Everyone knows how much we likes ourselves some nekkid goddess and cupid sculptures.The modern gift for the 8th wedding anniversary is something made of linen or lace.
So we could look for things like this:
Linen is oh-so practical for a guy who works in a greasy machine shop all day.So this?
Um, do you really want your lingerie to blend in with your skin and extrude your fat rolls out? Because if the answer is yes, then that is all me. But I'm thinking, yeah, no.So I guess Bill and I will have to go with our usual gifts which is constant love, thankfulness that we found each other and a heaping dose of goofiness. And just to mix it up this year, we're going to throw in a little backyard landscaping — because we're so romantic like that.
Friday, April 04, 2008
Funny shit
This gal is hilarious. In her last post she wrote this:
Now that's some funny shit, people.
In more personal news, I planted grape hyacinth bulbs in the planter outside my front door. They have sprung but not yet bloomed. A few of them look a little corky. And by corky I mean retarded. I think they would have done much better than they are now if people would quit shitting in my planter, leaving malt liquor bottles in my planter, sprinkling pistachio hulls in my planter and otherwise putting things into my planter which are not PLANTS or at least NOT ANY MORE.
People can be such jerks.
I’ve thought about making a small but decorative sign that would say something like, “If you don’t feel like picking up your trash and throwing it away, imagine how psyched I am about doing it. Not even a little bit. At least empty your bottles before chucking them in so I don’t get soaked by King Cobra at 8am on my way out the door to work. And if you really have to go to the bathroom so BAD that you choose to crap in my planter, I am guessing that you are in very bad shape or are dead from pooping out all of your vital organs that last time. That loggage was monster. Was it better or worse than the last time I had to clean up human feces? When it was in a pair of tighty-whiteys sitting on top of the Burger King bag the culprit had wiped his (because you know it was) ass with? The jury is out.”Now that's some funny shit, people.
Can't blog ... working ...
No time ... stressing ... rushing ... waiting ... trying not to tear my hair ....
Just click over here and comment to win some jewelry already!
Just click over here and comment to win some jewelry already!
Thursday, April 03, 2008
The honeymoon is over
Bill flew out yesterday to do a consulting job for the Department of Defense's unmanned robotics project (I know, he's all fancy). I called him on my way home from band practice last night around 9:30 (he left from here yesterday morning around 11 a.m.).
Let me preface the rest of this story by pointing out that Bill teaches math and is very interested in his kids having a strong foundation in math.
I was telling a story about how Margaret was wowing my mom and I with her understanding of fractions at dinner last night. I was expecting an enthusiastic response but instead I got crickets.
I immediately thought of those cell phone commercials about dropped calls and I was all, "Hello ... hello!"
And Bill goes, "Oh hey yeah, good story."
What? I then asked him if he was watching TV instead of listening to me (honestly sometimes I'd rather watch TV than listen to me, but still ... ) and he was all, "Uh, no, uh, I was just a little tired."
Me: Dude, you feel asleep while I was talking to you?
Him: Uh, no not really.
Me: OK then what did I say?
Him: You said, 'Mar was writing down fractions'... and then ... the rest of what you said.
Me: 'The rest of what I said'? You totally feel asleep while I was sharing another facet of our daughter's genius.
Him: I'm tired, it's almost midnight here.
Me: **crickets**
Monday is our 8th wedding anniversary. I feel safe to say the honeymoon is finally over.
Let me preface the rest of this story by pointing out that Bill teaches math and is very interested in his kids having a strong foundation in math.
I was telling a story about how Margaret was wowing my mom and I with her understanding of fractions at dinner last night. I was expecting an enthusiastic response but instead I got crickets.
I immediately thought of those cell phone commercials about dropped calls and I was all, "Hello ... hello!"
And Bill goes, "Oh hey yeah, good story."
What? I then asked him if he was watching TV instead of listening to me (honestly sometimes I'd rather watch TV than listen to me, but still ... ) and he was all, "Uh, no, uh, I was just a little tired."
Me: Dude, you feel asleep while I was talking to you?
Him: Uh, no not really.
Me: OK then what did I say?
Him: You said, 'Mar was writing down fractions'... and then ... the rest of what you said.
Me: 'The rest of what I said'? You totally feel asleep while I was sharing another facet of our daughter's genius.
Him: I'm tired, it's almost midnight here.
Me: **crickets**
Monday is our 8th wedding anniversary. I feel safe to say the honeymoon is finally over.
*****************************************
Over at the Haute Mamas, we're giving away jewelry. Free jewelry. Free nice handmade jewelry. Come on, click it, you know you want to.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Kids who are awesome
I write a lot about how awesome my kid is, but believe it or not there are some other kids that are uber cool as well. Shocking, I know.
Below is video proof of the awesome powers of my dear friends' triplets:
Make sure you check out Chance's face on the left and watch for the cinnamon as it comes out his nose. Like I said people, awesome.
For those unaware, the cinnamon challenge is to ingest a heaping spoonful of cinnamon without any sort of liquid. Just the thought makes me start to gag. And apparently multitudes of people are doing this and posting their reactions on YouTube.
Oh Internets, what did we do before you existed?
Luckily for us, those plucky youngsters weren't satisfied with cinnamon challenge and create this gem:
I love the turkey noises in the background and Piper, camerawoman extraordinaire, telling Chance to stay behind her.
Like I said, awesome all the way around.
Below is video proof of the awesome powers of my dear friends' triplets:
Make sure you check out Chance's face on the left and watch for the cinnamon as it comes out his nose. Like I said people, awesome.
For those unaware, the cinnamon challenge is to ingest a heaping spoonful of cinnamon without any sort of liquid. Just the thought makes me start to gag. And apparently multitudes of people are doing this and posting their reactions on YouTube.
Oh Internets, what did we do before you existed?
Luckily for us, those plucky youngsters weren't satisfied with cinnamon challenge and create this gem:
I love the turkey noises in the background and Piper, camerawoman extraordinaire, telling Chance to stay behind her.
Like I said, awesome all the way around.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
To hell with accountability
| New! Gmail Custom TimeTM | ||
| Ever wish you could go back in time and send that crucial email that could have changed everything -- if only it hadn't slipped your mind? Gmail can now help you with those missed deadlines, missed birthdays and missed opportunities.
|
Wow! I mean, forget about being conscientious, you can use Google's new "Custom Time" feature to lie for you. This makes me want to throw up.
ETA: Doh! I'm so gullible! April fools on me. Click here to read more.
Making the cut
I love this picture of Margaret. I love how her hair is all long and wind blown. (You can click here to read a tiny blurb I wrote about this day over here.)Saturday she's getting it cut into a shortish bob. As much as I like long hair and I love fixing my daughter's hair into braids and ponytails, she does not.
She insists on wearing it down and messy and full of leaves. She doesn't like to comb or brush or otherwise fuss with her hair, so it's coming off again.
We cut her hair in kindergarten and it looked cute and she liked it. Why do we keep thinking that will change? She's Margaret and she doesn't care of her hair's a mess. I can live with that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)