Emptying the Nest

Belatedly Best Wishing

2009-12-29T17:00:00.000-07:00

Dang! Am I a pitiful excuse for a blogger, or who? I can't believe my last post was a month ago. Where did that 1/12th of the year go?
I should probably tell you that I've been in a coma since Thanksgiving and therefore lacked the motor skills required to type while I teetered perilously close to landing in the big blogspot in the sky.

But that would be a rather HUGE lie.

Truth is, I have spent the last 30 days meditating furiously to the mantra
~'I will not stress this year'~.

Furious meditation is kind of an oxymoron, huh?
Whatev. So although I did not stress, I didn't do some other things either.
Like blog.

Stressless December wasn't a total success but it was close.
I ended up taking an emergency vacation day last Tuesday to finish up my shopping and get some baking done.
Lefse, anyone?

But even as we were finally getting around to decorating sugar cookies on Christmas Eve afternoon, I was calm.... although you might not know it from the erratic icing on my gingerbread men, some of which were NOT intended to be that anatomically correct.

For extra bonus points I should mention that my in-laws had already been in residence for FOUR days at that point.
~'I will not stress this year'~
~'I will not stress this year'~

True, the dog didn't get a Christmas bath.
And only the really bad areas of my carpet got shampooed.
Oh, and a shovel was never once put to the driveway after the last storm.
And no one died.
Did you even know that if you drive over the snow enough times it will come to resemble a cleared, albeit slightly lumpy driveway.
That's assuming you have all wheel drive and/or some serious tread on your tires.
And a good run at it.
Watch out for the big, black car turds, though.

This is kind of off topic but do you know what's fun about living on a hill?
Watching people with bald tires try to make it up the hill in a snowstorm.
And fail.
And instead of giving up and backing down the hill they just keep spinning and spinning until smoke starts rising or they slide sideways into the gutter where they have to sit until the tow truck comes.
It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling to know that they have been temporarily taken out of the traffic mayhem game.

Sorry, I digress.

Anyway, I wanted you all to know that I am alive and suffering from nothing but bad time economy.
I do have high hopes for the new year, though.
Yep, blogging and exercising will be my top priorities.
Hahahahaha.

Of course there is always time to take pictures of Santa's little helper.
Merry Holidays, everyone!!!

Okay, so I know receiving is not the spirit of the season but I gotta know: What was your best present???

Let the (holiday) games begin

2009-11-25T12:00:00.001-07:00

Wishing you all a calm Thanksgiving!

(Except my Canadian friends, you just have a happy Thursday.)

Stay safe everybody.

And don't forget to send me your leftover pie.

Peace, hugs & Tums,
Jane

Makeup Days

2009-11-23T17:00:00.000-07:00

The other Saturday morning Omega caught me applying the usual bit of makeup to my mug. She usually doesn’t poke her head out into the weekend until well into the pm’s so possibly this was something she hadn’t witnessed before.

She asked where I was going. I told her I had no plans, which caused her to give me the squinty-eye/doubtful look.
“Then, WHY, are you putting on makeup?”

“Because,” I explained “putting on makeup, as well as deodorant, is my gift to civilization.”

She seemed to take this as one more sign that her 50-ish mother is on the expressway to crazy-old-ladyhood. Okay, I don’t deny that course, but I don’t think that the use of makeup is one of the milestones. Is it?

I’ve never been a heavy user but I find that the older I get, the more I prefer a bit of mascara magic (applied with a wand, duh) on my lashes… just so everyone can tell that I have lashes. And yes, I do this even if I intend to spend the whole day working in my yard because I don’t want to become known in the ‘hood as that dotty old lady with no eyes!

Plus I was a product of the ‘Keep America Beautiful’ generation.

I have friends who wouldn’t consider getting out of the car to pump gas without their full face on – everything from foundation to lip liner to eyelid primer. And I have others who consider chap stick to be adequate.

I’m somewhere in between. Where are you? And, because I’m nosy, are you using more or less these days than you used to?

Just trying to get a feel for the competition, you know.
In case I want to enter the Ms. Sunset Manor pageant someday.

So smokin!

2009-11-19T12:00:00.003-07:00

Hey Smokers! Do you all know what today is?

Uh-huh. Time once again for the Great American Smokeout. Yeah, I know you don’t want to hear about it because it only reminds you how much you really don’t want to be a smoker. And how annoying it is to have your nasty little habit held up to the light by all those self-righteous nonsmokers. And especially how, darnitall, you will not be told when to quit. If you DO choose to quit, it will be on your own schedule. If ever. Am I right?

Wait, wait! Don’t hit that back button!!! Really, I am NOT here to preach.

Seriously. I was one of you. For a long time. And I tried to quit manymanymany times so I know how nearly impossible it is. But, since I have only slightly more self control than a golden retriever puppy, I’m thinking if I can do it, so too can you! You just need the proper motivation, am I right?

Okay, you probably need more than that but since I’m often asked how I quit – did I mention that it’s been nearly 10 years? – and I have no idea how I did it, I’m going to make up some stuff.

Just kidding. Partly. While I don’t specifically remember, if I ever did know, HOW I quit, I do remember some of the WHY I quit.

First of all there's the money. Sorry, but my profession requires me to put that at the head of the list. And, this is the coolest part anyway, because if you quit smoking right now you will be one of the few people in this struggling economy to actually INCREASE your income. If you inhale anywhere near a pack a day, that amounts to nearly two thousand dollars a year of after-tax money. I know, you could buy some pretty sweet stuff with that.

Plus, there are the smoking fees that you hide from yourself: the higher car, health and life insurance premiums, the cost of everything you damage by playing with fire, all that gum and tic tacs you have to buy to hide your smoker breath, and what about all those extra trips you have to make to the Kwickymart?

Then there’s your health to consider. That should actually be first but I think you know it’s bad for you. I will say that one thing that inspired me was focusing on the benefits of quitting. I found a list that tells you what happens 20 minutes after you quit and 12 hours and 2 weeks and on and on. It's nice to know what you're gaining for all your misery.

And time. OMG, have you ever stopped to think about how much time it takes to smoke? I mean, it’s not just the few minutes of actual smoking. There’s the time spent looking for your pack, and finding a light and then getting yourself to a place where you are actually allowed to smoke. Here in You-tah, that’s basically a 2 acre plot of land out by the Nevada border. I think it’s also part of a missile range so be careful with those matches. Butanyway, you then have to get yourself back and try to remember where you were and what you were doing before you were hit with the insatiable urge indulge your addiction.

You know how else quitting has saved me time? When I quit, I had to give up talking on the phone because it was just too hard if I couldn’t smoke and I’ve never really gone back to it. I’m sure my mother thinks I have the weakest bladder in the world because I would usually end phone conversations after about two minutes with a ‘gotta go pee bye’. Not very original, I know, but polite people don't challenge you on it.

By far the biggest reward for becoming a nonsmoker is freedom. You can't believe how liberating it is to no longer have to think about the how and where and when of your next nicotine fix. I did miss it for a long time. I still dream that I start smoking again and I can't tell you how disappointed I get in my dream-self.

Quitting is also a free pass to be absolutely ornery for a while. Don't even try to hold back because you will be all the more likely to go running back to your crutch, Mr. Ciggy.

So that's my sermon for today. Okay, turns out I AM here to preach. But becoming a nonsmoker is a change that is SO worth it in SO many ways that I don't feel bad for tricking you. I promise you will never regret it.

Okay, gotta run so you'll have to run spellcheck and grammer nazi your ownself.

Men are from Jupiter (which rhymes with stupider)

2009-11-13T13:36:00.000-07:00

At a bus stop not far from my office, there is a sloped area covered with size large river rock - a demonstration of The Organization's dedication to water conservation. Or it's disdain for steep water bills. Or both.

We do live in the desert so it is a marvelous thing to see that someone had the good judgment to replace much of the skinny little grass strippage with something more drought tolerant. Like rocks, because we have TONS of rocks in You-tah and they aren't all being used to fill our legislators' skulls.

While rocks are low maintenance, they're not particularly interesting. Unless some enterprising soul - I'm guessing an art student, a potter in particular - has left his mark.

If you've ever spent much time waiting at a bus stop.... the SAME bus stop every day, you know that pretty soon you run out of things to look at and you find yourself staring down at drought-proof parking strips while mentally making your evening must-do list.

Until one day you notice a rock that looks like it has a face! Very subtle features, but unmistakably human. Huh, you think, cool rock! But your bus comes before you can get a closer look.

Next day, or maybe a week later - it's hard to affix a time line to bus stop coma - you have the same experience. That seeing-the-face thing. Only this time you have arrived uncharacteristically early, so you have time to check it out and notice, wow, there is another one!
And another and another....

Amid the hundreds of the basic roundish rocks, averaging maybe 6-8 inches across, someone had cleverly tucked handmade faux rocks with facial features into the mix. They appeared ceramic in origin, made of multiple shades of clay with various size and expression. Nothing about them was obvious.

I just don't think I can express how excited I got. True, I tend to find delight in odd places but this was a complete Nobel Prize for Cool, odd thing for me.

And what made it even cooler was the fact that no one else at that bus stop ever seemed to see what I saw. At first I was tempted to share this coolest, cool thing with my oblivious stopmates. But I didn't because first, there's the unwritten no-chatting rule at bus stops, which is very similar to the elevator etiquette that says: Everybody face forward and ignore each other! Secondly, it felt like the kind of thing that would lose magic if it had to be pointed out. Or possibly I was just feeling greedy, point is that I kept mum. Which is unusual for me.

Meanwhile, I'm sure those around me were all making mental Post-its that said 'Do NOT sit next to the crazy Bus Stop Mona Lisa Lady who smiles at rocks!!'

I'm not saying that I was the only one who ever saw those faces. That bus stop is visited by hundreds of people every day while I only know what goes on between about 5:04 and 5:09 Monday through Friday when the worker bees gather to head home from work - thinking about what's for dinner or how they're going to fake their way through another 8th grade Algebra homework assignment.

I badly wanted to get some pictures of this rock project because someone had gone to a LOT of work and wouldn't that make a great desktop background? Sadly I never remembered my camera and didn't think to use my phone camera.

And then one Monday the opportunity was lost forever. I got to the bus stop and found... pieces. Bunches of scattered pottery shards because some a$$hole had taken and smashed as many faces, I assume, as they could find.
Over the next week or so the rest either disappeared or joined the Humpty Dumpty club.

Months later, I am still kind of angry about it and I don't know what prompted me, but the other day I related the whole sad story to my husband. Now I didn't expect he would understand my excitement over fake rocks, but when I wondered what kind of a sleaze bag would do something like that, I did not expect the response that I got.

I said "I just don't get it. I mean, I can sort of understand people stealing them; I would guess that they like them so much, they want one for themselves, but I just can't make sense of someone who would just destroy them. What were they thinking?"

To which Homer shrugged and replied "I can't believe you would expect that they were thinking anything. I'm sure it was boys. Boys smash things."

Yeah, that's what he said. And don't yell at me because this is coming from a guy who once threw rocks to smash out half the windows of his neighbors' large passenger van. His friend did the other half. He was probably only 5 or 6 but he says he still remembers how much fun it was to see who could make the biggest spider in the glass.

Yeah. And suddenly I don't feel so bad that his Y chromosome won't be moving on to the next generation.

They are Pants-tastic!

2009-10-23T16:00:00.000-06:00

One of the side effects of my summer of bicycle commuting has been a marked reduction in my assular acreage. Yay!
Except now none of my pants fit. Boo!
Since I haven't had two spare minutes to rub together, let alone the time it takes to tailor pants, I had to break down and go shopping.

Everybody say 'Ahhhh, poor you' in your most sarcastic voice.
Yeah well, when you are 5'11", most of your pants shopping is done via the internet where there are NO DRESSING ROOMS and have you bought pants lately?

It is no longer just a matter of size and stature. Nowadays you have to take into account your degree of curvi- vs. flat-assedness.
Do you want flare, boot cut, straight or my-feet-are-stuck!?
Above the waist, at the waist, slightly below the waist, low waist or free-bikini-wax-with-purchase waist?
And as long as we're talking mid-section, are you equipped to utilize the contoured waist, the secret expansion waist or the no-waist waist? Wtf's that? For women who go straight from hip to boob?

And they are so evasive about who they are designed to fit. They give them cute names like Mercer and Modern and Marisa and Diva cuts. They use obscure terms like generous and tapered and relaxed and slim. Can pants really relax?
Only if you spill a martini on them.

Anyway, by my calculations there are about 15 fidzillion possibilities so what are the odds that you are going to end up with something that fits well when you can't try them on? Probably 15 fidzillion to one. Duh, Jane.

I was so disheartened when I couldn't find a No-ass/Mini-muffin top/Poochie thighs fit that I was tempted to quit shopping and get back to work. Ah, but then I felt my baggy underwear sliding down inside my baggy pants and it's just not a splendid or professional feeling so I bucked up and reverted to my traditional pants shopping method: buy the first ones I find that are on sale and available in my size.
Did I also mention that I (now) have what seems to be the most popular tall size and therefore the one that is least available?

Well, my aggravation did not go unrewarded. Three new pair of pants arrived on Tuesday and can I tell you that already this week I have saved about half a day by not having to wrestle with a safety pin every time I visit the restroom. And today I am wearing a pair of stretch jeans that I have not had to pull up over my crack ONCE! And I'm not even wearing a belt!!! They are awesome and I think I now understand the concept of the other crack. If the feeling I get wearing these pants was only available on a street corner for 20 bucks, I would be rooming with Lindsay down at the Cir*que.
And if the latest magazines are forreals, I'd be prettier.

Have a skippy weekend, everybody!

It's a wonder she doesn't sound like Marge Simpson

2009-10-19T15:47:00.002-06:00

A friend’s grandson had his tonsils and adenoids removed a last week and Grandma was very worried about the little guy going under the knife. Of course she was.

Me, being the tonsillectomy veteran that I am, told her ‘Bah! Don’t worry!’ Which she still did but she later reported that everything went ‘just fine - just like you said it would’.

As if I am an expert. I talk a good game because fifteen years is a lot of time to sort of smooth over my memory of Alpha’s surgery. I mean it really did go well but probably could have been better – if she had had a different mother.

Alpha had tonsils the size of Tootsie Pops almost from the time she was born – inherited from her father’s side, as most of the troublesome traits tend to be. By the time she was 5 they were so big that that little thingy that hangs at the back of your throat? Yeah, uvula or whatever. It had creases in the front and (I assume) back from being squished between the Tootsie tonsils. She also had nasty ear infections and snored like her grandmother (dad’s side again). Once she began dabbling in sleep apnea, her pediatrician called time out – as in TIME to take the tonsils OUT!

Aack! Cut up my baby? No, not my gentle little happy giant.

I’ll skip over all my neurotic second guessing and second opinioning and ~~second~~ third drinking and get to the actual surgery, which I did have the good sense to set up at the finest children’s hospital around (Okay, that’s where my health insurance sent me but I really would have picked it myself!) and a tonsillectomy was scheduled for June in hopes of working around ear infection season despite my definitely dragging heels.

I mean, it feels so wrong - handing over a strapping, healthy child to be surgically modified. By a knife! I know, I know, this probably edging into the great circumcision debate but really, you can live without a penis. I’m talking about my daughter’s throat! A necessary conduit for life! Besides, I have no opinion in the foreskin discussion. That is my reward for carefully harvesting only my husband’s X chromosomes.

Anyway, we showed up at the hospital at 8am and took Alpha through all the pre-surgical rigmarole, which included cute jammies and slippers and pink pony band-aids over the needle sticks that those tricky pediatric nurses seemed to pull off without even being noticed.

At 10 am sharp she walked bravely down the hall holding hands with the anesthesiologist. Gelp!

To avoid the uncool appearance of nervous, pacing parentness, Homer and I wandered down to grab a pop in the cafeteria and were still arguing about who was going to pay the tab when my cell phone rang - the doctor was looking for us. After only 20 minutes??? Oh no, they had lost her! And I didn’t mean misplaced. I had visions of her little throat bleeding uncontrollably after the evil doctor carelessly plucked out her tonsils - probably using some old rusty nail clipper and ragged tongue depressor.

We rushed back and met the surgeon who recapped the surgery as a smooth and simple tonsil- and adenoidectomy. He hadn’t known how dreadful her adenoids were until he got a peek behind the tonsils. Wow, two ectomies for the price of one co-pay. Christmas in June!

And now Alpha was ours to tend in recovery. As promised the recovery room had a Disney movie playing and offered popsicles and drinks. It was a dim, quiet room and quite peaceful in spite of the six or so other ectomy patients with loving parents hovering near.

Poor Alpha! So brave, but Mommy's here for you.

I leaned in toward Alpha and asked her what she would like. A drink? A popsicle? Her lips moved but I couldn’t hear what she was saying (keep in mind this was back when my hearing was 20/20). So I leaned in closer and asked again. She squeaked out a little something through her freshly butchered throat but, darn it, I just couldn’t make it out. So I asked once more.

And she yelled ‘Please MOVE!’

I was blocking the movie.

And I made her yell.

All the parents turned and shot me those looks that said ‘What a rotten mother! To make your child yell in her condition!’ Or so I imagined. I felt this big so I sat down and shut up and faster than you could say happily ever after, the movie was over and we were on our way home. Not one tear had been shed. In spite of me.

After two hours Alpha had had enough of bed rest and asked to jump on the trampoline. Even I could see that might be a poor choice so I spent the next two days holding her down and demanding that she act sick. I was warned that the third post-surgical day could be the worst. And it was. By then it was like trying to hang on to a dozen stringless balloons in a hurricane. Therefore, on the 4^th day I caved and let her go back to summer camp. She never looked back and I have chosen to file the experience in my head under the ‘delusions of good parenting’ category, thankyouverymuch.

Bossy vs Miss Hyphens

2009-10-16T14:01:00.001-06:00

As I wandered into the office this morning, rummaging through my bag:

Me: Crapnuts, I think I have some bad news.

Trusty Assistant (in her signature smug tone): Let me guess. You forgot your office keys.

Me: No, Miss OCD-Virgo-who-has-never-forgotten-or-misplaced-a-single-thing-in-her-entire-life, I did NOT forget my keys….. It’s my wallet.

TA: What about it.

Me: I took it out to file and pay taxes online last night.

TA (with her judgmental eyebrow cocked): File your taxes…. In October.

Me: Shush you, Miss File-in-January-and-miss-all-the-fun-of-an-extension-hanging-over-your-head-for-six-months! UHH! I remember holding it in my hand and thinking ‘I’ve GOT to get this back in my bag.’ GAH! I am so pissed at myself.

TA: Well now, why would you need your wallet?

Me: Lunch? Remember we’re going to Rio?

TA: Yes, but do YOU remember that it’s Bosses Day and I’m buying.

Me: That’s totally not necessary. And would only encourage my witchy ways. Oh! Here it is in the tax binder! Geez, I am SUCH a dork!

TA: Okay. I’ll give you that one.

She is darn lucky it isn’t Administrative Professional’s Day because her smart mouth would cost her some very good Mexican food.

And no, I will NOT admit to her that I forgot my office keys.

Honestly!!

2009-10-09T10:15:00.000-06:00

(Quite) a while back I got word from Lorna the Bathtime Blogger, that she had an award for me over at her place. I was tempted to go all lazy-crazy on her about why SHE couldn't bring it to ME, but then I started thinking about the Academy awards and Nobel prizes and how they aren't delivered, so quick as molasses, I zipped over and picked it up.... like 2 and a half weeks later.

Whew! Long sentence, huh? I better slow down on the caffeine.

So, anyway, this is the award. (What the heck is that tied around the elbow? A tourniquet from cutting the arm off?)

And although I am honored that Lorna believes me to be an honest, from-the-heart blogger, I'm also a bit exhausted from cutting and pasting and hauling it way the heck over here. And now, after reading the fine print, I see my work has just begun. The directions say I have to list ten honest things about myself (aack!) and pass the award on to seven more bloggers who write heartfelt prose. Well at least I don't have to go buy a dress and get all fussied up.

Okay... ten honest things. This could take some time.

1. I'm a total hypocrite. My hypocrisy really shines when I drive. I will fully cuss out the lady in the blue minivan for doing exactly what I did yesterday. I know it and I'm not proud of it. I just can't stop it. Even if it is completely apparent that I had a MUCH better reason for doing that thing.

2. I am freakishly attracted to shiny metallic objects. It must be the raccoon in me because I have been known to pick up hubcaps from the roadside. This does NOT apply to wearable sparklies like glitter, metallic clothing, or diamond studded handcuffs.

And here I am a week later working on #3. Told you this wasn't going to be quick.

3. I am a procrastinator. My philosophy is why do today what you might not have to do tomorrow? Seriously, what if I got mowed down by a gravel truck on April 14th? I would have totally wasted all that time I spent doing my tax returns early.

4. I think my bosses have too high opinions of me. Some days I feel like a complete poser.

5. I love having teenagers much more than I ever liked having babies or toddlers. I mean I have loved my daughters every day of their lives but frankly, they scared me until they were almost eye level.

6. I do not believe that I will ever be okay with unpainted toe nails. On myself, I mean. Even if I fall victim to the darkness of dementia, I swear that one tiny cognizant part of me will KNOW and that, my friends, will be my hell - staring down at bare, and probably fungicized, toes.

7. I like to do cross-stitch. Not exactly an action sport but it is just the therapy I need at times when nothing else in my life fits perfectly into a color-coded grid.

8. I have no sense of direction. I'm notorious for going the wrong way every time I exit a store in the mall. Luckily, I did not pass this on to my children who often have to pluck me by the shirt back and spin me a 180. I guess you can figure out why they always insist on driving.

Oh, so close, only two more! Hmm....

9. I CANNOT sing. I couldn't carry a tune even if you put it in my purse and zipped it shut. The good news is I don't sing. Unless I'm alone or wanting to hurt someone.

10. The thing that is currently scaring the $hit out of me is how fast time flies. I am often shocked and panicked by how fast Monday becomes October and tomorrow becomes two years ago. I have too much yet to do and I am not at all ready to stare at my toes!

And now.... one of the things I have to do is pass this little gem on to seven other people. Since most of you probably got this award l-o-n-g ago, hmm.... I think I will do a little research and hand out the awards in my next post.

Meanwhile, have a dang skippy weekend.

Peace, Love, Long weekend.

Like Cartalk, but prettier

2009-09-28T11:16:00.002-06:00

Monday morning carpool, waiting at a red light, watching pedestrians:

Jane: "Is it just me or are there are a lot more Asians on campus this year?"

Alpha: "Hmm, I don’t know…. It’s probably like when you buy a car and you start noticing them everywhere."

Jane (exhibiting her total lack of self-control): "So you’re saying that I’m seeing Asians because I own a Toyota?"

Alpha (eyes rolling): "No, like you saw a bunch of them one day and now you are noticing them more." , (Then moving on) "You do know that Indians and Russians are technically Asians, too...."

Jane: "Yeah, but they don’t make a decent car so they’re not as noticeable."

I guess it's pretty clear why she doesn't leave home, huh?

Eight Ball in the Corner Canal

2009-09-25T12:00:00.002-06:00

Dear Lazy Homeowner on 20th Street:

If you should happen to notice that your trash can is not in its usual place almost completely blocking the bike lane in front of your house, worry not, it hasn't traveled far.

I won't bore you with a lecture on how the trash collectors only visit your street on Mondays no matter how long you leave your can out, or point out that if you would park it just a little more to the IN or the the OUT it would be navigable or even snarkily remark that it has wheels for a darn good reason.

No, I will just suggest that you change out of your Italian loafers before you attempt to wrangle your curb ornament out of the irrigation canal because when it came down to making a skippy-quick decision whether to become retread on a plumbing truck or knock your trash can into next Tuesday, I chose the selfish route.

Oh, and before you go after it, you might want to make sure your shots are up to date and check for open sores because it looks fairly foul down there.

p.s. - Maybe I could have caught it.
p.p.s. - But I didn't even try.

So much to learn, such little brain

2009-09-09T12:00:00.004-06:00

Whew! Now that yesterday is over, I'm anxious to hear how everyone's kids survived the President's socialist indoctrination speech. Did your students come home and pack their bags for China or are they determined to stay and fight the imperialist repression? Or were they totally sheltered from all that hard work/personal responsibility propaganda?

I'm curious because my only K-12 kid was working in the school preschool during the speech and for some reason they have no TV. I KNOW! How unAmerican is THAT? Soennyway she missed it.

When they announced that President Obama would be addressing school children about staying in school, you would have thought that his speech was going to be all about condoms, gay marriage and hard lemonade for all the fuss.

Seriously, when I thought I heard my local news anchor say that some 'Parents are taking issue with Obama’s speech', I convinced myself that he must have actually said that 'Herons are baking tissues on Bahamas beach'.
My hearing malfunction makes it easier to ignore things that might get me worked up. So I did.
Ignore it, I mean.

Even though parents were calling their schools and district bigwigs demanding that their children’s time not be 'wasted' listening to the President of the United States tell them to stay in school because that was probably just a ploy to tinker with their impressionable minds. Some parents were even threatening to keep their children completely out of school yesterday. Some teachers were being required to get permission slips signed by their parents before they were allowed to view the speech. Woo hoo! Let's here it for open-mindedness.

One of the advantages of living in the reddest of red states is that most days I go to bed feeling like the most rational, sensible person in the world. Although You-tah doesn’t hold the copyright on freaky, it must be sold at Co$tco in very large, cheap bundles - with rebates because boy howdy, it runs rampant.

Happily, our high school seemed to be a bit more reasonable. The principal just sent out a voice mail telling parents to email her if they wanted their child to opt out of the broadcast. Which I did not. And still that kid missed it. How am I ever going to get her brainwashed now?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so excited that Alpha is back to school and carpooling with me - even if it is only 3 days a week this semester - because I learn so much from my college girl. This morning... as we sat perfectly still in traffic on the 215:

Alpha (halfway through a large cup of JavaJoe's): Oh, hey, today's the ninth! Mattie says that because it's 9/9/09 and 9+9+9=27 and 2+7=9 something BIG is going to happen today! Maybe this is it!

Jane (too busy shifting gears to drink anything): Huh?

Alpha: The nines thing! Maybe Jesus is up there blocking traffic. People would probably stop to see Jesus, right?

Jane hoped the traffic tie-up would be because someone was handing out free helpings of rationality.

But it was neither. :o(

Weptember

2009-09-01T11:30:00.000-06:00

In case you missed the memo, it's National Wear White Week. NWWW is the week leading up to Labor Day when you cram in a final wearing of all the cute WHITE stuff that the Fashion Nazis *coughKAT* prohibit the wearing of after Labor Day.

Okay, I made that up. The National Week part, not the Fashion Nazis. They are fer-reals. The minute the clock strikes Day-after-Labor-Day, they tell us to put away our white shoes and skirts and pants. Probably jackets, too, but it seems like most things worn above the waist are safe. Apparently there are intricacies to 'the rules'.
Why?
Where did this come from?
I have no idea but as is my way, I don't understand it so I'm going to poke fun at it.

Don't mistake me for bitter just because I was ridiculed last year for wearing my white linen pants on September 4th, which had the bad fortune to fall AFTER Labor Day. So even though September 4th is a perfectly legal white-pants day THIS year, last year it was not and I was given a rash of crap that alas, is not a good thing to get when you are wearing white pants because they do not hide either a rash or crap very well.
In my defense, the weather was still sunny and hot but more importantly those pants were freshly IRONED! Seriously, no sane woman packs away white linen pants that have been painstakingly ironed. LINEN, people! I will never get back those 20 minutes nor will I let them go to waste.

I was originally going to lie about next Tuesday being National Wear White After Labor Day-In Your Face Snooty Fashionistas Day!
But that's so awkward. And who am I to tell you what to wear.
I just don't want you to waste your good ironing time.
So that's why I made up the National WWW day.
To save you the same wicked fate.

You are SO welcome.

peace, love, panty lines

Do these things happen to other people?

2009-08-21T13:00:00.000-06:00

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Okay, I promised I would share this story and I've been trying to get it done but my mental keyboard keeps jamming and.... oh hell! I just hope this is semi-understandable. Also note the battle I fought with the blogspot spacing demon. Yeah. I lost.

A few weeks back I woke briefly at too-dark o'clock thinking that I heard a weird noise coming from the other end of the house. If you know much about me, you know that since last November everything sounds bit odd to me. And if you know anything at all about me, you know that I am a VERY sound sleeper.

~~I hate to brag but sleeping really IS what I do best.~~

So the idea that a sound had the power to wake me should have set off some major alarms in the self-preservation part of my brain.

~~Like 'Wake up dummy so you live to sleep another night!'~~

You'd think.

But, you'd be wrong.

MY brilliant response was to assume it was Homer kicking up some kind of ruckus during one of his middle-of-the-night feeding frenzies.

Seriously, I consciously chose to NOT reach out and confirm that the spot next to me was, indeed, empty. My reasoning ran along the lines that if I were to encounter a warm body I would either have to worry about what the noise had been, or worry about who it was in bed with me.

~~Granted, that last option could have tilted more toward excitement than worry but either way, I knew it would mean I'd be losing some sleep.~~

So I rolled over on my good ear and got back on the train to Snoozeville.

Then... big derailment as I am jolted awake by bright light and foot poking.

"Jane!"
poke, poke
"Ja-ane!"
poke

~~It's amazing how many things can whiz through your sleep-befuddled brain when you are startled awake. Like OMG, I overslept! that stupid alarm! I told you it was broken, wow it's dark out, did the sun burn out? is it a fire?! OMG, am I wearing good underwear? where are the dog, the cats, the kids? why is he whispering? a burglar! OMG, if some slimy thief touches grandma's silver lutefisk spoon I will personally see that he has the biggest, baddest boyfriend in the entire prison!~~

But it sounds like Homer is saying "Jane! Jane! I've got a good one for you!"

~~Good frickin grief, drunk at 4:30 in the morning? He seriously did NOT wake me up to tell me a joke. WHAT is he saying???? something's in the dining room....????~~

"A what?"

"mruffdll"

"Huh?"

"uritull"

~~FYI - my hearing gets no better when I'm stressed.

Or awakened prematurely.~~

"A.... a pit bull?!?!"

"YES!"

~~I'm still suspicious that he's under the influence of something.~~

"Reee-leee?"

~~ Sure thing honey, where's Ashton Kutcher?~~

"YE-US!!!"

~~And it was so cute because he was standing at the foot of the bed - cleverly out of striking distance - sounding like a little kid reporting a boogy man under his bed.~~

But then he starts fleshing out his story with how he thought he heard PepperAnn whining (she doesn't whine, EVER.) so he bravely/foolishly went to see what was wrong with our precious princess when all of a sudden a growling pitbull charged at him from under the dining room table! Yeah. Pit bull. In the dining room. That's what he said. And strangely, I believed him.

AACK!!!

~~ I won't be getting back to sleep, will I?~~

Then I'm all freaking out about the safety of our dog and our slutty cats that tend to stay out all night and our daughters even though the daughters are 1000 miles away....

~~Let me tell you right now that it is IMPERATIVE that Homer and I never become part of any emergency response effort. Ever. We are not resourceful. We are not quick thinkers even when held hostage in our own bedroom without a phone or a weapon more deadly than a nail scissors or even a steak laced with pitbull tranquilizer at our disposal.
Dammit! Who's turn was it to thaw the steak?!?!~~

Homer keeps mumbling that he needs his PANTS! which are in his closet ACROSS THE HALL! which would necessitate OPENING! the bedroom DOOR! and giving that PITBULL direct access to OUR THROATS!

~~Well, hold on a sec honey, let me baste myself in gravy so I go quickly.~~

At some point we did surmise that the marauder was probably one of the pit bulls from across the street and that it must have jumped our fence and come in through the dog door. Or maybe we figured that out much later. It's kind of a blur but we did calm down enough to notice that PepperAnn was safely bedded down in the corner of our room. Homer couldn't resist shooting her a scornful look and belittling her watchdog abilities to which I pointed out that P.A. is a herding dog whose contract merely states that the herd be kept together. There is nothing in there about offering herself up as a midnight snack.
Anyways, isn't it the job of the MAN of the house to sleep with a baseball bat next to his bed lest treachery threaten his family in the wee hours? I think that's how it was in Father Knows Best.

~~One of those plaid robes would have solved his pants problem as well.~~

Butennyway, now I am pissed because it's bad enough we have to worry about those nasty dogs getting OUT and terrorizing the neighborhood, now they've gotten IN, so after Homer reports that the dog has gone downstairs, I grab a phone and call 911.

I know.
You're thinking that might be a tad excessive, but let's just say that our local boys in blue are not overworked and I'm pretty sure they won't have to drop a murder investigation to come running.

~~Okay, between the time I wrote that and today, our fine city did actually have it's first homicide. I feel like a karmic accessory to murder!~~

But I'm talking to the 911 operator and she's asking if the dog is vicious and I'm telling her that IT GROWLED! and it has a reputation for KILLING CATS! And it is IN MY HOUSE! so I did NOT ask about its personal feelings towards us.

I hang up and the pit bull, which must have found his way back to the dog door downstairs, is outside and back over the fence and when the police show up LESS than a minute later (what'd I say?) that dog and it's accomplice, who had been posted on our front lawn, are nowhere to be found.

Seriously, they totally vanished.

The cops nosed around with their flashlights and rang the doorbell at the pitbull residence, but the dogs were gone and so was the owner so they eventually went back to their donuts and I headed back to bed.

Homer was a bit more wound up and after he barricaded the dog door and located ONE of the slutty cats, he suddenly came running into the house yelling that the dog was back.

In the front yard.

Growling at him.

Whatever.

~~It's not in my house and I'm still hoping for some more sleep....~~

But by then the 'hood was coming to life and the dog chased a jogger and a guy walking his weiner dog and it all turned into a crazy circus of law enforcement and animal control people and regular people chasing after these two very fast dogs who actually jumped over EIGHT FOOT FENCES, entered another home through the dog door, jumped on the counter and pooped on the carpet before getting caught.... SIX hours later.

Oh but no worries, their owner finally came home late in the afternoon and swiftly bailed them out of dog jail.

But that's all a whole 'nother story.

~~And no, I did not get back to sleep.~~

Like the Mary Poppins of Bloggerville

2009-08-11T13:48:00.002-06:00

Yes, I know I'm supposed to be AWOL.
Indeed I remember that I gave up blogging.
True, I said I had to focus on some other things.

But we all know how short my attention span is.
And how I can't resist putting in my 3.5 cents (inflation, you know).
More importantly, I can't stand to see a smart, capable, professional woman dissolve into a messy puddle of tears, cake and chenin blanc.
I could see she needed me.
I mean someone has to help her before she lets her hair go.

Yes, I am that good of a friend.
So I won't tell you all that she's afraid to drive on the freeways.

Are you confused?
Just because I started in the middle?
Hey, I am not claiming to have found the divine karma of orderliness during my sabbatical so try to keep up, 'kay?

You see, dear blogbuds, it turns out my friend Junie is on the verge of losing her first child to higher education.
Yeah, totally against her wishes, her oldest manchild, Wally, has chosen NOT to change his name to Bare Pierre and give wings to her dream of opening a chain of naughty French bakeries, all the while remaining safely under her wing as well as her roof.
Yes, indeedy, Wally is escaping.
And Junie is crumbling.

Being the total optimist that I'm not, I suspect that just as soon as Junie gives a little more thought to this development, she will mop up her mascara tears and stiffen her neatly waxed upper lip and see this for opportunity it is.
C'mon Junie! Let's make some lemonade!

Trust me. I mean I'm already the proud owner of a college SOPHOMORE!
Okay, she hasn't actually bothered to leave home yet. But just in case she does, I'm keeping a handy list to remind me of all the benefits that go along with taking a cut in children.

An extra room is freed up! Go ahead and paint it shocking pink and tell everyone it's your naked yoga room. They will leave you alone in there for days! And so will that pesky church lady once they tell her why you can't come to the phone. Don't forget to install a little mini-fridge. Big enough for a box of you-know-what.
Only half as much of your stuff will disappear. This might be more applicable to those of us with girl children, but think about how much longer that batch of cookies will last before they all end up.. on... your.... thighs. Okay, bad example.
Much better chance of captaining the remote control! Think of it, Junie, just you, a box of Franzia and Mike Rowe.
And after Ms. Franzia and Mr Rowe get your engine revved, the odds are better that the id-kays won't be around to witness wild rumpus with the Wardster!
And then there's the quiet sound of siblings NOT arguing about whose turn it is to clean Mom's pink, naked yoga room.
And only half as many thongs to wash. Ew, hopefully, that one doesn't apply to you. Unless your last name is Chippendale. It isn't, is it?
Okay, here's one for you - only half as much he-debris in the bathroom sink. You know - that shaving cream/toothpaste scum peppered with little whiskerettes?
OMG, the smell! Think of how your house will maybe smell a little better! What IS it about teenage feet that make their shoes and everything in the same zipcode smell like week old roadkill after a good rain? Yes, even girls.

Okay, I totally don't know if you wax your lip or suffer from housatosis, but see, Junie? This is something you can work with.
I bet you are feeling better already.
I know you can do this like I know you can find a way to fill all the extra time you'll have.
"Oh, Ward!"

Just remember not to let the door hit Wally on his way out.
I mean, it could hurt him.
And delay his departure.

She waved the blog-crack under my nose

2009-06-04T09:31:00.004-06:00

Because I loves the Mud and Lorrie and she caught me in a weak moment...

http://ournameisblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/jane-is-in-da-nest.html

The Last Friday

2009-05-08T08:00:00.000-06:00

Friends, Republicans and enemies, lend me your ear…. or is it ears?

Okay, my Shakespeare sucks, if that even IS Shakespeare, however modified. But I don’t really want to borrow your ears, anyway.

Wait. What am I saying? If they’re in good shape, fairly small and don't protrude a lot, I would LOVE to borrow your ears. Ah, but then you’d probably want them back and I’d be no better off than before.
Okaynevermind.

What I really want to say is that I’m leaving The Nest.

There.
I said it.
Whew! You have no idea what a load off that is!

If you are all nosy like Me! and would like a reason, please pick one:
A) Don’t have time.
B) No longer enjoying it.
C) Have to be too careful about what I say because someone, who shall remain nameless, has been reading my blog.
D) All of the above.

Not to worry, though. I will still be stalking many of you. And most likely leaving the usual disturbing comments. Mostly, I want to thank all of you for your bloggy love, support and understanding these last couple of years and especially for your ability to make me know that I am not the only crazy bitch in this world.

Sooooo, I guess I should just say
Peace, Love, Blog on………..
And who knows? I may even be back one day.
I mean, if ilovejoebiden.com isn't already taken.

When swine fly

2009-05-01T09:40:00.002-06:00

I heard someone on the national news this morning define the word gaffe as when a politician accidently speaks the truth.

In case you don’t pay attention, the latest ‘gaffe’ from DC is Vice-prez Biden’s comment about staying out of enclosed spaces like airplanes to avoid contracting the swine flu.

Of course the airlines are all pitching a fit because he said that and now there is all kinds of backpedaling going on to kiss and make nice with the airlines. Whatev. That's nothing unusual, but is there anyone who does NOT think that flying in a commercial jet is the viral equivalent of French kissing 147 strangers? I've not only seen the 20/20’s (Jane's generic term for all news shows) about airplane air quality, I have experienced it first hand.

I’m generally a pretty healthy specimen. I don’t usually get more than the odd cold, possibly two but maybe none, each year. Unless I fly.

I’m a big hand washer. I don’t touch my eyes or nose and I avoid phlegmy people like I avoid polyester and still it seems that half the time I deplane infested with something.

Maybe I’m just bitter because I believe the virus that ate my hearing was contracted a mile in the sky, but methinks the airlines protesteth too much.

It’s probably already too late for this particular epidemic, but maybe the airline spinsters should throw their resources more toward letting some fresh air into the cabin and less toward corralling the hot air in Washington. Who knows? They might even save something more important than their bottom line - like some lives.

Have a great weekend.

Peace, Love, Jet me to Costa Rica, I'll take the chance!

Saving up her Social Security for pole dancing lessons

2009-04-28T11:30:00.001-06:00

Have you met my 80-something MIL?

She not only let her granddaughter 'do' her up in the blond hair extensions, she specially requested the purple accent piece to coordinate with her Hugh Hefner jammies, which she wears so she can slip right away if FIL tries to grab her in bed.

I have a feeling this one will be on her Facebook by noon:

All this happened shortly after we abandoned her at Applebee's.

Yep, she was left standing on the sidewalk while her husband and son snuck out the CarsideToGo door. They assumed she was riding home with Omega and me. But we had stops to make.

Luckily her son picked up on the discrepancy a short while later and Omega zipped back to collect her before the authorities became involved.

She wasn't worried. She said she planned to call someone when it got dark.

Warning: Do not invite this woman to your home if you are struggling with bladder control.

The Regal has Landed

2009-04-24T12:30:00.004-06:00

I'm not actually sure what kind of car they drive, but the in-laws have arrived.

At one point in recent history they did have a red Buick Regal, but not only am I pretty unobservant when it comes to cars that I don't have keys for, I have trouble keeping up.
Those two change cars like I change my story.

To my FIL, a flat tire is a sign of vehicular degradation and if it comes on the heels of a carpet stain, it is an immediate ticket to the trade-in lot.

I can tell you that their current car is white, it is something from the Cadillackish league and it is parked in MY spot.

Which leads me to my question of the day; Why do the more expensive cars have numbers and letters instead of words as their model names? Have you noticed that? Almost without exception, the higher end car lines use some combination involving X, R, S, 4, 5, or 0 as their model names.

This was driving me seriously batshit on the drive in this morning.

Why is there no Mercedes Malibu or BMW Beetle?

I, don't usually subscribe to conpiracy theories but I suspect it might be to keep oblivious people like me out of the luxury car market.

If I can't remember the name of it, how am I ever going to buy it?

In my humble opinion, the worst car choice name EV-ER?

The Volkswagen Touareg.

WTH is that anyway? Tell me, if you were going to sink $50k into an SUV would you pick one with that name or one called Porche Cayenne? As I understand it, they are the same vehicle... but Touareg?

Gak.

Sounds like something Texans use to clean their shoes.

'Cain you all toss me that Toh-Rag so ah can wahp the cowpiah offa mah bewts?'*

Have a most excellent weekend. And watch out for cowpies.

Peace, Love, Poor-sha!

*Offended Touareg owners and Texans, be aware that it is Friday, this blogowner is under extreme pressure from work deadlines and In-law visitation and as usual has her basic bitch-0n. Therefore she cannot be held responsible for offensive ramblings at this time. Or any time really.

AND WTH is up with the spacing (or LACK of) on this???

Uh - oh

2009-04-23T12:00:00.000-06:00

Do you know what's worse than a dirty spot in the middle of your carpet?

A noticeably CLEAN spot, that's what!

Grrr.

A few days ago, in the middle of the morning frenzy, I spied a fresh, juicy glob of cat puke in the middle of the carpet. By the time I got back to it with the spray carpet cleaner and a rag, however, most of it had disappeared. I shot the dog a 'you are SO disgusting' look and scrubbed out the rest of the goo.
Well, apparently the combination of cat vomit, dog lick and Re$olve carpet cleaner has some crazy whitening properties because now it looks like spring has indeed come to the Jane! house and we are all just waiting for that one last pile of snow to melt.

*cue Jaws music*
Somewhere on the I-15, there is a car full of in-laws - probably with the turn signal on - bearing down on You-tah.....

Ten Top Trivias about Jane!

2009-04-22T12:00:00.000-06:00

While I was off wandering dazedly around blogdom in search of I don't know what, I found this! on a blog! that I had never visited before. Who knew there were two accountants out there with exclamation points?!

She's funny so visit her if you need a laugh. But ixnay on mentioning the ivia-tray. Copycat? Me? You all are SO judgemental.

Soanyway, here are Today's Top Ten Trivias - about Jane!:

1- A rhinoceros horn is made from compacted Jane!. And probably their bowels are impacted with Jane!

2- The Jane!-fighting market in the Philippines is huge - several thousand Jane!-fights take place there every day. Big deal. Several thousand Jane!-fights take place inside my head every day. And my head is a much smaller place.

3- Antarctica is the only continent without Jane!. And alas, it will have to remain that way because Jane! prefers warm weather, regular airline schedules and ice only in her drinks.

4- It takes a lobster approximately 7 years to grow to be Jane!. But it only takes Jane! 7 minutes to consume that lobster.... wait.... are you saying that I used to be a lobster? Then that would be, eww, cannibalism!

5- If you break Jane!, you will get seven years of bad luck! If you ARE Jane! it's SEVENTY years.

6- It's bad luck for a flag to touch Jane!. So now I'm dirt, is that what you're saying?

7- Jane! can give birth ten days after being born, and is born pregnant! Although Jane! does live in You-tah, this is very much not true. In her prime, Jane! could not even DELIVER a baby in 10 days.

8- A Jane!ometer is used to measure Jane!! This is another lie. You cannot actually measure the presence of Jane!, only the complete absence of the Anti-Jane!

9- Jane! can only be destroyed by intense heat, and is impermeable even to acid. More bad news! Even the intense heat of hot flashes couldn't bring Jane! down. And acid? I swear I never dropped acid. Even in the 70's. What made you bring THAT up?

10- On stone temples in southern India, there are more than 30 million carved images of Jane!. Wow, SOMEONE in India has a little too much time on their hands.

Wasn't that fun? Not to mention informative. You learn SO much about yourself when you blog. Go ahead, give it a try and put your link in my comments. I think by the end of the week we should have enough information for a complete National Geographic special!!

Which brings me to the sad news.... well, sad for me anyway.... in the next few days I will have to put all my spare energies toward getting my house mother-in-law clean, so I won't be lounging in The Nest much. But I'll leave the door open and you all can wander in and leave your links. Think of it as your way to guest post! If I wasn't so lazy and technically challenged, I'd set up the Mr. Linky thing but.... yeah, I already explained why.

Wish me luck!

Oh, and Kat and Gaston Studio? I WILL deal with you two when I get back.

Misselainee-us

2009-04-21T12:30:00.004-06:00

Gah! I must have been rattled yesterday. I just reread that last post - because I hate to repeat myself - and found it riddled with errors. Lorrie will be asking for my mug back any day now.

She can try, but I saw a picture of her last week and I'm pretty sure I can take her vertically challenged butt. And then Sexyhusbandohers would be all mine.... hee hee hee.

Anyway, I have nothing of real importance (like I ever do), so I thought I would go with what I like to call Brain Lint - random dustballs pulled from my head - and call it a blog.

First of all, that lady from Britian'sGotTalent, whose name I should know but don't: Yeah, the one with the incredible (I guess?) voice that has become the 'overnight sensation'. Cute story about how she has never had a date but she sings so wonderfully that even Simon was rendered insultless. Does anyone else find the whole thing a bit strange? I mean how did no one ever notice that she could sing before now? Has she only been singing secretly in the shower all these years? She seems pretty self-possessed - not like she's been hiding.

Seriously, if you knew someone who sang that well, wouldn't you be all 'Wow, you could make money doing that!'?

Or, if you're not all focused on money, like I am; 'You should join the church choir'. Just saying....

Or MAYBE she's actually an undercover nun from the Sisters of Major Mercy convent deep in the Scottish moors, who has been sent to BGT in hopes of bagging the prize money and banking it against the next great potato famine. Oh wait, that was Ireland, huh? Well, maybe a plaid shortage then.

Okay, this is me letting that one go.....

Next, texting: Yes, MsAngie, we do text around the house. And we call each other. Sounds crazy but I think it is the slickest thing since pre-mixed peanut butter. My daughters ALWAYS carry their cell phones because they are teenagers - and I try to keep mine in my pocket just so I know where it is. Homer.... well, this really doesn't apply to Homer because his phone is usually lost somewhere with his keys. And his wallet.

But back to us girls. Texting is the new yelling. When I text 'dinner!' I know they will get the message. And when they text back 'what are we having?' they know I will 'not hear' the incoming text chime. Hee hee. They also can't say that they didn't get the 'Clean your room!' message because Mr. Samsung does NOT lie.

Seriously though, not only is it a great work-around for the hearing impaired, but it saves SO much time. And as for Homer, I've been known to put out a BOLO for him on the girls' phones.

Okay, the #1 Mommy t-shirt: Yes, it's about ten or twelve years old. It's also big enough for me and 7 of you. At the same time. But I won't be party to proving that. Point is, it's pretty, um, not attractive, but how do you throw out something like that? I can't bring myself to do it, so I keep it in the laundry room with my 'bad' clothes - the ones I wear to paint and do dirty work. Except I can't bring myself to get it painty or dirty, either. I was thinking I should make it into a pillow or something but is that kind of braggy? I'm totally taking suggestions on this one.

And Angie L: Thank you for correcting my grammer. You are so right; home-invaders would be the proper term, not 'company'. I am seriously considering your spa-under-the-guise-of-marriage-counseling suggestion. Methinks you have great experience in this area, Glasshoppa.

And as long as we are rounding up Angies: Shupe, your unemployed arse may NOT be safe. You might have to be my 'sick friend' that needs visiting.

Lunch is over; so's my post.

That exploding sound will be my head

2009-04-20T14:00:00.003-06:00

I spent the whole weekend creating even more chaos here at Chez Jane. Yes, more.

Who'd a thought that possible.

Since Homer had come to a dead stop on the Mancave project, I moved on to something requiring fewer committee decisions - Omega's bedroom. I promised her a paint job over a year ago and she had finally picked out the colors, so I ran with it.

The ceiling was previously painted to look like blue sky and clouds - a very cool look, I thought, when combined with a vaulted ceiling and clerestory windows.

Cool for my kiddies, not so much for my teenagers.

Sigh.

Thinking all the while about how hard I worked on that ceiling, I attempted to obliterate it with stain-blocking primer. And a coat of ceiling paint. And another coat of ceiling paint.

That sky would not die!

While painting the ceiling, I noticed that the light fixture was cracked so I decided to buy a new one.

But maybe a ceiling fan would be nice.

Omega agreed via text so I bought one.

Two ceiling fans, in fact, because I couldn't decide. And really, how can you make up your mind unless you have your husband put both of them together from the 153 pieces in each box and hold all 84 pounds of each of them up to the ceiling. This one, then that one. Hmmm. Definitely that one.

No.....

He should thank me for the upper body workout.

So I painted the ceiling and the white trim and hung the fan and scooted off to pick up the paint.

Pink.

She wanted pink. Two pinks, in fact.

Let me just say that we have dubbed Omega's room The Barbie Bordello. It takes more mental energy than I possess just to BE in that room. Which might be the plan.

But her stuff is in the hall... and the other bedrooms.... and the living room because I still have one more coat of everything to apply.

And the weekend is over.

Can it get any worse?

Of course it can.

Homer gets off the phone with his parents:

"They're leaving home on Wednesday."

"Where are they going?"

"Here."

"Here. Which Wednesday?"

"This coming one."

(In full meltdown) "Whatthehell? We talked about Mother's Day. We talked about Father's Day! We did NOT talk about April 23rd!"

"Oh, well, let me just call them back and tell them not to come."

"What a relief! I was afraid you wouldn't be willing to do that."

But of course he won't.

And he shouldn't.

Because I like them and all....

But FOUR freakin' days NOTICE?

If the earth was ever going to crack open and swallow me up, now would be a good time.

But with my luck, I would survive and company would still come.

Oh, but then I'd have an excuse for the craptastically messy house!

Totally False Advertising

2009-04-17T13:00:00.004-06:00

Omega texts me from the laundry room:

Why don't you ever wear this cute t-shirt Alpha and I made for you in daycare?

What t?

The one that says number one mommy?

Ah. Um. Because I don't want all the other mommies to feel bad?

Good answer. You are such a thoughtful person!

That's why I'm the number one mommy.

Fiddy one sucks

2009-04-16T22:36:00.000-06:00

I guess this is the year bitter strikes. Four days into my fifty-second year and still I have nothing good to say about it.

Last year wasn’t all sunshine and Splenda either, but I always had hope. I assumed that I had just hit some random potholes in the road of life. You expect that as you get older. Well, I did, anyway. Now it appears that the smooth spots were the anomaly. Somewhere I made a very wrong turn. Boy howdy, we are talking Jeep trails here in Janeville.

I really don’t like to complain, because I’m very aware that things could always be worse and what better way to invite trouble than to poke it with the big ole pity stick? Besides, it does no good. Except that sometimes you get so sick of keeping your chin up and your head down, waiting for all the crap to fly off the fan, all the while trying to imagine what good will come of it and what lessons can be taken away, that you just want to stick a large, round toothpick in your heart, IF in fact you still have one, and say ‘I’m done.’ And did I mention that run-on sentences seem to come with more regularity?

I actually sat in church on Easter Sunday and when they went through that whole 'Do you believe' business, I almost said out loud 'No, frankly, I don't think I DO.' I know that will be a disappointment to some of you and I'm sorry that you will have to go into overtime praying for my poor frazzled soul. If it helps, I got the benefit of a whole whisk broom full of holy water flicked on me so I guess I have a new base coat.

But seriously. Not only is my soul withered and my sense of humor as dark as my future, but finally my patience has run out.

For one thing, my car is shit. Yes, MY car. It was bought for ME. Well, for me in the sense that I was the one who got to drive everyone around in it because remember how you all did NOT like that car? But I imagined that after paying my chauffeur dues, the Trix and I could ramble off to the SuperTarget on the horizon in peace. I hadn’t imagined that it would become ‘the family car’ because Mr Pinchfist is too cheap to buy his own vehicle and therefore relies on company vehicles, which would be great if he HAD a company! And then there’s Cellphone Girl who hits retaining walls with it and finally, Cheap Girl, who drives it because it’s so much more fuel efficient. Of course, it is. I buy the gas! And this vehicular free-for-all results in a trashed interior and multiple miscellaneous damages that NO ONE knows ANYTHING about. Or cares about. I know that sounds like a trivial thing for someone who recently lost her soul to bring up, but it's just a sample of the 'Screw you, Jane' attitude around here.

A bigger example is the house in general: the skis and snowboards in the dining room, the perpetual paper nests that are built in the living room, computer room, dining room AND office and the never-effing-ending piles of clothing that aren’t put away. Please, please can we make our home just a little trashier so I can push the whole damn thing out to the curb on garbage day? Fine.

And then I will build a shed in the back yard and move into it and lock it up every time I leave so that when I come back every damn one of my headbands will still be there. And my belts and my nail polish remover. And my camera. And my purse. Ha! You all will starve because apparently I am the ONLY one who knows the way to the grocery store.

Oh, and please do go on talking to me from your position flat-out-on-the-couch, while I am working in every other room of the house. I’m sure that any minute my hearing will spontaneously return and I will be able to catch every important word you are saying. I know, really, why should YOU have to go out of your way to be heard when I’m already running around like a headless chicken.

Also, when I AM in the same room? Go ahead and turn away from me when you talk. It’s really best if your words can bounce off the walls a few times before they get to me. That makes it more of a challenge than when you turn toward me and repeat yourself in your OUTDOOR VOICE. Or tell me to GET A HEARING AID!

I know the fact that I have not run out and plunked down $2K for one is pretty obviously just a choice made exclusively to punish you, but truthfully, I have so many other less self-destructive ways of doing that. I am worried about how your little world will crumble when you find out that modern electronics can only solve about 25% of my ‘problem’. I guess then you will have to yell DISCOVER A CURE FOR DEAD HAIR CELLS AND PERILYMPHATIC FISTULAS!.... FISTULAE? Not very poetic, I admit.

Also, FYI:
I am not cold and heartless, I just can’t help someone who won’t help himself..... again.
Or keep promises.
Or take responsibility for his choices.
This does NOT have to do with menopause. Unless…. Maybe…. Does menopause only happen at home?

It's way past time for you to get a grip. Personally, I'd like to get one around your neck. That alone should be a good reason to stay sober and awake.
Ah, see? Now we have gotten down to the heart of it so be warned that I have been thinking. And if it IS left to me to handle this incredible clusterfluck that your life has become, you won't like it. Not at all.

And BTW? I am not a tax cheat. I don’t ‘just fix it so we get more money back’. I don’t write the tax code but I do try to obey it.
I'm not going to jail for something that stupid. But you go ahead.

K, I'm done.
For now.

Circus, circus

2009-04-15T16:00:00.001-06:00

Alpha went to the Britney Spe@rs Circus T0ur concert last night and thought it fabulous - every single piece of each everything that came in all 30 Britney semi-trailers.

This morning, Alpha, sporting a B.S. 'You Want a Piece of Me' t-shirt, shared the exciting details which included many things I don't remember. Britney's cage did make the memory cut. Also the fact that there were no animals in her circus. Thank you god.

In spite of my fershit frame of mind lately, which I will complain about another time, that concert recap was truly a sparkling mommy moment for me. Alpha was never much of a Britney fan during her tween years; mostly just since the rather colorful fall from grace - yeah, Alpha likes a good wreck as much as her mother - but when she talked about the show, she couldn't have sounded more excited if Britney had pulled her up on stage and promised to take her shoe shopping. Ah, these are the memories she will still be sharing (if not re-enacting) around the canasta table at the senior center.

Anyway, what made it fun for me is that Alpha is almost 20 years old and I don't have to worry whether to preach Ms Spears as a horrible warning, or a good example (she has made quite a comeback) or simply a cautionary tale because I sure don't know which way to call it. I just listened and thought back to those bawdy John Denver concerts of my youth.

Luckily, Alpha didn't have to pretend there wasn't lots of skin or suggestive dancing like I would have had to. In fact, if my mother hears that Alpha did see Britney Spears in concert, I will have to tell her that it was the revised You-tah version where they dressed head to toe in seagull costumes and sang show tunes because sometimes motherhood should take a break.

Merry Easter!

2009-04-10T13:00:00.001-06:00

In case you don't believe me when I say that my office is a hot house, let me show you my poinsettia which actually looks about 342% better than my photography skilz let on.

If you are tempted to say 'Meh, big deal', let me remind you that today is Good Friday, aka April 10th. I have been custodian of that plant for 4 months and by now it should be bare stems in a landfill but it still looks gorgeous.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suburban Debbie had a post this week about all the things that people do while driving. I'm probably as guilty as anyone of not giving the world beyond my windshield my undivided attention. One of my worst offenses was reading a magazine while driving across North Dakota. If you just went 'Ohmigod, that woman has a death wish!' you have probably never driven a freeway in that state. You can pretty much engage the cruise control, tie down the steering wheel and take a nap for 2 or 3 hundred miles. But never mind that particular piece of my lurid driving past, you have never really been a passenger on the edge until you have ridden to lunch with a paraplegic who takes calls while driving.

"Um, dude? Isn't that your brake hand?"

Then again, it gave me a good excuse to order the biggest, chocolatiest dessert on the menu. I mean who wants to die with a stomach full of 'fast', even if it is Good Friday.

~~~~~~~

Finally, a Friday funny:

Thanks Marial! - Who I am happy to report is high and dry in Fargo. For the most part the dikes held and the sewer system kept up but they are bracing for another round of river rise. How unfair is it that they actually have to hope that is does NOT warm up any time soon?

Peace, Love, 4-day Weekend for Jane!

Number 150

2009-04-07T16:51:00.003-06:00

This is my 150th post here on Blogger. I wish Spaces kept track of that sort of thing because I am TOO lazy to go count the ones left lying in a heap over there, but it would be nice to know a grand total. In kind of the same way that you like to know your cholesterol numbers - to make sure that you aren't clogging up the internet in a deadly way.

Anydrivel, to celebrate this momentous event I won't punish you with 150 things about me. You are SO welcome!
I'm not sure there are even 150 things to be said about me. I'm not that multi-faceted.
Instead I have ripped off this little meme from some far off blog that I couldn't find again if you threatened to steal one of my kidneys or corrupt my html.
Sorry, mysterious meme donor!

My ABC's
by Jane

A - Age: Fifty. Still. Maybe forever. I have less than a week to decide. Oh, the pressure.

B - Bed size: Queen. I know it IS very fitting, but I’m not sure what that says about Homer.

C - Chore(s) you hate: Cleaning the cat box. Vacuuming the stairs. Washing windows. And dishes. I’m going to save a few megabytes and just tell you that laundry is the one chore that I don’t mind.

D - Dog’s name: If you don’t already know that, you are in worse shape than I am. Pack your bags for ‘The Home’ immediately.

E - Essential start-your-day item: Caffeine, preferably the diet Dew kind. Lent? It's still Lent?

F - Favorite color: Blue in any way shape or form.

G - Gold or Silver: Both, depends on the outfit. Platinum would be my real preference but you didn’t offer that. You must be even cheaper than I am.

H - Height: 5’10” – at least until osteoporosis ravages my body, which I’m sure is lurking right behind menopause. Middle age is SO unfair.

I - Instruments you play: I used to play the piano, the clarinet and the bassoon but I’m pretty sure I couldn’t prove it now.

J - Job title: Accountant, if the term ‘job’ implies payment. Otherwise, most of what I do could be covered by Maid, Cook and Call girl. No wait, call girls get paid, right? Marriage is unfair, too.

K - Kid(s): Three. Two that I gave birth to and one that I adopted from my mother-in-law. I have tried to send him back numerous times but the old bat is standing firm on her no-return policy.

L - Living arrangements: I have arranged to let them all live. For now.

M- Mom’s name: Ione. How’s that for odd? Bet you never had two of those in your class.

N - Nicknames: My father is the only one who has ever dared to nick my name and to tell you what it was would unleash a weapon SO annoying that Rush Limbaugh would be out of a job. On second thought….

O - Overnight hospital stay other than birth: Is that my birth or giving birth? I’ve probably logged at least 2 weeks in the hospital but mainly because I was reckless in the time before same-day surgery and I’m not very adept at birthing.

P - Pet Peeve: When people have dirty glasses… you know with the fingerprints and eyebrow dandruff and they expect you to focus on what they’re saying when really you just want to grab those suckers and dunk them in the nearest wet substance. That’s really not the only or even worst of my pet peeves, it’s just the first one that came to mind.

Q - Quote from a movie: I’m lucky if I can remember if I have SEEN a particular movie. There is NO hope that I have retained any of the dialogue.

R- Right- or left-handed: I’m right. I'm always right. Unless you ask my husband.

S - Siblings: Two older brothers. I originally typed bothers by mistake. I think that was what you call a Freudian slip, but it would only be half true.

T - Time you wake up: At 6:05am…. And 6:12am…. And 6:19am…. And then at 6:26, which is when Homer slugs me and tells me to quit hitting the *#$@ doze!

U- Underwear: I’m a hipster girl. They don’t peek over the top of my pants or ride up my backside. MUST be cotton, preferably with a touch of lycra so they stay where I put them. Too much information, huh?

V - Vegetable you dislike: Hands down, loose peas. If you really want to see me retch, pass me the canned variety. On the other hand, I adore them raw right out of their pods.

W - Ways you run late: Many ways but most are clothing related. I am pitiful when it comes to deciding what to wear. A good day is when I don’t have to change more than 5 articles of clothing. I had a bad dream just last night about not having the right thing to wear out clubbing with some friends. We’ll skip over the fact that I don’t club and talk about how it was a particularly tricky thing to dress for because we had to crawl through tunnels and trudge through jungles to get there.

X - X-rays you’ve had: Lame. No one cares about x-rays. I'm sure it was just the only x-word they could think of. How about instead we do X-rated movie you loved? Except that they're pretty much all the same and no one remembers the titles, right? Okay, never mind X.

Y - Yummy food you make: Depends on who you ask. Homer’s a sucker for my meatloaf. The girls like my Italian fare (aka Ragu and frozen ravioli). Personally, I love the Thai stuff. I’m not that fond of cooking but it sure helps you get your way about what’s for dinner.

Z - Zoo favorite: Gotta be the monkeys. Would it not be WAY cool to be able to swing from trees and hurl shit at people all day?

Now that didn't hurt a bit, did it? If you want to do it, feel free to steal it and even change it to fit your own needs.
I may be a thief, but I am a generous theif.
With good underwear.

One step below answering yourself

2009-04-06T11:00:00.001-06:00

Jane (to PepperAnn): I swear, PA, you are the SWEETEST thing this side of the Pecos.

PepperAnn: Where the heck IS the Pecos, anyway?

Jane: I have no idea but I imagine the other side of it as a pretty boring, lackluster place since everything seems to happen on THIS side of the Pecos.

PepperAnn: If we were to cross the Pecos, would you say to me “Dang girl, you are sweeter that anything on the OTHER side of the Pecos.”? Of course you realize that from a global perspective, everywhere is ‘this side of the Pecos’.... well, except for the actual Pecos itself.

Jane: Okay, I would probably just say ‘PA, you are the SWEETEST thing…. period’ to avoid getting into another philosophical discussion with a dog.

Still suffering brain damage

2009-04-02T10:12:00.005-06:00

Yeah, I know I need to grow up and move on from my harrowing restroom experience but I found this on lolcats today and just couldn't resist.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Oh crap, I don't know how to shrink that picture since it's html and I have no time to futz around with it so I will just tell you that the bubble reads:
"Ai towd u nawt tu go in dair!"

Curry in a Real Hurry

2009-03-31T14:07:00.006-06:00

Have you ever had one of those times when you walk into the restroom at work or some other public place and it is completely empty.... except for a big, brown cloud of toxic gas that fills the air? The REALLY bad kind. Like the all caps, bolded, italicized, nose-frying, eye-singeing kind of bad.

Unfortunately you lingered too long before answering nature's call to switch ladies rooms because word has already reached your bladder that recess time is imminent! Like immediately imminent!

You are left with no choice but to hold your breath, whip down your pants and relay the need for efficiency to your pottying parts. Predictably, your ureter immediately clamps down to the width of a mosquito knee so that you pee at about 440 psi, therefore eliminating all hope of cutting the process short even as you start to see stars from lack of oxygen.

Not wanting to pass out and be found face down on the filthy floor, bad side up, sans pants, you resume breathing just before your eyes start to roll back in your head and now you are inhaling the nauseating smell which is making your lunch bubble up a bit in the back of your throat. Thinking that you will never again be able to eat Indian food, you continue your business and try to focus on not throwing up by contemplating what the Bathroom Bomber could have possibly eaten to cause such an epic stench.

You are red-faced, sweating and looking quite miserable with runny mascara and pants that probably aren't properly fastened when you finally blast out the bathroom door.... only to run into someone that you don't know quite well enough to point into the room and gasp "OMG, that was SO not me!"

And so you imagine that the person proceeds into the restroom, is assaulted by the odor, recalls your disheveled appearance and the chicken vindaloo she saw you nuking earlier in the break room and thinks 'I will never, EVER eat Indian Food again!'

2009-03-27T09:30:00.000-06:00

I know I've been neglecting the Nest all week but, as usual, I have an excuse - I am a professional slacker, after all.

Funny has been in short supply with me because I am trying to vicariously battle a flood that is 1000 miles away. Since most of my family, as well as the all-time best BFF, live within spitting distance of the Red River of the North. In case you haven't been paying attention, it is currently at an all time EVER high of 22 feet above flood stage.

Thousands of hardy Mid-northerners have banded together to try to save Fargo-Moorhead from becoming the modern day Atlantis. They have closed 3 universities and pulled high schoolers out of class (like they would be hard to convince). People have come from far and wide to help. They build dikes and add sandbags and don't even have time to feel a bit safe before the National Weather Service raises the river level predictions. Yet again.

And have I mentioned that the temps are well below freezing?

They have evacuated some nursing homes, a hospital and whole neighborhoods. The mall is even closed today to keep people off the roads. Is it not a sign of dire circumstances when the shoe stores close?

Unless you live there or have a very good memory, you probably don't remember how devastated that same area was by flooding in 1997. The aforementioned BFF lost her house. Can you even imagine her anxiety at this point?

I feel very helpless. All I've been able to do is call my mother and repeatedly suggest that she take everything valuable or irreplacable out of the lower level of their home. She says she's not worried but her memory lapses suggest otherwise. Hopefully my dad will catch her before she moves everything back down the stairs because she can't remember why she brought them up in the first place. Luckily my younger-older brother is close by, not only to help my parents but to reassure his anxiety-clad sister.

They expect the river to crest tomorrow and stay there for 3 to 7 days. Hopefully, the dikes will hold and be high enough, and the sewers won't back up and the electricity running the sump pumps won't go out, and that (please, please NO!) it doesn't rain or snow any more. That's an awful lot to hope for, so if you all have any pull with the Big Person upstairs, or you have any spare karma to send, some positive energy with which to influence the universe or, for Marial, some virtual valium, I would really appreciate if you could direct it towards the 'Otas. They need all the help they can get.

Thank you and have a great weekend.

Peace, Love, Sandbags

Before long Chuck will want some

2009-03-22T21:34:00.006-06:00

When Sister1 is bored and Sister2's hair extensions

are left unattended.....

why is it the animals always have to suffer?

Not all blondes have more fun.

Friday Fragments

2009-03-20T11:30:00.000-06:00

Yay, it's Friday! That sounded so good I think I'll say it again. YAY, IT'S FRIDAY!!!

It's been a beautiful week but I'm ready for it to be over - the work part of it, anyway. Or I should say the paid-for, with-benefits part of the week because I'm sure my weekend won't be all dvr and bon-bons. Nope, it will be extreme carpentrying.

Homer has been constantly jabbing at me with baseboard game plans. ALL. FRIGGIN. WEEK. You see, the Mancave was originally put together by someone with less regard for right angles even than me. This creates some unique challenges when it comes to applying new baseboard and wood trim around the doorways. Did I tell you that I spent last weekend totally ripping out the ceiling in the hallway because it was so completely out of whack that it was making Homer's head spin?

Yeah, one step forward, two steps back. Part of why I've been reluctant to share pictures. I'm afraid you all will hunt me down and have me committed. Not that I wouldn't go willingly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sad news about Natasha Richardson, huh? Homer and Alpha went skiing/snowboarding yesterday. Alpha started skiing when she was 3 or 4 but switched to snowboarding a few years back, so she was excited to announce last night that she has finally made it back up to the black diamond (difficult) runs at Snowbird. I asked if she was wearing a helmet. No, she wasn't. I looked at her dad's hair and asked if he had worn his helmet (already knowing that he hadn't). Nope. I think I will print off a picture of Natasha and tape it to their season passes. Didn't we already learn this lesson with the Kennedy guy who died of head-to-tree disease?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For Soxy Deb and anyone else who cares: My bike commute home from work is about 13 miles. Last summer I did it most days of the week and rode TO work as well. Mostly , anyway. I rode 12 miles and then took the train up a very steep hill to my actual place of employment. Hey, I didn't want to show up smelling completely like a linebacker on a hundred degree, double practice day. I'm also pretty sure I would have to literally drag my bike up that hill. And no, I DON'T go home that way.

Before you think too highly of me, I will tell you that I have an extreme case of the lazies when it comes to exercise. The best way I could think of to force myself into it was to 'give my car away' to a resident teenager. I do drive for trips that are far or dangerous or require more cargo area than my two-wheeler allows. I also walk quite a bit since I am lucky enough to live within walking distance of my bank, the post office, library, three grocery stores, the H'Depot, Target and even the liquor store. You have no idea what a rare thing THAT is here in You-tah.

So, see, I TELL myself that I am being green/saving money/exercising the dog when really I'm just forcing myself to live a little longer. It's all about spin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Did you watch the President on Jay Leno last night? I know you are probably tired of hearing it, but I just LOVE that guy. I laughed a lot - especially at the comments about the dog. What did Jay call it? A Portuguese Waterhead?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And lastly, a Friday funny. True story but I won't use real names. Okay, I will.

My friend Marial is having a bathroom installed in her basement. Her contractor is the boyfriend of a friend. One day she went downstairs to survey the jobsite and discovered there, on top of a dirt pile, was a pair of her underwear. USED underwear! She had forgotten that she wasn't supposed to use her laundry chute and being a creature of habit as well as quite a neatnik, she had tossed her drawers down without a second thought.

Luckily, this was a day when Bathroom Guy hadn't been able to work on her project. Whew! She grabbed the pink panties and vowed to be more careful.

For some reason she told Bathroom Guy about how near he came to experiencing a sullied skivvy shower, to which he replied that it would have been no big deal since it had already happened once and he had tossed the 'precipitation' over in a laundry basket.

I think that was the point where Marial made a mental note to cancel all mixed-company social engagements for the next year.

And to go commando until the project is completed.

Okay, I made up that last part because Marial is really not the military type but if I were her, I would learn to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peace, Love, Laundry!

Have a great weekend.

Safe and as sound as can be expected

2009-03-19T16:00:00.000-06:00

Yes, I made it home safely - twice now, although my butt bones might tell a different story. The best reason to never quit bike riding is so you don't have to go through the process of toughening up the parts of you that meet up with the bike seat - ever again.

I have the techy seat and the chamois underwear but still I get bruises. And then there is no choice but to get right back on those bruises time after time until they go away. I'm not sure where they go but I wish they would leave already.

And no, it doesn't seem to matter how much padding you have on your.... um, personal seat.

It was SO good to get out and ride. It had been too long. I'm not much of a stationary biker. The problem with a bike that goes nowhere is that I can get off of it at any time. Usually a very short time. Because I get bored like that. And I'm undisciplined. With a real bike, not only does the scenery change but I have no choice but pedal myself a whole hour if I want to get home. Of course there IS a Great Harvest Bread store at about the halfway point. I just might have to stop for some carb loading one of these days.

I was pretty pleased with myself because my time was almost the same as when I stopped bicycle commuting last, hmmm, October? I'm going to keep better track of my miles and days this year. I think last year I was afraid I wouldn't last a week so I didn't want any kind of written record laying around as proof of my failure. Or I just didn't need any more paperwork in my life. Either excuse is believable.

I tell you, the sleeping is pretty wonderful after all that fresh air and exercise, too. And just so you all don't lose any sleep, I'll tell you that my ride is really not all that dangerous. I don't go anywhere near downtown and most of the streets I travel have wide bike lanes. The most dangerous threat is probably getting run over by one of those skinny-tired lycra guys who are headed UP the canyon faster than I could probably go DOWN the canyon. Well, I could get the shoes and the spankies and the racing bike and all that noise but think of how much less exercise I'd get. It has NOTHING to do with how cheap I am.

Well anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Spring me!

2009-03-17T16:40:00.001-06:00

Cross your fingers, light a candle, conjure me some good Karma - whatever you subscribe to, I could probably use it. In hopes of un-funking my mood - whoops, go back and read that right this time - I brought my bike to work with me today so I could ride home. The sunny skies and temps in the 60's were just too tempting.

It's not been going so well, though. I already made a nuisance of myself this morning trying to figure out how to operate the bike rack on the front of the bus. I'm pretty sure that the writing of the rack instructions was outsourced to Punjabian monkeys because they left me totally baffled. The bus driver had to unbuckle his own chubby self from the driver's seat and come out of the bus to show me how it works. All his wild gestures through the window did nothing but distract me from my work and confuse me further. Okay, I couldn't take the pressure. My brain seized up at the thought of the 5 people already on the bus cussing me out for slowing down their commute.

Those bus drivers want you to believe that they are all crabby because they don't really like bike commuters in the first place - especially dumb ones, but from what I observed I think they just don't like to leave their seats because it takes them about 5 miles to get all their 'parts' readjusted back into the proper place on the driver's seat. It appears bus drivers are somewhat like automobile nose pickers in their belief that no one sees what they are doing.

I won't talk about what happened when I took my bike OFF the rack. My ego won't allow it but as I walked my steed the 20 yards from bus to office building, I must have rolled over something sharp because I recently noticed that one of my tires is flat and now I remember that what I DIDN'T see in my little bike ditty bag was a repair kit, which means I will have to present myself to one of the bike-heads in the building as not only a nitwit, but an unprepared nitwit. They will probably ask to see my helmet and my insurance card before they help me out.

All this comes on the heels of assessing my scars from last summer's ass-over-handlebars manuever and deciding that the marks really haven't faded much over the winter. Last night I briefly worried about the possibility of another asphalt encounter, but isn't life too short to worry about what MIGHT happen? I'm also thinking that my legs are so WHITE that drivers couldn't possibly miss the sight of me.... unless the brightness blinds them! Or what if some crazy Hummer gets a look at me and thinks 'Mmmm, look at all that tasty white meat for the taking at the road-kill grill!'

There's also the possibility that I could go into cardiac arrest around mile 13.

I'll let you know if I make it home.
Maybe I should just take the bus....

I thought inebreation was the happiest state

2009-03-16T09:30:00.001-06:00

In case any of you missed the memo - I officially live in the happiest state. No, it's not the ignorance-is-bliss state, or the state of complete disarray even though I am a resident of those two states.

Turns out the happiest state in the U.S. of A. is You-tah!

I know, get out! They say it's because of its vast outdoor recreational opportunities as well as the healthy habits of its residents. I think I heard somewhere that we also consume antidepressants at the rate of hand over fist, but I think that's expected of a state where over half the residents don't drink alcohol.

Speaking of alcohol, if you can believe it, our state legislature has decided to do away with the law that requires a club membership to order a mixed drink or a 'real' beer in You-tah without buying a meal. I'm sure it has more to do with raising the revenue from sin taxes than making us seem less like a dry state. After all, you still can't buy malt coolers here and the state still owns all the liquor stores, but remember, we were NOT named the most reasonable state.

Anyway, if any of you Kentuckians (49th happiest) or West Virginians (Dead last) want to come out for a good time, just let me know. I will fire up the blender and take you on some awesome hikes.... but probably not in that order.

But, um, could you smuggle me some Mike's?

Today's Cartalk

2009-03-12T12:45:00.000-06:00

Jane!: I look hideous in gray. I don't ever want my hair to be gray. Promise me that even when I'm old and dementiated and in a home, you will still color my hair once a month.

Alpha: That seems kind of pointless, not to mention expensive.

Jane!(aghast): Uh!

Alpha: I'm just sayin', if I'm already paying for the dementia home....

I suppose this means I can forget about the margaritas and Chippendale dancers that were also on my list.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Attention blog geniuses: Can someone explain to me the 'Links to this Post' business? Some days everywhere I go, I see my post listed in the 'Links to this Post' section under the comments. I swear I have NOT hit the 'Create a Link' button. Other days, I see nothing. Sometimes I see 3 or 4 or 5 different posts from the same blog (not mine) listed.

Help me! I'm so confused!

And that's all I got.

And on the 12th day she drank.

2009-03-09T17:00:00.001-06:00

Happy Monday, campers! You will be happy to know that I survived the weekend with nothing worse than a tough case of baseboarder’s butt. Who knew that the muscles used to install wood trim, had previously been unused since my extreme skiing days. Oh wait, I totally made up the extreme skiing. That explains a lot.

Gail will be pleased to know that Homer also came through unscathed. To say the least. That man is a woodworking machine. He can sand, stain, finish, sand, finish, sand…. forever! Sun up to sun down and beyond if he turns on the lights. Jane! isn’t quite so dedicated. Although I did get the baseboard installed on the biggest wall in the Mancave and I textured the last of three walls, I can’t say that I am in danger of being recruited for Extreme Makeover Home Edition. Frankly, I don’t know what the hurry is.

I also had a bit of an attention problem on Saturday. That’s common when I’m afraid to get started on something– to make the first cut in this case. I put a lot of pressure on myself not to screw up. After about the third time Homer caught me off task, he commented that when we started this project, he didn’t realize that ‘working on it together’ meant that he would work and I would watch him work. Pfftht. He better not get me started in that battle because he will go down faster than our 401k.

Sunday I did better. Probably because Homer went skiing so I didn’t have anyone to watch. Of course our little overachiever still had to sneak in a topcoat before church and like FOUR hours of sanding after skiing. Show off. Well, some of us did 8 loads of laundry, cleaned the house, walked and washed the dog and shampooed the stairs carpet!! Not to mention the 57 clocks I had to spring forward! It’s not all about remodeling, buster! Home improvement comes in other forms, you know!

Speaking of springing forward, last year the Daylight Savings time transition hit me so hard and lasted so long that I vowed to better prepare myself this year. I mentally moved my clock forward on Friday night. I KNOW, genius, huh? I got up a bit earlier than usual on Saturday with the intention of going to bed earlier on Saturday, thus easing the pain of Monday morning. Only I stayed up 2 hours later than usual on Saturday night. And I slept 2 hours later on Sunday. Oops. I’m still not sure how that happened. I can’t even blame the usual suspect, Mr. Internet, because I hardly even cracked the laptop the whole weekend. Anyway, it was more of a ‘dragged forward’ or maybe ‘shoved forward’. Definitely no springing here. (PS if you have something to say about DST - go here and find out how you can win a cute, sassy clock.)

Oh, the Mancave pictures I promised? Yeah, well, they’re somewhere. In the camera, probably. Which I guess is on Junie’s desk or maybe Kat’s. Crap, I don’t know.

Oh, here’s something to distract you from my unfulfilled promises – another unfulfilled promise. I fell off the Lenten wagon. Willfully and purposely, I drank a big ole Gulp (as in the 492 oz. kind) of Diet Dew on Sunday. That’s probably why I got so much done. Hey, a woman can only remain unproductive for so long.

Organization 101

2009-03-06T10:00:00.000-07:00

I saw an article on MSN the other day the piqued my interest. It was titled

Reclaim More Than 30 Minutes of Your Day by Doing Less!
I thought cool, I could use another 120 minutes each day at a minimum but 30 is a start. I decided to read on.

Organizational expert Julie Morgenstern’s top tips for streamlining your routine to give you more “me time” and less stress. Me time! Yay! Wait, what's 'me time'? And wasn't Julie Morgenstern, Rhoda's sister on the Mary Tyler Moore show? Frankly, besides being extremely depressed, she didn't seem all that organized.

Pick out your clothes the night before.You would think that choosing your outfit would take the same amount of time in the morning as it does at night. Not so, says Julie Morgenstern, author of When Organizing Isn't Enough: Shed Your Stuff, Change Your Life. "You actually take less time deciding the night before because you're not as stressed. I think when we're stressed, we freeze, we get paralyzed, we can't think, we start making mistakes and keep repeating them." Boy howdy, am I the poster child for that statement as evidenced by the dozen pieces of discarded clothing piled on the bed every morning. She recommends going as far as hanging the planned outfit -- down to underwear and jewelry -- outside your closet. Thanks, Julie, but I already do this - yes, down to the lingerie and earrings. Trouble is, what I pick out the night before is not always what I feel like wearing the next day. My clothing has a huge impact on my day and if my outfit chi is not flowing, my day will be shit. I'm not a clothes horse by any means. I just need what I'm wearing to feel good and look good and be the right color for the right day. Don't ask. I have rules.

Find your go-to outfits.You probably have a go-to LBD (little black dress, I assume) in your closet that always makes you look and feel fabulous. Um, sorry, no little black dress in my closet, but I have some pretty awesome little black pants. Morgenstern suggests you find a few more fail-safe fashion choices that work for daytime, too. "Invest a couple of hours one weekend or one evening coming up with four or five standard outfits that you know always work," she says. "You do that for work outfits, and you should do that for going-out outfits as well." Going-out outfits for...? Wait. If I devote two hours of my weekend to this, my net gain for the week will only be 30 minutes. I knew it was too good to be true.

Curb your addiction to e-mail. One of Morgenstern's mantras: Break the mindless e-mail habit. So basically, stop checking e-mail every 10 seconds! "Every time you're bored, every time you're facing something difficult, you're like 'Let me just check my e-mail first.' You're using e-mail and even the Internet as a kind of procrastination device. If you can eliminate that habit from your day, I guarantee you will regain a minimum of an hour of productivity a day. Minimum." To kick the habit, she suggests setting regular e-mail check times, as well as not checking your e-mail for the first hour you're at work, when possible. This is not one of my problems but if it truly is a kind of procrastination device, sign me up because I would LOVE to regain an hour of productivity a day.

Organize your home by the way you think. Organizing your mess of a closet can save you at least a half hour per day, but that doesn't mean you have to color-code your clothing like your type-A friend does. Excuse me Ms. Julie but not all people with color-coded closets are Type-A. "You should organize your clothes in the way you reach for them, the way you think," says Morgenstern. "Not everybody thinks the same way, and I believe the zones of your closet should reflect your unique association. When some people go to get dressed, they think in terms of garments; others think of their clothes more by occasion: work clothes, weekend clothes, dress-up clothes." And some of us like to mix it all up - work/weekend/dress up. My little brain is spinning out of control just thinking about how to classify my clothes by THAT system. For more tips on organizing your closet, visit juliemorgenstern.com.

Buy nice hangers. Seriously? THIS is going to get me more minutes in the day? Your closet is a reflection of you, says Morgenstern. "It's where you start and end your day, and you want to feel good when you reach for something and when you put it away." In her own closet, she uses slender wooden hangers. "I think they bring an elegance to your closet that makes it exciting to open your closet and motivate you to hang things up again." I have a big problem with this one because my favorite hangers are not for sale as far as I know. I do have several of the nice padded satin ones that I use for sweaters and jackets but they take up too much space to use for everything. The hangers I really like are Old Navy hangers. They are white plastic with a metal swivel hook, strap grooves and the ends are skid resistant and curve nicely downward so you don't get shoulder nipples in your knit tops. When they ask me if I want the hangers I'm all 'Hell yeah' and then I do my Joan Crawford wire hanger tirade. Sometimes they even throw in a few extras.

Create a last-minute checklist. There are few things more satisfying than ticking off items on your to-do list. Get that feeling every time you leave the house by creating a cool-looking checklist to keep right by the door. On it, put all the things you need for the day: wallet, gym clothes, phone charger, iPod, etc. It will save you time trying to remember everything and running back every time you forget something, says Morgenstern. Plus, once you've mentally crossed each thing off, "you'll leave feeling like a million bucks and full of energy." How about I just make a pile of all the things I need to take so I don't have to run around checking off my list in the morning? Better yet, I think I'll throw all my stuff in my backpack and just make a note to grab my lunch out of the fridge. Oh wait. I already do that. I wonder why I don't feel like more than 20 bucks when I head out the door.

Go to the digital supermarket. If you can, order your groceries online so you don't have to go food shopping, says Morgenstern. "It will cut time from your weekly errands and chores, and the program will save your shopping list -- a big, really helpful time-saver for the household stuff." My supermarket doesn't offer this and I am pretty darn loyal to my supermarket because it is locally owned and has very nice meat and produce. Anyway, with online shopping can you ask them to dig way to the back for the bread with the freshest date or to stream a live feed from the meat counter so I can see if the pork chops look lean enough? Besides, food shopping time is almost like 'me time'. Now if someone offers online toilet bowl cleaning - THAT I want to know about.

Make your coffee to go.Pay attention, Starbucks addicts. "We waste a lot of time going and getting coffee somewhere," says Morgenstern. "If you invest in a coffeemaker with a timer, you can set it the night before and wake up to the smell of coffee." Stock up on a few cute refillable travel mugs and you'll save time by avoiding that coffee-shop line . Or, if you always forget your mug at the office, consider buying to-go cups and lids to keep at home. Blah, blah. I don't drink coffee unless it's iced with milky, flavored goodness. Is there somewhere I could get a tequila maker with a timer?

Leave work 30 minutes early.This tip is going to sound counterintuitive for those of us trying to get more done each day, but Morgenstern swears by it. "Shorten your workday by 30 minutes and you will achieve as much as, if not more than, you currently do." By leaving early, you'll have that feeling of being on a deadline, when you don't have time to spare on perfectionism, procrastination and interruptions. And I'm sure not one of my co-workers would be bitter if I started walking out the door half an hour early. At my spreadsheet sweatshop, I think they can fire you for that. Why don't I just quit my job and then I'd have an extra EIGHT HOURS every day? And think of all the time I'd save not grocery shopping and not cooking and not sleeping when my whole family is hungry and homeless. I think maybe Julie has a major (employed) sugar daddy who is keeping her out of touch with reality.

Set aside time for social networking.Assign yourself time to check your Facebook, MySpace, Linked In and other social networking sites. They are tremendous procrastination devices, as well as easy entertainment. "But they're like TV," says Morgenstern. "You turn it on and three hours pass, and then you're like 'Where did my day go?'" By carving out set times to spend on them, you'll be more productive when you're focusing on other tasks. Okay, I've already cut back to the point that most of my fellow bloggers probably resent my lack of visits and snarky comments. And TV.... well, what's TV again? Oh yeah, the box with the colorful pictures and the sound that I can't understand.
And now I'm like 'Where did my day go?' because I've just spent too much time trying to learn how to save some time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Have an wonderful weekend. I'll be spending mine working on the mancave project. I might even have some pictures by Monday.

Peace, Love, Home Improvement

Mother Nature must have needed a good laugh

2009-03-05T09:00:00.006-07:00

Yesterday I was flapping my yap about how we didn't have one lick of snow left. I truly did not intend to sound braggish even though I was telling it to my friend who lives in the 'Otas and still cannot see to back out of her driveway because that's how high the snow is piled! Still. I also might have mentioned the fact that it was 68 degrees on Tuesday. Hey, I was just reporting the weather. Besides, she started it with her 'it's a nice day because it's above zero' comment.

Apparently the weather powers-that-be saw it differently because when I got up this morning there was 3 inches of new snow on the ground. Hahaha. Aren't you funny, Momma Cosmos!

But it is the most pretty type of snow. The stuff that sticks by half an inch, to each tiny branchlet on the bare trees and frosts the topside of all the evergreens like even the most anal-retentive tree flocker never could. Combine that with the sunshine, blue sky, white mountains and perfectly clear, see-for-miles air and it made a beautiful drive to work today. Really! Gorgeous!

Alas, I am not packing the Canon today so you'll have to use your imaginative powers about the trees, but this old photo covers the rest of it.The snow day also gave me another opportunity to wear my cute, suede boots. And a good shoe day is a just a good day period.

So haha back at you, March Lion!!

Ooh, I will probably pay for that remark with another foot of snow.

It was just a false alarm

2009-03-04T11:15:00.001-07:00

On the ride in this morning:

Alpha: Ooh! Look at the sticker on that van - 'Hockey Mom'! I wonder if it might be Sarah Palin driving (she says in her best Wasilla accent).

Jane!: Umm.... No. Can't be. No gun rack.

Giggles and high fives all around.

Won't you dance with me?

2009-03-03T09:00:00.000-07:00

It's time once again for another school dance here in Janeville, which means yet another crafty date invitation.

This t-shirt appeared on our front porch Sunday night after a momentarily mysterious case of doorbell ditch.

The back:

And the front:

There are many random names written all over the front of the t-shirt but after it was washed....

... only ONE first and last name remained - that of 'the date'.

Okay, maybe Freddie Jibjab isn't really his name, but is that not the cutest idea?

Best Award Ever

2009-03-02T10:00:00.000-07:00

I receieved this in the mail sometime around mid-February, which in Jane!-time is actually like 5 minutes ago.

It is just another example of the fine stuff made famous by Lorrie Veasey and the Our Name is Mud pottery company.

I am going to resist the temptation to question Lorrie's taste in blogs because I think that is called biting the hand that scratches your belly.

So I will simply say thank you!

And go check out Lorrie and her stuff!

This is another of my cherished Mud products:

Badd spelars beewair! Eym wotchin ewe!

Look Gail, It's the Frat Chair

2009-02-26T17:00:00.001-07:00

One of my dear bloggy friends, Gail, and I have been discussing reupholstering ever since I mentioned that I was going to tackle recovering the couch in the mancave. I tried to send her a picture of my last project but her temperamental PC wanted no part of opening my possibly virus-laden snapshot (If you look closely you might notice a few yellow leaves in the background - could be a virus) so I thought I would post it up here for everyone to judge.... I mean, enjoy.

This chair is older than I am.
Shush!
I can remember when it was covered in a chocolate milk-colored prickly loop fabric. If you were alive in the 60's, middle-class America, I think you know the stuff. It must have a name. Other than itchy, leg-rash fabric.

I remember that my dad used to sit in this chair and read the paper and smoke his Pell Mells with me in his lap. Yes, I'm sure that I do make a pretty good poster child for the deranged hazards of second-hand smoke, but my dad quit the sticks when I was about 4 years old.

Over the years, the chair got moved from top billing in the living room to the basement and then to the lake cabin, where it was recovered with something that was palatable in the 80's. Then, in spite of its new look, it was kicked to the cabin family room and eventually, to the 3rd class quarters (where they put me when I visit) - the 'bunk house'. Between the life jackets and plastic table cloths.

That was about all I could take. I don't mind sleeping in a shed but to find my beloved chair there was more than I could tolerate. If you can't tell by the picture, it is a platform rocker with cool little featherish metal toes. It even has a brake on the side if you are not in the mood to rock.

Well, after I expressed my displeasure to my mother, she challenged me to take it home with me. I'm pretty sure it was a couple of beers talking and she had no idea that it would fit in the back of my trusty Subaru wagon, but as luck would have it, this was a time when I was dropping off my children in the 'Otas for their annual month-long visit with the rellies. That meant I was deadheading back to You-tah and therefore had lots of room for childhood treasures. Yay me!

And then I got home and unloaded my prize. Homer took one look at my awesome heritage and coined it 'The Frat Chair'. He didn't even want it in the house. I stubbornly placed it IN THE LIVING ROOM and started thinking about recovering it. For like 5 years, I thought. I even took some of the fabric off to have a better look at what was underneath. Dangling raw edges don't do much to dispel a moniker like Frat Chair.

Finally two years ago all the planets aligned and I was able to find extra time, money, fabric and mental fortitude simultaneously. Okay, it was not cheap or easy because the springs were broken and had to be replaced and retied and the padding and webbing were toast, but let me tell you, this chair has one sweet, SOLID hardwood frame that I'm sure will survive until the day I (hopefully) hear 'Good grief, Grandma, can I tear off the putrid fabric and recover this groovy chair'. Because groovy will be the cool word again. And she'll probably do it up in some itchy brown fabric. And I will be SO dang proud!

What I'm pretty sure CNN won't touch on

2009-02-25T10:45:00.000-07:00

I watched (most of) the President addressing congress last night. I had all kinds of intent to really follow what President Obama was saying but I gotta tell you it was kind of hard to focus.... because everything was SO in focus.

First of all, HDTV might be overkill when you have hearing issues and sit 2 feet in front of a 42" screen. I had no idea that capital hill was so rife with age spots and quite many other unidentifiable poxy type facial things. Hey, don't judge. I've been watching analog, broadcast tv all these years and thought politicians were better with makeup. Like Michelle Obama who incidentally, looked FLAWLESS.

Then Nancy Pelosi, who was seated behind the Prez, had an incessant lip worrying thing going. And if she thinks that burp went unnoticed she is SO wrong. Or her multiple, abandoned attempts to follow along in her speech copy.

Didn't the people in the background used to be out of focus?

The official tie of the 2009 US Congress appears to be the tiny print tie in pastel colors. With the white shirt and very dark suit, of course. For the men, that is. I wonder if they call each other and coordinate. Or maybe an email goes out: 'Guys, we're going with the tiny, non-descript print this year. Please avoid all appearance of stripe, design, cartoon characters or subliminal pleas for campaign funds.' Barack set himself apart by wearing a red and white striped tie which looked quite snappy.

The women were dressed more diversely. Hilary's suit looked very Stately (and she was having one of the best hair nights ever). I saw one woman with cool spikey, multi-colored hair and I think, a brightly colored suit. Two thumbs up on her outfit.

Nancy.... well, I think the best thing I can say about her outfit is that it made her boobs look huge but that's probably not the look she was going for. But Michelle Obama was wearing the MOST AWESOME purple dress. Forget the economy, Barack, we want you to spill the beans on your wife's upper body workout. I would personally give my left kidney for arms like hers.

And Joe Biden? I think he might take the award for hottest guy over 55. Doesn't he just look like he'd be lots of fun at a party?

Don't get me wrong, I know it was an important speech and I did listen and grasp most of it because it came from a man that I can understand, but I imagine there will be enough serious discussion of the issues elsewhere today.
So did you watch the speech?
Any non-political observations to share?

Party Gras!

2009-02-24T10:00:00.001-07:00

Guess what? The keys were found. The keys were actually found on Friday and turned in to the school lost and found - because Omega's high school is awesome like that. But because she left the car at school and went to her friend's house to take a nap before the evening basketball game, she didn't even know they were lost until too-late-the-office-is-locked o'clock.

Why Homer and Omega couldn't find them on Saturday when a coach let them into the office to peruse the lost and found is anyone's guess, but I suspect it has something to do with kid vision. Yes, some cases are known to linger into the 50's. Have I ever mentioned that I'm married to a visual savant? That man can spot a freshly hatched baby antelope 2 miles off the Wyoming freeway, but cannot see a bright red water jug sitting in the middle of the kitchen counter. I'm not sure how this will play out in his senior years but I'm thinking I should start shopping for a camouflage patterned toilet.

But I digress. Today is Fat Tuesday in case you missed the memo. Mardi Gras! Here is where I would put the picture of the totally adequate King's Cake I was up baking until way past my bedtime:

And, look here at the BestDogintheWorld wearing her beads (It's only natural that she have beads since she runs around flashing her boobies 24/7):

Shucky-darn, forgot my camera. You will just have to take my word on those.

Anyway, Fat Tuesday, like all good things, comes at a price. Tomorrow starts Lent, and for some, 40 days of self-denial among other things. Being the good little Luth-olic that I am, each year I try to find an appropriate sacrifice to go along with the rest of the family - which is Catholic - except for the dog, because of that continuously topless thing.

Lent is a yearly battle for me because I SUCK at willpower. I am usually torn between giving up something quite painful, knowing that I will probably fail miserably or picking something lightweight that I know I can do but won't leave much of a mark. Well, at least I have the Catholic guilt thing down.

So this year I am going to give up soda.
That would be pop to you Northerners.
Coke for my friends down South.
Gah! I said it. Soda is right, smack, top of my painful list. You have no idea how much I love my diet bubbly! This is going to hurt. And not just me, unfortunately.

So if you come to visit some day and find just feathers floating, you will know why.

I wonder if I should get a medic alert bracelet or something.... 'In case of loss of consciousness or atomic bitchiness, douse with Mountain Dew!'.

I understand that true Catholic style says that you aren't supposed to discuss your sacrifice, let alone probably, post it all over the internet but I have friends of all religions who do this. The Mormons are the best I tell you - I think they OWN self denial.

And, since I'm nosy like that, tell me, are you all giving up anything?

I may not get around to visiting you all today since there's a dead spot in the wi-fi down by the pop machine. You do understand the concept of Fat Tuesday, right? Indulge 'til it hurts.

If I were anything but a Norwegian American with a smattering of Spanish skills, I would put some sexy French Mardi Gras phrase right here:

It would probably start with Bon, no?

Unmistakably Monday

2009-02-23T09:52:00.007-07:00

It was a fast-forward weekend but I think my switch was set on slow motion. I just couldn't get it together. Everything I did felt backwards or upside down or complicated by some unanticipated factor like, oh say, thinking? I just can't seem to find my groove let alone get in it.

That's another way of saying that Project Mancave did not come fabulously far. I did lay down some actual paint, though. Yay! And then I ADD'd my way to cleaning the pantry and then out to clean the driveway and ramps and gutters. We live on a hill so all kinds of detritus jams up in front of our house and since we are between snows, I took advantage. It looks SO nice!

Much of my weekend energy was spent hurling mental daggers at Omega who lost the last set of keys to my car. And at Homer who was supposed to have extras made weeks ago. And at myself for trusting anyone else, even though they may have MUCH more free time, to get it done.

Turns out you can get a key made based on your vin number, but since the car has an immobilizer, the key won't actually START the car so you can drive it home. My poor Trix sat in the high school parking lot all weekend. The first night Omega's cheer gear was locked inside and, omg! her Seven jeans and her iPod! I am not terribly proud that I took a bit of satisfaction knowing that she was sleeping uneasy that first night.

Homer decided to wait and see if anyone turned in the keys at school today since it's going to cost about $200 otherwise. I wonder who gets to pay for that.

Saturday, I grabbed the bottom of our vehicle food chain- a 14-year-old Pathfinder with almost 200k on it - and headed off to run some errands. The lights don't work on the radio, the driver door requires a different key to open it (don't ask), the front speakers are toast, there's a big crack in the windshield and it has no drink holder. But Patti runs like a dream.... even without a gas cap. Tell me, when you refuel your car are you ever tempted to put the gas cap on top of the pump instead of hooking it into the neat little BRIGHT ORANGE bracket inside the fuel door? Apparently some men are. Not naming names.

My first stop was, of course, the auto parts store for the gas cap. And then I went to the home fabric store and scored a killer deal on fabric to reupholster the Mancouch. It can't be described as edgy, fun or fashion forward but it will be appropriate for the theme we're going for.... which is early Anasazi, I think.

Okay, I'm probably crazy to even think about reupholstering the couch but I set myself up for it a few years ago. We bought new leather furniture for the living room with the intent of putting the old stuff down in the family room. Only the old couch, no way no how, would NOT fit down either stairway. It was just about 6 inches too long. Unbelievable. Well, Jane was not about to let details stand in her way, so she took the couch apart. And glued it back together.
Shut up! I was all high on the smell of leather.

The couch came through fine but it won't be going anywhere soon. I suppose we could chop it up and buy a new one but that seems wasteful right now and upholstering is something I really do like to do. It may take me a year or three to get around to it, but....

And then I got a glimpse of Sunday as it flew by and now I know it is Monday because I spilled smoothie on my suede boots first thing this morning, I left home without my cell phone, and sorry to have to overshare but when I went to use 'my' stall in the restroom at here work, someone had already left fresh skid marks in the bowl. BEFORE 9am!!! I not a public pooper myself, so I'm bothered. Probably just because I have no one to yell at about it. Maybe I should bring Homer to work with me.

Half hearted

2009-02-19T13:00:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed that I've been slacking here even more than usual. If I was ever addicted, I guess I have become spontaneously healed.
PraiseGoogle!

Not that blogaddiction is a bad thing, necessarily, but I have my fingers in too many things right now to let any one get my compulsive attention, because God forbid, if I were to devote too much time to any ONE thing, that thing might get FINISHED.

And there would go the one constant in my life - Half assedness: If it's more than half-finished, it's probably only half-right or half as good as it could be. THAT is what it says in the dictionary under Jane! right now. Hopefully, I can turn things around before they plant me under half a headstone.

I'm mostly a victim of my own short attention span, poor time management and a greater love of taking on a project than seeing it through. I try to please too many people. I also struggle when things don't go right. My husband likes to point out that I don't like to deal with things that are difficult. Really. You mean it is not normal to prefer cheesecake over cow crap?

Why am I even telling you this? No idea, except maybe to explain why I will probably be knocking The Nest down to perhaps quarter-assedness for a while because I have other things that I need to bring up to my half-standards. Harder things. Mostly cow crap.

I'm also telling you because when I had my 3000 mile checkup at the therapist today, she mostly gave me the silent treatment. She did ask me if I was doing my hair different, said she liked it, and then kept staring in the vicinity of my right ear for the rest of the session. I guess I could ask for a do over, but you, my dear internet, are cheaper than another copay.

One Stoned Weekend

2009-02-18T09:45:00.001-07:00

Somewhere in the middle of last night, I came up with a REALLY good idea for today's blog. It even made me giggle in my pillow. Unfortunately, the title is all that I remember this morning. I'm not terribly upset because I realize that half-sleep blogging might hold the same integrity as drunk dialing - seeming to be a good idea at the time but not so much the next day. Or quite possibly I'm just trying to make myself feel better about yet another senior moment.

Last Saturday morning, Homer and I headed out of the snow and down to Moab for some R&R. One of the many amazing things about this place, You-tah, is that just by topping a mountain pass you can make a pretty good weather change. While not exactly bikini weather, it was sunnier and warmer and much fresher at our destination. Plus there was a hot tub. And there is NO cell service in the national parks!

We met up with a wild bunch that Homer hikes with regularly and had some fun. It was good to clear out the cobwebs and feel the legs burn a little. Oh, and the scenery wasn't bad either.

This is Delicate Arch. We like it so much, we put it on our license plates.

Another shot of it- new to me this year:

Something in the Fiery Furnace at Arches NP.

This is the back of the Three*Gossips at Arches.

And here's some double delicious archishness!

What? You say. This doesn't sound like a very romantic getaway for Valentine's Day weekend? Well maybe you should look again.

I can't tell you how many of these types of formations there are.
~~~

And this would be one of Homer's favorites.

See? Something for everyone.

This is Canyonlands NP.

Jane's just about to walk home because Homer keeps taking her picture.
~~

We left the girls at home by themselves all weekend and it appears that nothing caught fire and no one was arrested, so I think we can score one for superior parenting!

All the pets were still alive, too, but I couldn't help but notice how the 'big three' attacked their food bowls Monday night. When Omega came home, I asked her why she hadn't fed the dog and two cats any of their wet food, which I usually mix in with the dry to spice it up a bit. She told me that she only fed them once and they were so happy to have any food, they didn't even care that it was all dry. I'm going to keep that in mind for the next time she's hungry; the longer I wait, the less that will be expected.

I'm so glad she cleared that up.

Is anyone not singing 'Feed the Birds' from Mary Poppins right now?

Cuz I'm a Valentine Grinch

2009-02-12T15:47:00.004-07:00

Thanks to my good friend Marial, who would like you to know that we were NEVER college roommates.

Plain as the invisible nose on my face

2009-02-11T13:00:00.000-07:00

Remember how I lost my glasses the night of the Sugar Bowl?

No?

The short story is that I was party to a frantic, rooftop, mid-blizzard, slapdash antenna fix in the half hour prior to my Utes commencing to do some monumental Tide schooling.

Not to rub it in or anything. I wouldn’t do that. Unbeaten, those Utes. All season!

Sorry.

Anyway, it’s been about 6 weeks and I have sifted through snow and ice chunks and combed the roof during thawing periods. I even peeked into the gutters a couple of times.

No luck.

They weren’t an expensive pair of glasses and I have another perfectly good pair but I missed the lost ones and you know how you just have a feeling?

I had one.

I just kept thinking, no knowing, that they would turn up in spite of my empty efforts. I admit, though, I was starting to lose a bit of faith in my knowiness.

But last Sunday, in an unexpected burst of angry energy, I tackled the crap pile that had taken over the laundry room, (aka: the backside of the TV wall) where coincidentally, the antenna wire happens to fall from the ceiling.

Oh, THAT room.

Okay, I’m not that slow. I had already checked the area quite extensively.

More than once.

But I did so again.

And this time, in my tirade, I dropped to my hands and knees and stuck my face all the way to the cold, concrete floor and peeked under the great rolling cabinet and what do you know? Sure as shortcake, there were my glasses!

Yah-ay, me!

But because I was already steamed at certain branches of the family tree and had begun penciling new beneficiaries into my mental will that day, I decided to perform a little family social experiment just as a little, um, loyalty check.

So I did not shout out with proud joy, I simply placed the glasses on my face and went on with my business.

There were NO surprises at all.

Homer – who had told me just hours before that he had been keeping an eye out for them every day: Still hasn’t noticed 3 days later. I wonder what he is (still?) looking for.

Omega – who thinks she may have heard that they were missing one of the 14 or 43 times I mentioned it: Claims she didn’t know which glasses were missing…. out of two distinctly different pairs - one of which I’ve been wearing every day for 6 weeks.

Alpha – Within 2 nanoseconds of arriving home: Points out excitedly that I found my glasses!

PepperAnn: Declares 'What a good girl you are! Let's have a treat!' Cuz she's a border collie and smart like that.

So there was a snack-filled happy ending, but tell me: Do you ever feel like you could walk around with like half a parakeet stuffed up your nose and as long as you kept filling the pantry and processing the laundry, some people would never even notice?

One more reason to try before you buy

2009-02-10T09:01:00.004-07:00

Today I am wearing a new antiperspirant which states, on its pretty pink package that it is 'cotton' scented. Every time I move my arms, though, I get a distinctive whiff of something way worse than girl-sweat.

I guess it was my misguided optimism that caused me to expect the smell of freshly aired sheets as opposed to that of a teenage boy's jock socks.

Read and follow all label directions

2009-02-06T08:57:00.003-07:00

Because Junie , who is one of my oldest blog-buddies*, loves this post enough to hunt it down, copy it and email it to me (since I am apparently too addled to locate my own past posts), I give you the recycled 'Chicken Post'.

*Oldest as in long-term. She is, in fact, much younger than me and has better hair. But she loves things like scrapbookin' as much as I do - which is not at all - so I loves her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I went to the grocery store yesterday, as I do at least once every day because I lack enough planning skills to make it through a single day without a trip to the grocery store. I don't know if it is because I am inherently cheap and I think that $40 spent daily is much less than $280 spent once a week OR if it is because deep down I still think of the grocery store as an escape hatch. When the girls were little I could get out of the house alone without too much trouble if I said I was going to the grocery store. God knows, Homer is not about to stand in the way of getting the pantry filled. Homer loves food more than he minded single parenting for an hour or two.

Well, there I am cruising the aisles when something catches my eye. A new product: Gold'n Plump Bake It Easy chicken in a bag. The easy part is what jumped out. 'Convenient bake-in-bag!' 'Sweet bbq flavor'. Hmm. This sounds like my kind of meal. No fuss, no mess.

Against my better judgement that says you don't pick up Sunday's meal on Saturday, I bought it. This worked out well since I came down with a severe case of the lazies today. After the weekly trip to Target, I was beat. Probably because I coughed up $160 dollars for.... Target stuff. The cheapskate thing again.

Okay, it is now Sunday afternoon and the oven has not succeeded in sucking the chicken out of the fridge and baking it on its own so I drag my lazy arse off the couch to jumpstart the "bake it easy" experience. I check the directions. I should have read all THREE steps of the instructions before proceeding but 3 things seemed like a lot to remember so I went with the one step at a time method.

Step 1 - Preheat oven to 350. Remove outer bag. Leave chicken in oven bag. Place chicken breast side up. Hmm, the oven bag is fairly opaque. How do I know which side is the breast side? I grope the chicken extensively and make a call.

Cut six 1/2" slits on top of bag for steam to escape. Place pan in oven......yada yada. Wow, they didn't lie. How easy was that? Except... I should set the timer.

Step 2 says it will take 1-1/2 to 2 hours or until the pop-up timer pops. Pop up timer? Where's that? I didn't come across it when I felt up that chicken. I grope around some more. Aha! There it is on the 'bottom' of the chicken. Well apparently I can't tell a chicken's breast from its ass cuz that's where the pop up seems to be. I can't really fault the chicken because if I, myself, were in a cloudy plastic bag anyone groping ME would mistake my butt for my breast if they were thinking the breast would be the plumper part.

At this point I can't simply turn the chicken over because I cut all those holes in the 'top'. The seasoning will all run out. My chicken won't be plump. I try to rotate the chicken in the bag. It's just too tight and all I accomplish is squirting myself with raw chicken juice which will probably give me a mad case of tuleremia. So I can't turn the chicken because of the holes and the timer won't pop out if it's pointed down. Hmm.

I am forced to think and suddenly this is not easy chicken after all! I rifle through the drawer-of-odd-things. I find one of those ring thingys that go on the top of canning jars (why don't they call it jarring?) and I place it under the chicken butt/breast like a little donut pillow. That should give the popper room to pop. I place the cockeyed chicken in the oven.

I check the chicken after about an hour. The chicken bottom is starting to look nicely browned but the breast is looking like boiled chicken. Ugh! Since the breast is the only part I eat, I make a radical decision. I break open the bag, free the chicken and place it breast side up on the pan. Only.... as I place it back in the oven I notice.....there is no pop-up timer ANYWHERE on the whole damn bird. I swear it WAS there and I swear it is now NOT there. I am swearing a lot.

I'm also exhausted and I have no idea how it will all turn out but I'm pretty sure this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't screwed with my one day at a time shopping policy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: For those of you who won't sleep tonight wondering where the heck the popup timer went, it was was under the skin, which is why I could feel it but not see it. Let me tell you that was one messed up chicken.

You all have a wonderful weekend! I hope to catch up with everyone on Saturday.... or Sunday?

Peace, love, time-management!

Because Alpha is currently enrolled in Psych 101

2009-02-05T16:02:00.004-07:00

Shoot, Junie, I can't FIND the Chicken Post but here's another one that you seemed fond of.....

In our living room we have an end table with a drawer. The drawer is useful for storing those odd little living room things like coasters and pens and batteries and paperclips and postcards that are too pretty to throw and, of course, maps of every national park in the western U.S. because you never know when you may get the urge to plan a camping trip to torture the teenagers.

It’s a pretty full drawer but it wasn’t always that way. In simpler times, when we owned barely one child, it was mostly empty.

When Alpha was a bit shy of age 2 (I’m guessing here because I am, after all, the non-documenting parent) she had a relationship with that drawer that will stick with me long after dementia has erased the memory of breakfast.

Alpha used to put things in that drawer and close it and then open it to see if the item was still there and when she saw that it was she would be SO surprised and take the item out, look at it and put it back in. Wash, rinse, repeat. Over and over. I vaguely remember some child development axiom that says this is an important step in learning that things which are out of sight, do not actually disappear for good. Whatever, Dr. Spock. I don’t know nothing about no child development but I do recognize something that will keep a kid entertained for hours.

Harmless fun. Until……

The child decides to put her hand in the drawer. And close it. Well, if it works with the little Weeble toy, it oughta work with your hand, right? Um, no. This becomes evidenced by the primal screams that send the cat right up the drapes. So, open drawer, remove hand. Close drawer. Wait for pain to subside. Open drawer. Insert hand. Close drawer – not so hard this time because a little something was learned last time. Scream. Open drawer, remove hand. Look at hand. Put back in drawer. Close drawer. More gently this time because that may be the key. Cry in frustration. Stamp foot. Remove hand. Test again with the Weeble…..which works fine so….again.. with.. the.. other.. hand….

You probably wonder where I was in all this. Obviously nearby since I seem to know exactly what happened. Yes, indeed, I stood there watching the whole thing. Part disbelief and part intense curiosity – the very same things that make you unable to turn away from a bad car wreck!

I will admit our loud that very small people frighten me. I have no memory of being that age so I have nothing to draw on. Sure I could read books and stuff but who has time for that – unless you don’t have any kids and then what would be the point? I worked full-time and my children were victims of daycare. "OH NO," you say "surely they are headed for rot and ruin." Um, so far so good. I think it was the best thing for them. Not because of anything those studies tell you about daycare but because they had teachers that were SO much more competent than their mother in the child development area (we won't even go into their father who thought everything should be done like his parents did it - thith ith ne hoding ny tongue on thath).

But really, daycare is amazing. You hand over your whole monthly paycheck to these people and they tell you precisely what to worry about and what is normal. It's like a daily visit with the pediatrician. Jeez, they even potty train the kid for you and that would be worth all the rest of my money if I had any when I was done paying for daycare.

But I digress. So there I was watching the whole hand-slamming episode and part of me was thinking “I should take notes so Ms. Bonnie (who is a grandmother) can tell me if all this is normal” and the other part of me was thinking “this is like physics lab for toddlers”. Real hands-on learning, if you will.

Besides, she never once asked for my input and she does still own two fully functional hands leading me to think the lesson was eventually learned... without my help.

So you’re probably wondering "Jane, what does this have to do with anything in the here and now, 15 years later?" I was, too, for a minute but then I remembered where I was headed with this.

I have a drawer of my own. It’s called Wal*mart. As Omega and I left that store last night – without the photos that were ordered 9 days ago but weren’t available as promised, and without all the other things that we had picked out but, instead left at an empty checkout because there were precisely 2 checkouts open and no less than 10 people in each line, I thought about that drawer. I am certainly not condemning all Wal*marts and maybe not even the one in my neighborhood. Maybe I just have hideously bad luck. What I question is why I keep going back to a place that consistently gets me so riled! It really is ‘always something’ and still I GO BACK. I keep slamming my hand in the Wal*mart drawer.

I need to put a big sign on the dash of my car that says “Jane, you Stupid-head, stay away from Wal*mart!

Otherwise, I’m pretty sure my daughters are going to be taking notes so they can ask their Psychology teachers what to worry about and what is normal because there is no daycare for parents that are still employed and own the house you live in.

So, do you have a drawer of your own? Something you punish yourself with over and over even though you SHOULD know better? Tell me what it is. I’d love to hear anything that will make you look just as masochistic as me.

Sometimes the rat doesn't win the race

2009-02-04T10:00:00.000-07:00

From two years ago:

Yesterday at noon my mother calls me at work (as you may remember she and my father are visiting for a couple weeks). The phone rings. I check the caller ID.

Me: Hello (Trying to keep the ‘now what?’ out of my voice).

Usually she calls to ask me where I keep something. But it doesn’t come off like a simple inquiry. It sounds more like she's accusing me of not having said item and when I am able to direct her to it, I get the sense that if I kept it in the logical place (ie. where SHE keeps it) she would not be wasting our time with this call.

She: Hi. pause, sigh. You’re probably not going to want to hear this.

OH…FRICKIN...NO….. She has flooded the basement/killed my father/dumped out the liquor/invited missionaries in/what else? Think, OMG, what has she done? Wait…..she called on her cell phone. Maybe that’s because I have no house….. That’s it. She has put hot ashes in the garbage and burned down our house. Never mind that we haven't used the fireplace, this woman is resourceful.

But…..waitjustadarnminute…… Isn’t that the phrase I used to use when I called her at work to impart some bad news? As in: ‘Mom, you probably don’t want to hear this but your son is skateboarding down Broadway in your wedding dress.’ Could this be a joke? That’s it. She’s messing with me.

Me: Hear whaaat?

Come on, tell me you’re kidding.

She: I have CatTwo locked in your bedroom.
Me: WHY? ;-)
She: She has a rat in there.

Okay, she’s been drinking the liquor. On the other hand, CatTwo is pretty good about bringing home her share of the bacon. And our neighbors down the hill have a bad, nasty woodpile where I have seen some very ‘big mice’ on occasion.

Me: Can’t you pick it up with a shovel or something?
She: another pause It’s still alive.
Me: Alive. Not a question.
She: Yes, I don’t think it’s even wounded. It moves really fast.
Me: Any idea how she got it in there?
She: Well, I let her in the house. I guess she had it with her.
Me: (yeah, I know I shouldn’t have said it) And you didn’t notice a big ole RAT hanging from her mouth???????
She: I’m sorry! I was making the frosting for your bars. Of course, my fault, Alpha has a team potluck tonight and Mom volunteered to take the brownie baking off my hands.

Let me think, I’m only about 3 days behind at work. I have two reports due the next morning. One half-finished, one not started. Homer would be no help. Even if he could get away from work, I don’t think he could hop fast enough to catch a rat – being injured and all.

Me: sigh I’ll be home in half an hour.

I pack up my reports and other work, brief my boss and head out. I’m driving home, trying to plot a strategy. I take mental inventory of my bedroom: 67 pairs of shoes on my closet floor, multiple boxes of stuff jammed under the bed, the dressers have great rodent hidey holes underneath, the man-closet has backpacks, hiking gear and half his wardrobe on the floor. I start to feel defeated. This is going to be an all day project.

Arrive home. Status update: Cat and, presumably, Rat are still in bedroom. Mom has armed herself with a hammer, traded her Crocs for ankle boots and has tucked her pants into her socks. I deem the sock idea a good one. I grab the mop and a huge plastic container. I’m thinking if the cat would just catch the rat again, I’ll simply pick up the cat and put them both in the container, put on the lid and escort them outside. Turns out that was a bit optimistic.

My dad announces that he’s going to take a shower – DOWNSTAIRS. This is so totally NOT his problem. Thanks, Dad!

So Mom and I head to battle. A rat SWAT team of two. It takes about an hour of picking stuff off the floor and carefully poking things out from under the bed. We gradually get braver. At last the rat is exposed! Much excitement! Cat pounces, rat runs, Mom jumps, hammer flies, hits my knee! Before I blacked out from the pain, I see blur of gray run towards the bathroom door. From that point, it didn’t go so well for the rat. I will spare you the grisly details but let’s just say the rat is no longer a problem. CatTwo is rather confused and a bit slighted. Mom is going around and around blaming the woodpile owners (she’s going to call the health department), blaming the cat, and blaming herself for letting the cat in, although she swears if the rat had been in her mouth, she certainly would have noticed.

What! Did she have it in her pocket, Mom?
~~~~~~
Epilogue
I get into work the next day and my boss has written me a poem (sometimes she's cool like that). I think she has hidden rapper tendencies.

The Rat Race

The cat brought the rat
to chase ‘round the place.

The rat ran and squeeked
while the family freaked.

CatTwo was the herder
And Jane did the murder;
Did the deed with a door.
So the rat will grace the woodpile no more.

Merry Valentricks Day!

2009-02-03T09:12:00.005-07:00

Like most of governmental America, I am heavily into the process of figuring out just how we're going to do much more with much less. Make that just most of America, period.

Time for me to earn my keep in hopes of keeping my earn.

Sadly, this means little spare time for fun.... or blogging.... or sleeping.

Not wanting to be a total dropout, I scoured the archives and dug up some old stuff that even longtime Jane readers *hopefully* won't remember.

After all recycling is good for America, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have an M&M dispenser in my office,
which gives out M&M's for FREE!
I admit I am somewhat streaky about keeping it filled.

I know!
Lazy, lazy Jane!

But shortly after Christmas, I was at the Tar-jay
and I noticed bags of Holiday M's going for way cheap.
My favorite price!
Knowing that it takes more than a few weeks for them to go bad,
I bought several bags of the red, white and green buggers...
and filled my dispenser.

It wasn't but the day after New Years that
the first ungrateful chocolate moocher made fun of my 'old' candy.

Really!
Well, since that whole gift horse thing is wasted on these vultures,
I did what any cheap, loving accountant would do...
I removed all the green M's.
...
Funny how much fresher they taste
now that they look like Valentine candies.

Oh... the green ones?
They'll be getting those in March...
when my St. Patrick's day shipment 'comes in'.

And still I'll be walking home from the bus stop.

2009-01-30T11:30:00.000-07:00

Whew! Finally Friday. It took me most of the week to purge that nasty virus from my system. Oops, next slide.
Sorry. Hope you aren't eating.

Anyway, I take a couple sick days and then I play from behind all week, at home and at work. I don't know when I'll ever catch up.
Luckily no one else got sick. As much as I believe in sharing, a sick man is no woman's idea of a good time. I think that's why more husbands aren't poisoned to death

I'm gearing up for a big weekend push on the ManCave project (thank you Lorrie). I would love to fill you in on what's been happening but since I can't type while I'm twitching, let's just say 'progress' is not the word of the week.
Nor is 'decisiveness'.
Noooo, noooo. More likely it would be 'Idon'tgivearatsrump,decidealready!'
or 'drivingmefrickinnuts'!
But those aren't words, are they boys and girls?

Does anyone know what ever happened to quaaludes? I don't think I've heard them mentioned since like the 80's but if ever they were going to make a comeback, now would be a darn good time for me.

Tell me, what do you have planned for the weekend, and what, if anything, are you counting on to pull YOU through?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In other news: more evidence that my Karma account is WAY into overdraft.

You know that I've tried to give up as much driving as possible, right?

If you could see what the air looks like in our fair metropolitan soup bowl right now, you would understand. Driving unecessarily feels roughly equivalent to pooping in the swimming pool and then swimming 50 laps.

So, you'd think I'd be saving some coin on gas, no?

No.

Last weekend I was lucky enough to snag 'my' car for the weekly grocery run. No, Debbie, I did NOT remember my reusable bags. I wasn't, however, lucky enough to find anything but fumes in the tank. So I filled it up.

This came on the heels of it being 'my turn' to fill Alpha's tank. We carpool to work/school in the morning and she is pretty good about letting me use daJeep whenever I need it... Well, last night I used her rig to make a Target run and whaddayaknow, it was on E. Luckily, my round red retail pusher is only a few blocks away so I made it there and home with 10 drops to spare.

After I unloaded, I told Homer "I think I got her this time. I left the tank on empty and I'm taking the bus tomorrow so she can't pull that old 'Oh dear Mommy, we need gas but I have no money' thing on me!" I quoted her in my best silly, blond me voice.

I was feeling quite proud of myself.

Fast forward to this morning. For some reason, I am unable to push back the covers at 6:30am. Who knew goose down could be so heavy?

So, I'm laying in bed wondering if I should get my lazy self up and make a mad dash for the bus or lounge a little longer and catch a ride with Alpha, which puts me at work quite late. I sort of decide to make the dash but I run into problems, so I go to her room to find out what time she's leaving.

But she's not there!

Well, I'll show the little poo! I'll take daJeep to work, yes I will!

By the time I get back to my room, I start to wonder if I should worry because she is not home. I'm a good mother like that.

I check my phone.

One message received.

From Alpha.

'I am sleeping

at lily's so you

can drive my

jeep to work

tomorrow and

i will just drive

it home.'

She forgot to add that it HAS NO GAS.

Scratch that. It DIDN'T HAVE any gas. I am a victim of teenage wilyness and my own laziness.

I have calculated that so far this month, driving is costing me roughly $5/mile - just for gas.

But, I think I should just shut up and be glad it's only $1.57 a gallon, huh?

The stomach gods are very angry

2009-01-26T12:25:00.002-07:00

Sorry to be so scarce lately but I'm suffering from a right rocky case of the Tournament Flu - so-called because of its 'double elimination' aspect. These last few days my energy has been focused entirely on such decisions as: should I drive the porcelain bus or ride it? Where exactly in the human body, is the continental divide that determines which way it's going to 'go'? And has anyone fallen head first into a toilet and drowned or will I be the first?

I'll return when it no longer feels like I ate a meal of push pins with a chaser of battery acid.

Why they keep the sharp things under a watchful eye in the 'tool corral'

2009-01-22T09:54:00.008-07:00

Last night's trip to the Ho'Depot:

Jane wants just one bucket of joint compound so she can finish her drywalling duties. Homer tags along to 'show her a few things.'

Homer: These are the switchplates that I like. What do you think?

Jane: I don't think they're the look we're going for. What about these?

Homer: Well... yeah.... or....

This is where Homer spies something on Jane's face, then actually licks his thumb and tries to wipe it off!! Like a Grandma in church!!!

Jane wraps her scarf around her face and apologizes to the gentleman over by the switches, whose ears appear to be inflamed from her colorful language. Jane wonders when he snuck into the aisle.

Homer picks out 3 or 4 different switchplates and appears ready to launch into a protracted speech on the virtues of each one. Jane walks off in a daze.

Homer catches up and detours her through the tile aisle. Twenty minutes and 7 opened boxes later, they have 3 travertine tiles that 'match' to Homer's standards.

Jane: Dude! Quit arranging yourself. You are in public.

Homer: It's just guys, they have nuts, too.

Jane: I swear, you need to get out more.... or maybe not at all.

Too much more time spent picking out 13 exactly right tile trim pieces.

On to the wood trim section. A half hour of Jane's life dissolves as she smiles, nods and encourages Homer to actually place the wood pieces IN the cart, signifying that they are indeed the chosen ones, and thus ending the perusal of every square inch of each ten foot long board.

Did you even realize how precarious the balance is between not enough knots to be interesting and too knotty to be structurally sound? No? Like Jane, you would probably wish those wood pieces were sharp enough to drive through ones own heart.

Jane slips off and picks out a new toilet seat - in approximately 30 seconds.

Still the wood debate marches on. Homer has removed every trim piece from the rack, totally blocking the aisle. Jane pretends not to know the strange guy who has dismantled the entire knotty alder display and skips right on by to pick up her drywall goop.

Eventually Homer moves on to the vent covers.

Frankly, Jane isn't even sure if they actually bought any vent covers because this is when her head started spinning and her eyes glazed over and she lost all interest in 'The Project'.

Which is good because by the time Jane and Homer arrived home it was too late for Jane to start anything.
Except a large bottle of tequila.

Yes, Lizspin, Homer IS an engineer. However did you know???

When Sisyphus gets transferred to home improvement

2009-01-22T09:46:00.008-07:00

Friday night and a 3-day weekend looms.

Jane thinks something might possibly get crossed off the Unfinished Projects List.

Hmmm…. there’s so much to choose from.
The door paint for sure. Maybe even the bathroom mirror.
But Homer jumps in and declares the family room to be the winner.
But wait! This is Jane’s resolution.

Well dang, if it keeps him from cooking all weekend…

Pre-weekend project status: Walls of large basement room were textured 5 years ago in an attempt to cover up ugly paneling without having to endure the mess of demo and sheetrocking. Well, all except for half of one wall, which contains a cabinet. Jane could never get an answer out of Homer as to whether the cabinet could be removed so project was abandoned.

So.... three-day weekend begins.
Homer agrees to cabinet removal.
Cabinet is emptied of 64 different empty mini bottles, lots of stupid junk and one glittery Las Vegas clock with dice for numbers.
Cabinet is removed and discussion begins about how to patch the vent hole from the old furnace.
Talk turns to installing a new heat vent – in different location - and a cold air return.
And moving an outlet and a switch.
All of which would be much easier if the paneling was torn out.
Which it is.
Jane snaps up the electrical and drywall contracts; Homer’s all over the HVAC.

Post- weekend Project Status: Half of one wall STILL needs to be texturized. The rest of the walls need to be RE-texturized into more of a stucco-like effect, and then repainted, the door trim and baseboards are to be replaced with ‘knotty alder’ wood, the window sills redone with travertine stone, the lights replaced with not track OR can lighting, but BOTH track and cans and SOMEWHERE out there probably exists the perfect vent and switchplate covers. But we have yet to find them.

Project moved from Almost Complete to Barely Started status.

You are probably thinking about moving Jane from Partially Crazy to Fuggin-Nuts status but she thinks that it’s best to give Homer design freedom in this manly, big-screen tv area rather than other, more public rooms.

Hopefully all will survive to test that theory.

The morning after

2009-01-21T09:07:00.005-07:00

I really enjoyed reading everyone's comments on yesterday's post. Although I have to wonder why the less optomistic views weren't shared - I know you are out there - I was glad to read that I wasn't the only one feeling inaugur-elation.

I was also a bit surprised by all the focus on race. Not that I didn't think it was, indeed, a great day for black people but really, half of President Obama comes from just another white person. Wait! Don't get your knickers twisted. What I mean is that we spend all our time preaching how race and religion shouldn't matter when we hire employees - there are laws even- yet in this case so much was made of his race. Can you imagine if your boss paraded a new hire around the company, introducing him as the first Native American manager in the history of the company? Or Amish? Or woman? Awkward only begins to cover it. There's also irrelavant and, oh, illegal.

I guess I didn't grow up in the deep south, and segregation is just a very vague recollection from my early youth but it never occurred to me that we wouldn't one day have a black and/or a woman for president. I thought it was all a matter of when a qualified candidate with those characteristics, would happen to step up. Yes, I realize that there are racist, sexist people out there, but fewer it seems with each new generation.

Anyway, I am much more impressed by the content of the Prez's character than the color of his skin. I wasn't originally a B.O. supporter. Although I loved his name, even I realized that a cool moniker was not a prerequisite to lead our country. I didn't think he had enough experience. Probably he wasn't tough enough. But the more I listened to him, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that an 'organizer' was probably the perfect choice for the job. I think that President Obama is committed to surrounding himself with experts and even people with opposing views, so that he can harvest the best information available to handle each situation. Maybe I'm over simplifying it, but shouldn't our president be an 'organizer'?

It also doesn't hurt that he is eloquent. Boy howdy, that's been about 8 years coming. I love to listen to our new Prez because I can understand him, and I believe in him and I hope the rest of America does, too, because right now we need someone we can believe in. Someone to take us through the incredible mess we are in. And THAT is why I am hopeful.

Jane! is Hopeful

2009-01-20T08:39:00.002-07:00

It was a crazy weekend in which I sunk only deeper into the project mire but today it all seems fairly insignificant compared to what is going on in Washington DC. I'm trying to soak up as much of this monumentous occasion as possible.

I'll be back tomorrow.
But tell me, how do you feel today?

See Jane Run. Run Jane Run.

2009-01-16T08:49:00.004-07:00

Today's blog is brought to you by the letter's T, G, I and F!

With a special happiness contribution from Martin Luther King,Jr, whom we shall honor by NOT working on Monday.

Other than that I really have nothing to say, or rather no time to chat because this is what my day will look like:

Please note that in real life I do not actually wearing a skirt, peter pan collar or a rooster top hairdo.

That said, I found this little nugget on MSN today. I find it quite ironic that my hometown tops this list of America's Healthiest Cities for Women and one of the reasons is LOW job stress. Hahahahaha! I also see that women in my ancestral home have the highest life expectancies. Which stresses me even more because I realize that I will need to work HARDER and save MORE in case I don't die exactly at 86.4 years of age - when my 401k runs out.

And then on the bus last night, I started thinking about eggs.... because I forgot my iPod. Can anyone tell me why there are no size 'small' eggs? And why is size 'large' the standard? Really, how many recipes, if they state size at all, ask for anything besides 'large'? So why are they not sized small, medium and large instead of medium, large and extra-large?

And finally from the Please-Make-Jane-Feel-Normal files: Have you ever dreamed that you didn't sleep all night? I mean you honestly thought you were tossing and turning and wide awake but you now realize that you were in, like, Greece or something with the American*Idol judges so you probably were, in fact, quite asleep. I wonder how THAT contributes to my stress level.

I guess I did have a couple of things to say. And a couple more:

Happy weekend everybody!

Peace, Love, Sisterhood!

After a wild night at the cat bar

2009-01-14T22:10:00.005-07:00

This is a common sight in the morning at our house.

I think he likes this spot because the floor is heated, but whenever I turn on the light and find him laying there, I can't help but miss my college roommate.

Oh the High Pressure World of Accounting

2009-01-14T11:42:00.004-07:00

I am quite pleased to announce that I have officially completed our income tax reporting for.... 2007! Yessiree, in less than 9 months from the time they were due, I have finally sifted through the horrid, documentatious mess, poked the appropriate holes and filed the forms in their neat little binder.

I realize that some people do this on or before April 15th or even the 16th if they are all out exhausted from racing to the post office before midnight like, um, okay me, but I have to wonder what they then do with all that open desk space. I would have to *gasp* dust it, or something - FOR NINE MONTHS!

On the other hand, my method works out so very nicely; I can now use the empty space to accumulate all that mail that arrives marked 'important tax documents'.

Until April 14th arrives and we start the race all over again.

I won't discuss it out loud, but I have a squishy, loosey goosey, kinda sorta goal in the back of my head that says this might be the year that I do taxes before the very last minute. But only because my inner tax analyst tells me that all those losses we took in the stock market last year might add up to a possible refund.
Isn't that a sign of the times? - me hoping that a bajillion dollar loss to our retirement accounts might cough up a hundred dollar refund.... which will hopefully buy enough mac and cheese to see us through.... like Wednesday?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eyeglass update: I thank you all for your suggestions on their possible location. Right now I am just waiting for a good thaw. Our house has an almost-flat roof, which is now covered with about 4 inches of snow. I realize that they could have flown off my head in the antenna/storm frenzy. Or they could have dropped off when I was going up or down the ladder. Realizing that pawing blindly through the snow piles could do harm to the glasses, I'm just keeping a watchful eye on the snow piles, and hoping that PepperAnn doesn't find them first and trade them off to the old, blind setter next door for a half used chewbone.

Jane's Lost It!

2009-01-13T10:40:00.011-07:00

You probably already knew that. I guess I did, too, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Nowadays there isn’t much ELSE to talk about. I don’t know if it is age, or hormones, or STRESS or all of the above but some days I wonder if I should be allowed to leave the house unescorted. Oh wait! I’m the parent with a job. And benefits. I have to leave the house. And this morning, leave I did, wearing my slippers. True, they matched my pants beautifully, but it wasn’t the look I was going for. Although.... a day in slippers coulda sucked much of the cranky out of me.

I have also been known to try on two different shoes and get distracted before deciding which one I liked best. The body is an amazingly adaptable thing. I know this because after roughly two minutes, my feet quit sending signals to my brain indicating that there is something amiss, and walking with two completely different heel heights becomes as natural as showering naked.

Which maybe isn’t all that natural to me because I have been known to step into the shower in my underwear.

Speaking of underwear, I was organizing my delicates drawer the other day and I found a pair of red panties – in exactly my size – which I have never seen before. The brand is Ashley-something which is not one of ‘my’ brands. I tried them on and I really like them. I would remember if I had purchased them because I would have wanted more. The worst part? This is the second time this has happened. How does one acquire strange underwear?? No, I don’t think Homer is playing hide the salami with someone else while I’m at work… these aren’t that kind of underwear. And they aren’t his size, either, if THAT’S the way your mind is rolling.

And there was the vacuum. I vacuumed the entire living room the other day. I know! What a concept! Except that I had this odd feeling that it was moving across the carpet too easily. I’m just that in tune with my Dirt*Devil. I wondered if the beater bar was moving. Check. Hmmm. It seemed to be picking up the obvious litter. Around the time that I finished the room, I checked the dirt cup. I’m kind of masochistic that way – I like to see all the crud that was sucked up. It makes me feel accomplished. Only I couldn’t see it because THE DIRT CUP WAS STILL BY THE BACK DOOR. Where I left it after I emptied it. Now, it’s called a dirt ‘cup’ but it’s actually about half of my vacuum, which looks something like this:

See how big that sucker is? You would think I would notice something like that.

By the time I got home last night, the rug and floor in the laundry room had dried enough to vacuum up all the feathers from the exploding pillow escapade. I was also looking forward to giving the laundry room a good cleaning (sick, I know, but wait) in hopes of finding the eyeglasses I lost the night of the antenna fiasco. They are my best nerd glasses and I feel totally smarter when I wear them, but we became separated somewhere between the time I got home from work and the start of the football game. I kept thinking they would show up but they haven’t and now my recollection of my actions that night has dimmed to the point that I only remember that I was awake. I think.

And no, they are NOT on top of my head. But they probably were just before I lost them.

Which brings us to this morning. We were running a bit late due to the slipper episode so I drove Alpha’s rig with the intention of dropping her on the other side of campus so she could get to her class early enough to get a seat since it was standing room only yesterday. Only I got distracted and made a wrong turn. And then missed the turn that would have fixed the problem. So I tried to make a U-turn but missed the light. And then hit the roundabout just in time for the train arms to come down. And at the next red light I was behind a dummy who was going straight from the right turn lane. Yes,I wanted to turn right.

Alpha was so sweet the entire time. She kept saying things like ‘Well, I still have 10 minutes.’ And ‘Oh, there are always more people on the first day – and then you never see them again.’ And finally my personal favorite ‘Sitting during class is for lazy people’.

But I did get her there a few minutes early. And I made it to work without incident, which I wouldn’t be able to say if I had actually hit that pedestrian that came out of nowhere and crossed in front of my car while I was looking the other way.

I TOLD you I shouldn’t leave the house.

Much nothing to ado about

2009-01-12T09:12:00.003-07:00

As usual someone played the so-not-funny joke of pushing the fast forward button on my weekend. How IS it that 2 weekend days can go faster than a 10-minute ‘chat’ with the boss? Not fair.

I guess that’s my sour-grapish way of saying that I didn’t accomplish diddly. I did parts of many things but as usual I didn’t FINISH anything.

My one resolution for the new year is to finish all the many projects that have been left in the dust of my time-challenged life. I thought I would start slowly so I selected a size small chore for this weekend: one last closet door left undone from last spring’s door painting project. Well, I only got the holes plugged and sanded so it remains on the list. The good news is that I didn’t start anything new.

And the weekend wasn’t without its lessons learned. First, let me warn you that it is not possible to download an entire year’s worth of movies from the hard-drive of your video camera an hour before you need it to capture an intense cheerleading competition. Ah, but the fact that I WAS able to download them at all means that we won’t , in fact, have to buy a new camera every time the hard disc fills up! This will help the family budget tremendously in these tough economic times. More good news in that I was able to clear off enough stuff to make room for the new stuff and by 10pm last night, I had everything transferred. I think I even have a pretty good idea how to edit the clips and burn them onto DVDs, but I might just be overly full of myself.

Second, if your nose is feeling overly allergyish and you decide it’s time to launder the feather pillows, don’t ignore the loose feathers inside the allergy-proof cover of one of them. I know it’s easy to support your laziness with the theory that they are just some strays that have worked through the pillow seams. Trust me, that it is a WHOLE lot more work to clean a completely exploded feather pillow out of your washing machine. And out of the filters. And off the floor of the laundry room. And out of the floor drain. And out of the dryer filters. And probably from every remote corner of your house for the next 50 years.

And even your extreme disappointment in yourself won’t equal the look your cat gives you when he sees the feathers, that says ‘Why didn't you call me for the main course?’

Ah, but only five more days until the weekend.

Very Vexing

2009-01-08T10:45:00.000-07:00

I got this from Soxy Deb at Postcards from the Edge.

She did it a few days ago and offered it up to all willing victims. I volunteered to take a letter off her hands, but pleaded for it not to be X. She gave me V. I must've pissed her off, but I love a challenge so here's how it works: You have to list 10 of your favorite things, but they have to start with a certain letter (assigned to you by the blog owner).

1. Velcro - This stuff is amazing and has about 17 gazillion uses. One time we went to this place that was all filled with those huge blow up things. One was a trampoline-type where you put on this whole suit made out of the loopy side and jumped up and threw yourself at the wall covered with the hooky side. I don't know what made me think it was going to be fun. I hung there with the deepest, most painful wedgie and all I could think about was how many other buttcracks that suit had already visited since its last cleaning. Okay, that wasn't a good example, but when it's used responsibly, I do love Velcro.

2. Valium - Okay, I've never actually used the stuff but I think it has saved my life a few times.

3. Vacuum - One of those things I hate to love. Vacuuming is not much fun but I have to love anything that can suck all that disgusting $hit out of my environment. Although, I was good with the old ones that had the disposable bags so you didn't have to see every bit of skin, pet hair and... what is all that crud, anyway?

4. Vodka - Needs no explaining. Probably the best thing to come out of Russia, which, incidently is part of the Vodka Belt. Who knew.

5. Vikings - You can take the girl out of the 'Otas, but you can't take the desire to be perennially disappointed by the Minnesota Vikings out of the girl. No, I'm not a football fan but I play one when I talk to my father.

6. Vowels - Wrtng wld b vry hrd wtht vwls.

7. Vegetables - Some I like more than others... loves my broccoli and brussel sprouts... and squash and peppers. Can't do cooked peas or corn off the cob... or anything canned. I love a good stir fry but not when they just barely heat the veggies. Warm, raw veggies just aren't right.

8. Vasectomies - Pretty self-explanatory. Too bad these can't be voted on by the general public.

9. Valentines - As long as there is chocolate involved... or diamonds.

10. Variety - I'm bored easily. I was ready to switch letters at about number 5. But I stuck with it and I didn't even have to use vag!na or v!brator or even v!rg!in. Yay me.

If anyone else out there is game, just let me know and I'll toss a letter your way. And no, it won't be X.

Tydee bowl tongue

2009-01-07T10:45:00.002-07:00

You probably wouldn't know it from reading my blog... where I try to maintain a certain, ahem, decorum, but I have a bit of a potty mouth. Here I worry too much about the blog police sending me to cyber-jail... or whatever the heck happens. See? Heck. I wrote heck. That wouldn't have happened in real life where every word you say doesn't hang around FOREVER like it does in internetland.

I don't want to give you the impression that I'm gunning for Howard Stern's job or anything. I don't think I use any, um, colorful words just for the fun of it, but I guess I have kicked it up a bit lately because today my TA (trusty assistant) asked me if she was being a bad influence on me. I told her no, I learned most of those words before she was even born. *sigh*

I blame much of it on my kids. I became pretty good about censoring myself when the girls were little. There is nothing like having your 4-year-old yell 'SON of a bitch!' in the grocery store when you tell her they are out of Cocoa Cruchies, to stiffen your resolve to clean up your language. As they got older my lips loosened a bit. I know, I know. I should still be trying to set a good example. So withdraw my mother-of-the-year nomination. There are so many other reasons that I couldn't win anyway.

The thing is, now that I can't hear very much, I guess I assume that other people can't either, and what I intend to be said under my breath, apparently is not... judging from the looks I get. So, I guess I am going to have to take Diane up on her offer to teach me to swear in sign language. Either that or join the Navy.

So, are you totally shocked?

Sugar is SO SaWEET!

2009-01-04T17:28:00.002-07:00

I told you we got a big LCD TV for Christmas, no? Well, we've been playing Wii and watching movies on it since Santa dropped it off but we hadn't gotten around to messing with the antenna so that we could get some actual TV on the TV. I was under the impression that the antenna we had didn't work because one of the girls, Omega I believe, told Homer she hooked it up and... it didn't work. So Homer, being slightly more techy than PepperAnn, told me... it didn't work.

But we vowed to have reception by January 2nd at 6pm so we could watch our University of Utah football team totally send Alabama out with the tide. Plenty of time, right?

Well, of course it came down to Friday when I had to Google this whole confusing HDTV/digital business to try to make some sense out of how to get a signal... too cheap for cable or dish, remember? So Homer bought a new coax cable that in theory would hook to the rooftop antenna and travel through the house and down two floors on the exact same path as the old but inadequate wire.

Homer had it all set at both ends and was waiting for me to get home from work because he wanted 'someone responsible on both ends'. I didn't quite understand who was going to be up on the roof with HIM but I was at the bottom and I was supposed to just 'pull the cable through'.

Yeah. I'm sure you know it didn't work that well. The dumb thing wouldn't fit through the conduit and somehow I ended up on the roof end and was still there when a raging storm blew in. Rain/sleet/snow and BIG wind. Did I mention that I pulled the end off Homer's 'Fifty effing dollar cable'!?!? And we had to pull out a copper tube, no doubt for no reason. Oh and I almost lost the connector down the heinous hole that we had to dig in the roofing. Ugh, that's going to be a mess to fix, but we finally found a last minute, temporary work around - running the cable through the swamp cooler and into the closet and down a hole... finally arriving at the TV, where I worked the connector back on the end of the cable just in time for the Sugar Bowl!

And even though I changed into my thickest sweats and wrapped myself in a down blanket it still took me most of the first half to warm up. But it was all worth it because it turned out to be the biggest night EVER in the history of Utah football because much to the surprise of everyone who doesn't live in Utah, we beat Alabama! Woo-hoo!

Apparently we can thank Coach Saban and all the people who said we didn't deserve to play in that game for the victory. Nothing like a little disrespect to fire our boys UP! Way UP!

So my Utes are the only undefeated D-1 school in the country. I know all the controversy going on but I'm just going to say, UTAH IS NUMBER 1 in my book!

I hope to be back after dinner to catch up with everyone... but first I hear some tamales calling my name. Yum!

Gimme Some SUGAR!!!

2009-01-02T13:03:00.018-07:00

Happy New Year people!

How's 2009 treating you? Are you over all the wild partying you did on NYE? My neighbor and I watched TWO movies and drank a BIG bottle of margaritas.

(Hey, wild is relative.)

It wasn't quite so funny on New Year's morning but most definitely worth it.

I got the news from my doctors on Wednesday that all my brain and blood tests came back fine. You would think that would be a good thing, but that just means that they still have no idea what is wrong with my ears and thus have no idea how to fix them. I am taking another type of medication as a last ditch effort. I go back in six weeks and if there's been no improvement they will consider it to be permanent. Yay me.

That's going to be the last of that bad news. My first resolution of the new year is to get over it and move on to whatever be the alternatives so... unless there is a positive development, I'm done with that subject. I know, I'm sick of it, too.

So there's that, but my main resolution is to finish up all the incomplete home projects that are dangling over my head. Since that alone will probably suck up all my free time for 2009, there will be no other promises made to myself. I'll take you on a riveting tour of my abandoned projects at a later date, but for right now I will start by finishing my Christmas blog....

First your basic Christmas tree...

except it's not yours, it belongs to ME.

Yes, I'm somewhat of a camera drip.

That's why the photo misses the tip.

(But notice how cute Tinkle Boy looks in his Santa duds.)

A Christmas Miracle, oh so fine...
a man doing two things at one time!

(It's probably worth mentioning that he flubbed up the fire MAJORLY and the house filled with smoke so we had to open the windows when it was like ZERO degrees outside, not to mention the insane wind that was blowing... okay I did mention it... so women: ixnay on encouraging the ulti-taskingmay in your home. Some things just aren't meant to be.)

The buns were all warmed by the chimney with care...

Soon Juicy jacket sister-love flowed everywhere.

CatOne got some ribbon.

Yum, yum says the Dude.

And he won't even share, how totally rude!
But enough about us, a new year's begun.

(Which has nothing to do with this picture, I just like it.)

Here's wishing you peace and a nap in the sun

(as well as a significant lack of corny rhymes).

Happy 2009!!

But wait! There's more!!!

The Sugar Bowl is tonight.

GO UTAH!!

(and if you all could just look past all the formatting problems that I'm having... thanks, 'preciate ya!)

So VERY Hot!

2008-12-30T13:00:00.000-07:00

Santa put some new VS cologne in my stocking this year. I guess it's specifically made for middle aged menopausal women because it's called Very Sexy HOT and that I definitely AM. Hot, I mean.

Frankly I don't know if it's the big hormone dive or medication-related or possibly my accelerated cookie consumption but I am currently in the midst of a month-long hot... flash? Can a flash last a month??? I would think it would be more aptly named a hot era or something.

I have taken to using clinical strength antiperspirant on most of my upper torso just to keep The Girlz from being washed down the river of sweat that runs between them. The thermostat is turned down to the point that my scrawny daughters have started wearing down blankets around the house and even Hairy Homer, who might be part yak, is sporting sweats. But you know the saying 'If mama ain't happy....' Yeah, so do they, so they don't argue. Besides, I have threatened to run around buck neck-ed and that's not something anyone wants to imagine... well, except maybe Homer but he's too busy salivating over the lower heating bill. I guess cheap trumps porn in his game.

So I'm wearing more shirts and fewer sweaters, lighter jackets and fewer layers and still
I
AM
HOT.
Which makes me wonder; shouldn't all this hotness be burning a monumental amount of calories??? I was kidding about the cookies... mostly, so I should be about a size 2 by January if this keeps up. Okay, that's like 5 sizes in two days so I don't think it's going to happen. Which seems really unfair.

I guess I should take up back country skiing because I think if were buried in an avalanche I could steam myself out in a matter of minutes. Which also makes me wonder; has any woman ever been saved from hypothermic death by a hot flash?? I'm picturing a middle aged snowmobiling couple who gets lost in the wilderness (because the man wouldn't ask directions) and the rescuers finally reach them and the man is laying stone cold in the snow shelter and the woman is all sitting there in her shirt sleeves wondering how she can bottle 6 below and take it home with her.

Don't even laugh. Global warming isn't near the threat to our polar ice caps that I am right now.
Gad, where is my fan!!

Party's over

2008-12-29T11:10:00.000-07:00

Well, I have successfully frittered away my 5-day weekend. It seems like only yesterday I was still deep in pre-holiday stressing and now it's all over but the dead tree removal.

Having Christmas Eve day off really saved my heiny. I still had a few gifts to buy so I headed out to the mall early. WTH?!?! So did everyone and their cousin. It took me 10 minutes just to nab a parking place. I heard on the news that people were shopping late this year which really irritates me. That is MY time! All you organized people are supposed to be well out of my way by December 24th! You cannot just randomly decide to take over our procrastinators' shopping time.

I had everything purchased and wrapped by noon. Yay me! Can I just say that one good thing about this recession is that Christmas seemed much simpler this year. There wasn't all that crazy buy-a-gift-for-your-dog's-pedicurist mentality. I mean, I'm all about the spirit of giving but I just don't need another bag of candied fruit slices. Especially when there are people out there who don't even have breakfast.

The afternoon was set aside for lefse making. For those of you whose last name doesn't end in -son, lefse is basically a Norwegian potato tortilla. You butter it up, sprinkle it with sugar, roll it like you're gonna smoke it and yum! It's good but it's also a lot of work and goes better with a helper. Omega agreed to do the cooking if I rolled it out. This lasted all of three very browned pieces... because she was paying more attention to texting her friends than watching her work. I got a little um... testy and soon it was just me doing everything since Alpha was off snowboarding with some totally hunky guy and Homer was... oh, just STARTING his shopping. Anyway, it turned out quite well.

We had lasagna for dinner on Christmas Eve and then we opened out presents! This is the way both Homer and I grew up and still seems to be the norm back in the 'Otas but it is NOT the way of You-tah. People here couldn't be more shocked by our actions if we pantsed Santa in the food court but it's worked for generations of Jane-people, which are easily identified in a crowd by their lack of Christmas morning eye bags. We get to sleep in because all that's left for Christmas morning is stocking stuffers and noon church. We used to do midnight mass, which is actually at 11pm, but who can stay up THAT late any more?

Christmas Day we had our traditional ham and potato dumplings... and lefse... and a little squash for color. This totally defies the family green bean casserole custom but my mother ruined that for me by using canned green beans. I can't even talk about it without throwing up a little.

And, well, that pretty much sums up our Christmas... except for the laundry. Did anyone else do laundry on Christmas Day? I just couldn't help myself. It's that Siren washer... she calls to me.

I spent the rest of the weekend doing odds and ends and rearranging the family room for the new BIG tv that Santa brought. We just need to hang it on the wall... when Homer gets the mount... right after the second coming.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A p.s. on the morning dog pee story: I never realize how freaky I sound until I expose some little habit of mine to all of blogdom, and once again feel the need to explain myself. You don't even have to pretend you care. This is about my needs.

Pepperann doesn't wake me up to go out. My Sweet Pepper not only stays in bed as long as I do, but she does her best to defend me from the moocherous cats that try to wake me with paw slaps to the nose and insistent mah-rowing that means it is time for morning kibbles. True,
sometimes her 'defense' is more rousting than the cats, but her intentions are good.

Back when PA was new to our home, I used to take her out first thing in the morning and I would tell her to pee and then wait for her to perform. This serves two purposes: one is that it's
very helpful to have a dog trained to pee on command if you are traveling for instance and two, I then know that she is drained and has not fallen victim to some distraction like a blade of grass or say... the air. It only takes a minute and then we return to the kitchen and put the feedbags on.

A year to the day, after PepperAnn moved in, I got distracted by Alpha's birthday breakfast and I FORGOT to take PA out. She peed right next to Alpha's bed. That was her first accident in almost year so I blame only myself for breaking our routine. I should also mention that she does have a dog door and she takes care of all the rest of her daily business ALL by herself, when she doesn't have visions of breakfast clouding her focus. She also takes care of herself when I am
not around, which is good because she would probably shatter her bladder waiting for anyone else in this family to arise.And now you know the sunrise story.

Uh, no, I didn't think to take my camera with me... but I did happen to know, for once, right where it was. Sometimes that happens.

meh

2008-12-27T16:38:00.003-07:00

Not feeling the bloggy writing love, so I'll use the old 'picture is worth 1000 words' thing.

This was sunrise from my backyard at morning-dog-pee o'clock.

Almost made it worth the trip out in 7 degree weather.

Also notice the love dust piled high and deep. There are many, many happy powderhounds tearing up those mountains even as I write this.

Ciou for now!

Snow job

2008-12-23T11:27:00.008-07:00

Saturday afternoon I noticed my neighbor Krys stomping home from my other neighbor's house. Come to find out that her rambunctious boys had pulled down their Christmas tree and broke several heirloomish ornaments. Although fairly new to the 'hood, Krys has deeply impressed me with her patience when in comes to her 4 small children. She is always the calm voice over the wild blur of mad kid-tivity that is their front yard, where even the neighborhood dogs dare not go.

But apparently she does have her limits.

I was out shoveling the driveway that afternoon - a fairly ambitious job after Friday's big storm - when I noticed Nick, the 7-year-old tree toppler, doing the same.

Jane: 'Nick, how's it going?'

Nick: 'Not so good. I have to shovel.'

Jane: 'Really? All by yourself?'

Nick: 'My mom's mad. She said not to come in until she can see some concrete.'

Jane: 'Yikes! You better get to work.'

Nick: 'How much do you have to do?'

Jane: 'Probably the whole drive.'

Nick: 'Really?'

Jane: 'Yep.'

Nick: ' You must really be in trouble. What did you do?'

Jane: 'Married wrong.'

Note to husbands in cold climes: If you let your wife blow off steam by shoveling snow, be warned that at the same time she is accumulating some sweet upper-body strength that may soon enable her to throw your a$$ over the back fence.

Merry Christmas Everybody! Santa has promised to put a better outlook in my stocking this year. I better go check it.

Clearing the cache

2008-12-22T08:53:00.004-07:00

I had a somewhat fershit weekend, which I'll get to but first I want to tell you how absolutely lucky I am to have 2 terrific daughters.

For you younger moms who usually read this blog for the 'horrible warning' side more than the 'good example', I will tell you that getting to THIS stage of mothering makes the empty bank account, full calendar and crapped out car totally worth it... I'm still not sure about all those poopy diapers.

Not only did they bake the cookies and decorate the tree but they had fun and they got along and, get this, THEY CLEANED UP! Okay, that's not what makes it worth it but it surely doesn't hurt. No, the bonus is that they are always there with hugs and smiles and lots of love for their dear old mom. I love them and I'm keeping them.

That said, the rest of my weekend was sort of an emotional junkyard - some jewels, mostly trash.

I left work Friday in a raging snowstorm. Since traffic was moving almost backwards, I decided to detour though the surface streets and break up the drive with a few stop and shops. I hadn't been able to get ahold of Homer so I had no idea if there was a dinner plan. I decided to stop at home to pick up a return and then throw myself at the mercy of the mall. Oh, there's Homer. Back from skiing, napping on the couch.

I bought some presents and then stopped off to pick up my glasses, that were being fixed... except they couldn't find them. Yes, they called and said they were ready... yes, they should be there... but weren't. They were nowhere to be found... until I was back home... when they called and asked if I wanted to drive back in the raging snowstorm to pick them up. No thanks. So... it's 7:30. Looks like Homer has gone to bed. Poor guy, I think. Rough day on the slopes. I did some laundry and cleaned up and finally went to bed.

Saturday morning I notice that the noise is worse in my left ear and the pressure seems greater in both. I was two days off of the big steroid bump they gave me to try and... I don't even know what. So I'm cranky because I have a lot that I want to get done - most of which involves public interaction. For some reason, I am a chat magnet. I am often asked for directions, my opinion or help. I realize that being almost 6' makes me a good top shelf picker, but small talk? Really? I don't think I appear all that friendly. Maybe I look like a challenge. Whatever the reason, I'm usually more than willing to oblige... when I can hear. When I can't, I have two choices: pretend that I know what they said and smile, hoping that the conversation is over OR stick my right ear in their personal space and say 'Sorry, what did you say?' which makes me feel like Nelda Nursinghome.

Yeah, I know, get over it Jane.

But I accomplished a lot on Saturday: picked up the elusive glasses, purchased some gifts, finished two scarves I was making - one knit and one crochet (Meg, are you proud?), put together my Christmas centerpiece - Marthaverymuch, and shoveled the driveway... among other things. Homer? Oh, he was a real trooper. He kept that couch from sailing away ALL DAY. He might have risen once when he called me at Target to make sure I remembered the list of recipe items that he gave me a week ago. The same list of things that I suggested he could buy with a little time carved out of his busy schedule of, oh, a ZERO hour work week.

So I said to him 'Okay, then, let me just step out of this REALLY long line and go get your F#&$ing stuff!' Yes, I used the real word and judging from the looks on people's faces, I used it quite loudly. Sorry Target guests.

Oh, and then there was the prescription that I forgot to fill at work and took to the local pharmacy. It was new and I realized it might be more expensive there but... $150!!! Um, no thanks. She tells me it would have been $700 without your insurance. This matters to me... how?

Okay, you can see that I was getting a real butt-nasty mood on without even telling you about how the moronic dipshits parked at the mall. But I brought home the Homer-requested dinner ingredients. Except the peas. I don't do peas. Sorry. So he SAID he would take care of dinner. He was going to make Shepherd's Pie since he found a recipe and we have never in our lives had
Shepherd's Pie. Oh, did ever make it? No. I guess the couch started to jump a little.

By the time I go to bed on Saturday night, I have some serious insight. I'm sometimes clever about piecing things together and it's become pretty plain that he is pissed at me because I can't hear. I realize it's probably not all that clear to you because I have left out most of our recent interaction about how he complains can't talk to me but still he turns away from me and mumbles or yells from the other room. If I ask him to repeat he YELLS in my face. But apparently this is HIS problem. I am making his life difficult and not paying enough attention to his problems. That's why he can't get off the couch. Because I am making his life TOO HARD. This goes hand in hand with his policy of 'if you get mad at me, I'll get madder at you.'

I am probably going through the MOST DIFFICULT thing of my entire life so far, which has happened to coincide with my dad's major health issue and Christmas. But whatev. I realize that life goes on and I am doing what I can. I do not want pity. I cannot for a minute imagine pulling the covers over my head and shifting to poor me mode. I truly think I can handle whatever is sent my way. All I'm asking is for people to temporarily handle their own real or imaginary crises. I can deal with the millions of holiday minutiae but he can't make it to the grocery store?

Yes, I'm angry. BIG angry. There is not a font large enough for my angry.

Oh, and then when I went out to get the paper on Sunday morning I noticed why Homer had parked the SUV off to the side... which he never does because it is a considerate move. It looks like the front bumper has been smashed in. Wonderful. Someone backed into him he thinks.

This morning? It gets even better. I realized that I really can't taste much anymore. And just now I got a call from Omega. The SUV overheated on her way to her friend's last night and she doesn't dare drive it home... and Homer called to see if I can stop and look at it on my way home from work.

So why am I telling you all this? Good question. Mostly because I am on the verge of exploding, which would be a shameful waste of the 5 cookies I just ate. Partly because I need to decide which one of you I can trust with my Blogger password. I'm thinking there might need to be some posts deleted from my blog... should there happen to be a suspicious death in my family in the near future.

Shupe? You're in charge of the shovel.

Thought of the day

2008-12-21T11:12:00.002-07:00

A wise lyricist once wrote:
"If you can't say something nice... shhh, say
nothing."

Well, that pretty much takes all the words out of MY mouth, so... maybe tomorrow?

Not as daft as you all would have me

2008-12-19T08:00:00.000-07:00

Before you all get too used to the idea that I have lost my mind - along with my hearing, let me remind you that I am not as CRAZY as I am CHEAP. Shame on any of you who thought I would hand out my debit card without some type of collateral backup. Besides that, *sigh*, most of the things they purchased were either within official guidelines or something I had flat out requested... like vacuum cleaner belts.

I know. You're thinking why the heck did I need cookies when I had Style 5 belts to come home to. For sustanance, that's why. Changing the belt on my vacuum is only slightly easier than getting teenagers to focus.

Okay, men? This is the point where you might want to just head over to the BCS website and admire my fine Utes for making it into the Sugar Bowl. Nothing to see here. Go on... run along!

Okay, the one item on the $54+ list that I did have a problem with was the $8 box of tampons. Seriously? Now I'm all in favor of this product, because when you have teenage daughters you don't want to NOT be buying them if you know what I mean from a Sarah Palin point of view. But eight dollars for 36? Plus, I had an isolated incident of clarity and recalled the same daughter tossing the same box into my cart not 3 days before. What is she doing with $16 dollars worth of (gold plated?) tampons? I believe you could actually wring her completely out and not come up with enough fluid of any type to fill up 72 tampons. And older daughter has always made due with storebrand. I'm good with generic, even. I'm sure Omega would be mortified to hand out Target Tampons to her cheer posse but, you know, moochers should not be choosers because 0nce they're installed people can't even tell what brand they are. Really.

Now I admit to being cheap but I am not chinsy. I have bought the special Playtex Sport model before because they profess to have a little extra security skirt or something... which is probably useful to someone who is regularly being tossed in the air by boy hands applied to her spanky-clad butt. So I save the coupons - usually for a whole dollar and I watch for sales because it really is the principle of the thing. Storebrand on the fly... but namebrand requires my sick shopping skilz.

I examined the box and not only noted that they had no special skirt but, I didn't see that they would clear up your zits, or get you a date or even make your parents disappear so... jeez, and I am not getting over this very quickly... eight dollars?? At Target? Did the Chinese tampon factory get a little too close to the fireworks warehouse... or I have I just been woefully neglectful of prices in the hygiene aisle?

Since I'm really not one to go stand in the return line for something like this, I need some closure... ideas? Anyone?

Her high school chemistry teacher has just resigned

2008-12-18T09:24:00.000-07:00

Jane is standing at the clinic desk trying to get an MRI scheduled... Merry Christmas Jane!

Twenty-Something Receptionist is studiously filling out the online form:

TSR: Do you have a pacemaker?

J: No

TSR: Any this... any that?

J: No. No.

TSR: Any chance you are pregnant?

J: *laughs* Define chance.

TSR: What?

J: No.

TSR: Do you have any metal in your head?

J: Uh, yeah.

TSR (stops typing): You do. (Not a question because I guess she gets this a lot?)

Isn't that just like Jane to make TSR's life difficult?

J: I had to have my jaw joint rebuilt a bit about 30 years ago. There's a metal thingy (medical term) in there making up part of the joint.

TSR: What's it made of?

J: Beats me. Something metalish? It shows up really well on an x-ray.

TSR (still tapping away): Well, could it possibly be titanium? Because if it is titanium, it will spark, which will not be pleasant... besides all the damage it could do to the equipment.

J (ever the comedian): It's probably not titanium. I was only about 20 when it happened. I don't think titanium had even been invented yet...

TSR (looking me over for the first time): Oh yeeahh. Duh!

And then Jane lumbered her big ole Brontasaurus body out of the office and back to the tar pits.

PS: For those of you who do realize that titanium is an element - discovered in the 1700's - rest assured that the doctor and radiologist were ultimately consulted and it was determined that Jane's head will not be sparking. This time.

Why you should never encourage your children to get along.

2008-12-17T09:26:00.003-07:00

Homer and I had a Christmas… I mean holiday party last night. For once the girls had nothing going on… well, nothing that they preferred over spending a little sister time together dining on one of the special pizzas I brought back from Minnesota. Their plan was then to run to Target and buy a few ingredients for
no-bake fudge cookies,
make the cookies and put the decorations on the tree.

Actually, these were the very same ingredients that they supposedly bought back in November so they could make the
no-bake cookies
for Thanksgiving… with money that I gave them.

Well, of course, that money has long since dissolved into probably breath mints and French fries so they needed more. I had zip in cash so I handed my debit card over to the younger, usually more fiscally responsible one and left.

I will skip relating the fun of sitting through a 3 hour party when you have little ability to grasp what is going on around you or the obviously very entertaining speaker who talked for an hour. Oops, I didn’t really skip it did I?

Anyway, one of the things that rambled through my head as I pretended to listen was the reward that awaited me at home… cookies and a decorated tree! But especially the cookies… oh, and dare I hope? A scrap of pizza.

When we finally made it home, me drooling a little bit at the thought of a
no-bake fudge cookie
as reward for my patience, I found an empty kitchen.

Oh, except for my debit card and a receipt for $54.38.

FIFTY DOLLARS FOR COOKIES, you say? Well, these are not your average cookies… they have absolutely NO calories. Really! So you can eat as many as you want! And NO ONE will know because these cookies are also invisible!

Just like the decorations on the tree!

Apparently the sisterly love fest fizzled after they raided the cosmetics department at Target... at my expense. One went to the gym and the other to a friend’s house to ‘study’.
Like how hard would it have been??
You don’t even have to BAKE the
no-bake cookies….

Oh, btw, there was no pizza either.

Santa is very disappointed and will be cutting back his gift buying for certain naughty sisters this year.

Christmas Chrazy

2008-12-15T08:24:00.002-07:00

It's been an action-packed last few days in Jane!world. First I have to tell you that last night I swear I dreamed an entire movie! Have you ever done that? It was like I was on a road trip with some crazy lady through Dukes of Hazzard land. I think there might have even been commercials because I got up and went to the bathroom somewhere in the middle. Today I keep having flashbacks. Bee-zar!

What I think you might be proud to know is that I currently have a cleaned, rearranged and partially decorated living room that includes.... a tree! A Christmas tree! With lights!! Yeah, no decorations yet but soon... like tonight! Maybe. Think I'm rushing it?

Of course when I went to bed last night Omega had homework sprawled all over the living room floor. And this morning Homer was working from the recliner, with piles of papercrap ev. ry. where.
Why is it that family members always gravitate to the cleanest spot in the house? Are they like spiders that get a little spidey sense alert that there's a hole in their web? I guess they feel the need to cover over that offensive little spot of clean with their junk. Or maybe they worry that too much neatness might bring me out of my crazy momentarily and then who knows what I might get into.

So the tree happened yesterday and Saturday night I baked some cookies! I know! Christmas cookies! And before that I spent SIX HOURS AT THE MALL! Shopping! Which I didn't think was going to happen because when I woke up Saturday morning there was almost a blizzard going outside. We don't get wind with our snow very often... okay it wasn't Midwest kind of wind... but I was shocked to see snow coming down unvertically. Big deal you say, but we ended up getting a good, heavy 6" of the stuff and it kept snowing and melting and freezing and snowing some more all day. And it's STILL below freezing. Okay, that's my weather whine.

But, trooper that I am, I made it all over the mall and to the Target and B3 and even Wlmrt, where I didn't find anything, thank goodness, because the lines were long and harsh looking. Sadly, I still have MUCH to do.

So... since this seems to be a backward blog, that brings us to Friday... when I went to see the ear specialist. I told the kindly old guy about my ear infections 2 1/2 weeks ago and how I feel fine but I CANNOT HEAR. And then he told me that eustachian tubes are sometimes tricky to unblock and maybe it could take 3 to 5 weeks for it all to clear. I thought I was going to cry. I waffled between accepting what he said and flinging myself onto the floor in a full fledged tantrum screaming "I NEED to HEAR!!!" Luckily, I was wearing my most favorite suede blazer which I would never allow to touch medical flooring. And really, if you take your jacket off before you start a pounding/screaming floor tantrum, I think it takes away some credibility. So good sense prevailed and I settled instead for a tirade.

I told the good doctor that I CANNOT HEAR and when I say that I do not mean that I need to turn up the volume, I mean that turning the volume up does NO good because what does come through mostly makes no sense to my brain. I told him that there is much noise in my head that shouldn't be there. I hear whooshing. I hear chimes. I hear tones... NO, I don't hear voices... which is the problem. I cannot watch tv or listen to the radio, which is extremely hard for an audio multitasker like me. I wanted to mention that I couldn't even blog much because I am stuck in my own little world which is about as exciting as cardboard. I did tell him that people at home and work are getting, frankly, quite sick of the whole thing. Which is a whole 'nother post I could write but who needs all that bitterness during the holidays. He decided to get the audiologist to test my hearing. You know... so he could tell me I was over-reacting.

Half hour later he brings in the results of the hearing test. I have significant hearing loss. Of the six or so ranges/pitches of hearing, I have ONE range in ONE ear that is within the normal parameters. You know that old joke about the guy who had 'I told you I was sick' written on his headstone? That is how I felt. Like I certainly didn't want this awful, crappy news but at least I was finally being taken seriously. The doctor (who is the deparment head of a large medical institution) was stumped and is sending me to a neuro-otologist today. This is where I did start to tear up. He consoled me by telling me that I would be a good candidate for a cochlear implant which started a full fledged cry on.
But I got over it quickly because when I got back to work the news there was even harder to take. Budget cuts to be made. Serious cuts that could affect jobs.

I really didn't plan this very well. I sort of fell into the backwards reporting method accidentally and now I see that from a feel good perspective, this wasn't the best route. Oh wait!! I do have good news! My dad got out of the hosptial Friday morning and is feeling good and eating well. Well, eating my mother's cooking isn't exactly well but... Yay Daddy!

She came THIS close to being my favorite

2008-12-11T18:54:00.004-07:00

During the morning commute:

Jane: Oh hey! That was Lily's Jenkins mom! Have you ever met her?
Alpha: Um, don't think so.
Jane: She's really nice. I worked with her on the last fundraiser. I swear she must be a marathoner or something. She has absolutely not ONE ounce of fat on her.
Alpha: Really!
Jane: Yeah, you know I should be a sport and offer to share some of mine with her.
Alpha: That would be SO nice of y.... I mean, what fat? Mom, you can't afford to spare an ounce yourself!

If she works on her timing she could have a future in politics.

Eau de transit

2008-12-10T21:15:00.000-07:00

On the days that are too dark or stormy or lazy for me to ride my bike home from work, I take the bus. I can't believe that statement is not a lie because I have been a committed bus-phobe for over 40 years.

It could be my fear of ending up in East Bosnia or my need to be in the driver's seat or maybe my inability to stay on schedule or even the fact that they keep stopping for all those other people! Whatev. That's between my shrink and me.

The point is, despite my neuroses, I HAVE been riding the bus. Several buses, in fact. Hey, when I break through, I break through BIG! One thing I've noticed is how all the buses smell the same - kind of a mix of dust and plastic with woodsy undertones and subtle hints of Cheez-wiz.

I also work in a building next to a transit rest stop... where the drivers cop a squat and a smoke, and I've noticed when passing these people in the halls that they all smell the same... just like the buses.

Now I'm totally bewildered as to how the drivers pick up that smell. I mean have you ever noticed someone who smells like new car? Can't say that I have. Is there an official bottle of cologne that they hand out with the blue pinstriped shirts? Or do they sit a little too close to the 'new-bus' scented tree fresheners?

Okey, dokey, once again I think I have overthought.
Time to stop and be grateful that my ride home doesn't smell like a mixture of B.O., overheated polyester and moldy salami.

Now I have something else to worry about. When I stop at the market after work do people sniff in my direction and say, 'Ewww, I think that lady's been rolling in budget figures.'

What do you think people smell on you?

The disrespect for authority comes from her father's side.

2008-12-09T14:43:00.008-07:00

Longtime Jane followers are familiar with the dating games that surround school dances here in You-tah. The story of last year's winter formal explains it all.

This picture from last homecoming gives you the 10-second version of the tradition:

Cute invitation idea + cute answer delivery = dance date.

So much cuteness! I guess it uses up all the creativity that we directed towards scoring Boone's Farm, vodka and a room at the Holiday Inn for the post-dance parties back in my day. I can't tell you how many times a day I thank God that I am not the parent of myself.

Well, winter formal has rolled around again -which is girl's choice - and Omega set her sites on going with Mr. Bigmanoncampus. Only one problem: she was summoned to the vice-principal's office where he informed her that she has been accused of running from a hall monitor. At Omega's high school students are fined $5 if they are caught in the hallways during class so sometimes they try to outrun the law.

VP: I have a report that you ran from a hall monitor.

O: Are you kidding? I never ran from a hall monitor. When?

VP: After lunch yesterday.

O: No way. Check my attendance. I have no tardies in that class.

VP: Sometimes the teachers don't report it.

O: I have Mrs. Analretentive that period. She would NOT have missed it.

VP: Well, I'd like to believe you but the hall monitor is quite positive.

O: How did he know it was me.

VP: He picked you out of the yearbook.

O: From seeing the back of me.... running away?

VP: Yes.

O: Whatever. Do you want me to just pay the $5?

VP: I'm afraid it is beyond that. I have to suspend you.

O: WHAT?

VP: It's a mandatory one-day suspension which also means you can't cheer at the playoff game tomorrow.

O: No way.

VP: How can I contact one of your parents?

O: *mumble, mumble* figure it out youself...

VP: Well, here's your suspension notice.

Omega looks at the form which has several violations checked off. One of which is 'disrespect of authority'. And in the comments section it says "Mr. Bigmanoncampus says YES to winter formal." Whereupon Mr. BMOC jumps out of the closet, video camera in hand.

As Omega is telling me the story, all I can think is 'where did this child come from?'

I asked her how it happened that she did not either cry or wet her pants because I am pretty sure that at 16, I would have done both... probably even at 50. What? Vice principals are scary!

She said that she had a feeling she was being punked but when Mr. VP said she would have to miss the football game she almost got teary.

As for her date... if I were him, I would be very afraid.

And the news just keeps getting better...

2008-12-08T16:45:00.003-07:00

Not to worry, this will be my last 'poor me' post. If you haven't figured it out yet, a huge part of what this blog is about is taking my frustrations and worries and irritations and writing them down right here so I can recognize it all for the petty complainishness that it is. Then you all leave nice comments that make me feel even more like that one person in every group that just has to complain, complain, complain about everything. Ah well. At least we know our jobs.

So, what do you want first: the good news or the bad news?

The first thing that comes to mind is a bad news thing so...

Bad: You know it is not a good thing when your teenage daughter hands you her $162 paycheck and sobs "Here you can have this." Even the fleeting idea of a new pair of UGGs does not distract you from the realization that this is no windfall on your part. Once you determine that it is NOT, in fact, Opposite Day causing the kid who usually sucks money to start dispensing it, a quick visual inspection of your car will supply a piece of the puzzle as big as the scrape on the passenger side.

Good: No one was hurt... yet. Kid-ding. Possibility of a lesson learned about distracted driving that could save lives in the long run. Maybe a $250 deductible will make a deeper impression than a mother who preaches on and on just for the fun of hearing her own voice.
Like, what do parents know anyway. *eyeroll*

Bad: I spent this morning at the local endoscopy clinic. Yeah, those of you who are post-50 know what I'm talking about. I have now been videotaped from the bad end up to my bellybutton. I even have full color pictures. If I had a scanner, I'd share. Anyway, they say that the prep is the worst. That's probably true but I have to say that waking up in the middle of it probably came in a close second. Did I not mention my superhuman ability to metabolize anesthesia to that goose crew? Yes, I did, but partial credit should also go to my 'loopy,tortuous colon' and the fact that it took an hour longer than usual. No kidding. I have a kinky colon.

Good: ... a kinky, but healthy colon. I shouldn't need to resubmit to the process for 10 years and by that time I fully expect that modern medicine will have developed a much less personal approach to the process. Like say... maybe just fart in a jar and bring it in?
Enough of that subject. I apologize if I overshared.

Bad: My ears have not improved. I still have fluid in my middle ears. I have partial hearing in my right ear... if your voice is not low... and I can read your lips. My family and coworkers tell me they are getting tired of my condition. Ooh, not me! I'm having a blast. The asses! I think I'll fake the hard of hearing thing for an extra week or two just to get even.

Good: I get to see an real ENT specialist this week. Apparently after two weeks, which have seemed like forty, you get to move up from the quickie clinic virus doctors.

Bad: My dad is still in the hospital. He has had numerous ups and downs since I came home and I have been hesitant to report anything because it seems like I no sooner tell someone he's doing well and then he takes a turn for the worse. I claim that I'm not superstitous but really have no proof of it.

Good: Right now he is doing better than ever but shhhh.... I didn't say that.

Bad: My bed has now reached capacity at: 1 Me, 1 laptop, 2 cats (one on the keyboard), 1 dog and 1 napping daughter. I suspect most of the attention is because it is animal dinner time and only I have the keys to the food locker... or so you'd think.

Good: I don't have to think right now because I had anesthesia today and am fully released from driving or thinking for the next 24 hours. Sometimes it's not so bad to be me.

Peace, love, Jello!

Deconstructing Jane

2008-12-03T07:31:00.014-07:00

Some find it so shocking when a person is killed by a member of their own family. Frankly, I have to wonder why it doesn’t happen more often... Okay, I'm kidding... mostly.

Two Sundays ago, I flew back to Familyland in the upper mid-north. I grew up there but I left half a lifetime ago so it's no longer my home even though all of my family still lives there.

My dad is scheduled to have major surgery the next day and my mother's mind is getting a bit too fuzzy to fully cope with this kind of stress. The surgery is necessary to repair a prior surgery-gone-wrong from last August. I won't say screwup or malpractice because pointing fingers serves no purpose at this point. I will say that this time I resolved not to be 1000 miles away and at the mercy of others to be my dad's care advocate. I will also say that in spite of my mother, my two brothers and their wives, my dad might only have survived last summer because of my former sister-in-law and a cousin who were good enough to jump in and demand some answers.

Oh, have I mentioned that I'm the family bitch? Yeah, I have the misfortunate character flaw that causes me to question authority and say what I think. The rest of my family does not make waves. They secretly complain about my differences but have no problem exploiting them when it suits. Whatever. Some times you just have to block out all the disfunctional noise that is your family and do what feels right.

The biggest reason I'm going back for the surgery is because my dad wants me to come.
But, oh, as long as I am packing up my B-ness and coming that way, could I have a talk with my mother about getting some help for her developing dementia, they asked. I mean, it's not like they don't see her every day whereas my contact with her is pretty limited. Bitter? A little.

So, in spite of a crappy nasal gomboo and a buttload of job-work, I take off for 10 days of family fun. I am actually thinking of it as a bit of a break. Sometimes my optimism is a bit misplaced.

The plane ride was fairly uneventful... except that my eardrum ruptured at 27,000 feet. Wow. At least the plugged up feeling is gone... in one ear.

My dad picks me up at the airport and takes me to their house where I soon realize an early Thanksgiving dinner is in the making... with the WHOLE family. In this case WHOLE doesn't imply a large family so much as it means every member of the family. Including my newest sister-in-law - who is not very new but I lack a better identifier. As much as I dislike her for the selfish witch that she is, I can be civil around her. She, however, cannot return the favor because she believes me to be the soul reason for the sad state of my brother's family relationships... but that is a complete 40,000 word blog of its own. My brother, with whom I once shared a close relationship, pre-witch, mostly pretends I'm not there because to acknowledge me with other than vague pleasantries would probably cost him sleep and sex for a year. My mother thinks that we will all be one happy family again soon. I have given up trying to teach her about reality.

The next morning we take my dad to the hospital bright and early. He is optimistic and ready to have done with it. The people at the hospital are SO nice. Really. Unless you have spent time in the 'Otas, trust me, you do not know NICE. Even the doctor is nice. Not curt or quick or all doctor-talky. My dad is off to surgery and 5 hours later is in his room to sleep it off. Growing up my dad was the strongest man in the neighborhood. He was the one the neighborhood called on when they needed some serious muscle. Now at 83, he is lying in bed, tubes snaking out of every opening with my mother looking on helplessly. I am suddenly aware that life has changed. A lot.

With the surgery out of the way, the next day I resign myself to getting some professional help for my throbbing, bleeding ear and drive myself to the quickie-clinic even though I feel like shit. My mother offers to take me but I can’t let her do that. I am 50 years old and she is 78. We’ve crossed the equator as far as who cares for whom and there is no going back. I don't 'want my mommy' anymore.

I tell the receptionist right up front that I have no idea whether my health insurance covers their services because I do not have the strength to track down an internet connection to find a ‘participating facility’. I even go so far as to tell her that I am pretty sure it doesn’t. No worries, she tells me. Why don’t we just run it through and try. She wants only my co-pay and neither my arm nor my leg. I am too sick to lecture her on how the wonton trust of her culture will surely bankrupt them. That nice thing again. I take a seat and wait no more than 5 minutes before my name is called.

I’m examined by a kindly, older nurse practitioner who sees my burst ear drum and raises me a double ear infection. Ten minutes later I head out with three prescriptions in my pocket and try to find a pharmacy based on my fuzzy recollection of one in the general area of… okay, I’m lost… and I’m sick… and I am driving around aimlessly in my dad's truck with an empty prune can rolling around the passenger floor - probably the remains of his last presurgery 'binge'. I am thinking that my life can’t get more pathetic than this. I am way wrong.

I struggle through the pharmacy experience and finally make it home. Oh my! My mother has plugged the toilet. I glance briefly into the bathroom and see her plunging brown water. I tell her that if she will leave it alone, I’ll take care of it later but I just can’t deal with it… right now. I hit the couch and focus on fighting my nausea. I drift off only to be roused by the periodic sound of plunger suckings, which join up in my mind with the brown water visual. Finally, it’s unavoidable. I run to the brown water bathroom and puke into the sink… several times. No way was I getting close to that toilet.

Meanwhile, my mother has called my father... in the hospital! to find out what should be done. He asks to talk to me. He says she is plunger-challenged. I tell him I will take care of it. I tell my mother that I will take care of it. I tell myself that I WILL TAKE CARE OF IT! What a big help I'm turning out to be. I finally sleep a miraculous, rejuvenating 90 minutes and arise to battle the crap clog. Once the pipes are clear, I notice that my mother has obviously been using a wire hanger... or something, to try to poke out the poop. There are black scratches all over the bowl. Not my problem... bitches don't do toilet bowls.

So over the next few days my dad's condition improves... and deteriorates... and he's better and he's worse. He's trying so hard to get out of the hospital. My dad, unlike his daughter, follows his doctors orders to the T. But he's a textbook case of what isn't in the textbooks. What should work doesn't. IV's in... IV's out. They try liquids... and take them away. The tests show that everything should be working. It's not. Then it is. My dad is very sad and I cannot fix it no matter how I try.

I put off the 'talk' with my mom until my dad's condition seems somewhat stable, which doesn't happen. My other brother, the one who put in the bitch request, keeps asking about my plans to take care of the mom business and about this time my own husband starts calling persistantly asking when I am coming home... and can I make it sooner. All the while where I once had ears it feels like there are large cotton-stuffed conch shells. I am able to hear less every day. But that doesn't stop my mother from talking to me... while my back is turned or I'm out of the room. Everything must be repeated at close range. Again... and again. I want to yell 'WTF don't you understand about I CAN'T HEAR YOU?!?!' The 'Ota nice is obviously not catching.

Okay, now go back and read those last two paragraphs over and over... at least 4 or 16 times and you will have an inkling of what goes on for the whole first week. I feel mean and unhelpful... and like I should not have come.

I run off with my BFF for yummy Indian buffet and some mad lipgloss shopping on Black Friday, then it's back to her house for mojitos and 'What Not to Wear.' We totally poke fun at everyone - even the 'experts'. Just the therapy I needed.

When I get to the point where I am almost completely deaf, I go back to another doctor... who gives me more drugs and the 'sucks to be you' rush. I am dreading the plane ride home. I am dreading the talk with my mother. I find ways to misplace my cellphone because I cannot handle even one more call from home. My dad wants me to stay another week. I feel like the worst daughter in the world because I can't... or won't because extending my stay another week would make everything else beyond difficult. I am a wimp and I am feeling depressed and totally ineffectual when I make a visit to my in-laws who feed me the world's best pizza and some empathy... and I leave feeling better.

And then there is more... but for another day if you can stand it.

Feeling like what the cat dragged in

2008-12-02T21:23:00.003-07:00

I am back home but my sunny disposition is seriously fatigued. As soon as I locate my sense of humor as well as the ability to string more than 24 words together, I will be back with details. Thank you so much for all your good wishes and texts and emails. I heart you all.

Peanuts for thought

2008-11-21T09:53:00.000-07:00

Have you heard the latest from the health experts about kids and peanut allergies? They are now saying that contrary to their earlier advice, women should NOT avoid peanuts during pregnancy and breastfeeding AND that it's probably not a good idea to wait until age 1 to feed kids peanut butter. They think they might have been creating more peanut allergies instead of preventing them with the 'old' advice.

Wow, can I get one of those 'expert' jobs?

I was pretty darned shocked to hear that you weren't supposed to eat peanuts while pregnant. I didn't even get the memo on feeding peanut butter until it was too late. Frankly, a nine-month-old that can't have a peanut butter sandwich would probably starve in my house.

I know my memory is fading, especially where incubation was concerned, but I think I ate pretty much everything. Lots of everything. I don't remember avoiding ANYTHING when I was preggers. Oh, except housework.

Ahhh!
*The lightbulb goes on!*
That would explain why the only thing my girls are allergic to... is CLEANING!

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

I am very thankful to be part of a very healthy family. It isn't but once or twice a year that one of us gets hit with some viral smackdown. When we do, though, it's usually a doozie that we share completely. Last week Omega brought home a major snotbomb that hit me yesterday. All night I drifted in and out of sleep, feeling like trolls were pulling all my muscles out through my ears and wondering if I would ever be able to swallow again. My voice varies between floor rumbling bass and Tiny Tim shrill. The harder I try to talk, the more I get but a squeak. I had a hard time giving my order at the bagel shop this morning. The bagel-ess was a bit short on English skills so, of course, I had to talk LOUDER so she could understand me. She just laughed. Alpha had to order for me... boy the circle of life, huh, when your kid has to talk for you.

Sunday, I'm leaving town on family business - back to the land of my birth, to test the strength of my patience and my pills. I will be gone for over a week and may not have much opportunity to post or comment or even lurk, so I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving with family and friends! No fighting over the drumsticks... and make sure you get that bird up to 165 degrees.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

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

Regarding a couple suggestions on prior posts...

The crazy cat sleeps where he wants to sleep. He makes terrible noises if he is not where he wants to be. And then the dog gets worked up... and Homer starts yelling and Jane gets LESS than a half night's sleep.

No way, no how that anyone else is allowed to touch my beloved washing machine. I waited too long for its beautimous, high-efficiency wonderfulness. Only Jane! is allowed to push her buttons. I prefer to abuse their free labor on things like floors and bathrooms.

Cat nap

2008-11-20T07:30:00.000-07:00

Check out this bad boy. Looks pretty ferocious, no?

He's actually yawning...
which I find ironic because he kept me awake half the night
listening to him saw logs under my bed...
many, many, very thick logs.

There he goes again. Now I think he's just trying to piss me off.

So I'm wondering if anyone has tried using those snore strip thingys on a cat?

A person might have to do a little shaving around the nose first...

but I think it could work. Yeah, thought that might change your attitude.

Not just a river in Egypt

2008-11-19T08:38:00.001-07:00

Last week I got an email from a friend that I hadn't seen in over a year. Our kids were tight in elementary school but then drifted off to different junior high and high schools. Although we both work for the same very large organization, we both lead crazy, but parallel lives and though we often talk about doing lunch... it just doesn't happen.

In her email she was lamenting the fact that she just turned 50 and how everything that hasn't dropped or fallen off, is now wrinkled. She's 6 months younger than I am and I was thinking 'How sad for her to have hit the aging skids like that!'.
Kind of smug, I was... feeling pretty good about my mental age of like 30ish (shush you!) and my physical age of... refuse-to-think-about-it.

Then I ran into her yesterday and during out brief chat I gave her the once over, but I really didn't see one bit of difference from the last time I saw her. And I for sure didn't see anything that screamed 50! Well, except for her less than perky chest... but I think we can blame a history of breastfeeding 2-1/2 year-olds for that!

Yeah, so except for the breast thing, I think we look pretty similar... which makes me realize that either she was she totally fishing for compliments or I am in complete denial.

So... I see now that I have no choice.
Next time I see her I will have to let her know how fabulous she looks.

Jane explains it all

2008-11-18T10:26:00.000-07:00

Okay, that's a lie. But I got your attention, didn't I?
I want you to know that I do feel better now. It's been a tumultuous time for me on many fronts. Nothing dreadly, just lots of little things chipping away at my normally sunny disposition. I appreciate your patience so... on to happy things once again!

Like Barbie! All that talk of my dear Ms. Roberts (did you even know that is Barbie's last name?) made me nostalgic.
So, Angie L, here is MY bubblecut Barbie:And, Noanie, notice Midge is also in the pic. I was too lazy to dress Ken and Skipper... but Ricky was ready to go, so I stuck him in the shot. Can you tell he was almost NEVER played with? He's still in his original clothing. The tweenage boy doll idea probably didn't make much coin for Mattel. Back then we were too young to know the value of a good pool boy. No wonder there were no margarita glasses in the Ricky box.

I love Barbie's specs. I think they make her look tres geek. And what I wouldn't give for their perfectly permanent hairstyles. Midge has had that exact same, lopsided, flip since like '65 and Barbie looks just like the day she came out of the box with her bullet-proof helmet head. Anyone who remembers Bobby Goldsboro raise your hand - no fair googling.

BTW - Shanna you little punk, Barbie wasn't born until 1959... 50's style Barbie's, indeed!

And even more show 'n tell - From reading your comments, I have the feeling that you didn't understand what I meant by a 'serious' wallet. Here is the new one:

You can tell I need lots of space to stash lots of stuff. For a bean counter, I am seriously challenged when it comes to organizing my receiptage. There are the debit receipts and the credit receipts... and the Flex spending receipts and the job credit card receipts. Each needs a spot. Once in a while I even have a dollar or two in cash! Shhhh! Don't tell the teeners.

This baby has a space for everything and I like it a lot, except for the fact that it's black. I also thought about what you said, Kat, and I don't just have trouble trying to find a black wallet in a dark purse... it's trying to find a black wallet inside any of our cars that all have black interiors or any of the other stupid places I tend to stash it. Just this morning I left it on the seat of Alpha's jeep. That wouldn't have happened if it had been neon pink with butterflied stripes.

Oh, Diane, this came from Target, too. And check it out. For the first time since giving birth, I am packing pictures of my little devils. What a mom!

To me this just seems like a regular wallet, but I think I may be living a bit above the curve because I couldn't help but notice that it is called the Incredible Bulk wallet. It says it will hold everything from your breakfast to your birth control with an extra space for your Smith and Wesson and a handy fold-out yoga mat. Okay, that's a lie, too.

What's in YOUR wallet?

Time for a defrag?

2008-11-17T14:40:00.001-07:00

I know it’s been a while since I put in my nickel’s worth. It’s not like I haven’t tried. If you could see my post list you would certainly notice the pile of discarded drafts. Several times I have started writing and somehow the sentences all fell apart. It wasn’t blogger’s block… I had plenty to say. I just couldn’t seem to string seven coherent words together manner in which sense they make. I know. How sad is that?

So, in an effort to get my groove back, I’m going to try to dump all my frustrations from the weekend and see if that will clear up some space on my mental hard drive. Cross your fingers because 5 days without posting has left me off balance and rocking a major case of mental constipation.

What is currently deranging Jane:

The people at the Greek-Letter Airline - I understand that it was probably oversight that allowed me to book a flight using sky miles – at the lowest level even - in the first place. But don’t worry; my non-faith in The Triangle was restored when I tried to get back to my reservation. I realize that I might be a tiny bit picky, but please don’t SAY you’ll be right with me when you won’t, don’t expect me to know to input a reference number in a field that says confirmation number, and just DON’T put the letter O in the middle of a bunch of numbers and expect me to figure out that it is an O and not a 0! My email font and my visual acuity are not that discriminating. Bonus question: What percentage of pesky callers are you able to eliminate by using the phone tree/eternal hold torture?

Slick, the appliance salesman - Stop yammering and listen to what I want. Quit spewing script and answer my questions with real answers – this is dishwashing, not politics. Cease the nagging and forget about the extended warranty because I WILL NOT BUY IT NO MATTER HOW ‘FREE’ IT IS OR HOW YOU TRY TO SCARE ME. Just stop the lip flap NOW because if my head explodes, NONE of your fancy washing machines will get the brain stain out of your pristine, white liar’s shirt.

Husband – I appreciate your willingness to cook dinner for the family… but every day does not need to be a food channel gourmet episode. We are simple, hungry women. We would rather have grilled cheese and tomato soup at 6:30 than coq au vin at 8 o’clock. Food crunchies, mystery proteins and vegetable adventures are not cool. Sorry we are such culinary simpletons.

Boss - *This is where I would have much to say about my current workish frustrations IF I could afford to be dooced at this particular time… which I cannot.*

Co-workers - *This is where I would name the person that should be voted off the work island.*

Neighbor – Stop lying down in the middle of the freeway and then complaining that you have been run over! Seriously, self esteem IS for sale and your insurance will cover it!

Daughter1 – Don’t turn in your dirty clothes at 6pm on Sunday night and then complain that nothing is clean on Monday morning. That doesn't even give me time to refold the clothes that aren't really dirty, spray them with fabric freshener and put them back on your shelf.

Self – Ditch the needies (aka family) and get thee to the optical shop! It will not be pretty if you end up driving half blind through a dark semi-unfamiliar city. It was your one dam job for the weekend and you called in too busy. Tick tock… all I’m going to say there…

Okay... that's all I'm going to say period. :o)

I Heart Barbie!

2008-11-12T12:27:00.000-07:00

Jane's note: This is not a poem. The format is just a ploy to make you read slower, thus making today's entry seem longer... and more cleverish.

Yesterday I finally caved and bought a new wallet.
I wanted any color but black because it is very dark in my purse and black is,
well, dark, and hard to find.
Have you noticed the world gets dimmer as you get older?

The problem is that in the wallet biz,
bright + pretty = dainty + non-functional.
It seems that if you need a serious wallet
with proper places for all things important,
you are stuck with black...
or brown which is really just another black.

So, once again, I sold out
and bought black.
The crazy thing is that when I opened my BLACK wallet,
I recognized the smell of it

as the very same smell
that came from my Barbie Dream House
all those mrfrtzs years ago.
I was at once shocked that I remembered the smell
and mystified by where that smell has been all this time.

I think this may be a problem
because now every time I open my purse

I badly want to 'play Barbies'.
I do still have my Barbie...
and all her friends, but not the dream house.
And that probably wouldn't go over well with the people in my life.

When they lock me away in the looney bin,
I'm going to ask if I can take my Barbies.

Am I dreaming?

2008-11-11T12:18:00.000-07:00

A phone call I never expected, even in my most bizarre, far-fetched dreams... of which I have many:

"MOM, you won't believe this. Gas is $2.08 a gallon over here by C.J.'s house! I was so excited I used my last $10 to fill up!"

I didn't know whether to be more excited about the gas price or that my child was putting her own money towards fuel.

Yeah, yeah, I know you have probably been paying like 73 cents a gallon since about May over there in *insert your town*, but please keep that to yourself and let me celebrate the fact that I can, once again, afford to drive to the gas station.

I just realized, because I'm mathy like that, that that is less than HALF of what we were paying in August. I also just realized that I am very special to be able to use 'that' three words in a row.

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

And the news just gets better... Omega has a job! Yay! In retail sales, which is just the place for a girl who could sell prayers to the Pope. Heaven help the poor teenage boy who steps foot in her sporting wear store. His pockets will surely be empty when he leaves.

I think you will congratulate me for not killing him

2008-11-10T08:30:00.002-07:00

As if I needed further proof that I should not let Homer plan a remodel on our house, I give you a recent example of a simple home repair:

In this example, we need a new handle for our back storm door.
Jane's thinking it should go something like this:

Remove handle.
Throw in pocket.
Motor to the H'Depot.
Pick out best match for a reasonable price as long as it has the lever feature that makes entry so much easier when hands are full of groceries.
Buy it.
Take it home.
Install it.

Estimated time: 1-2 hours
Estimated cost: $25

The reality of Homer doing it:

Remove handle on Saturday. Leave inside part on the counter, take outside part to Lowe's... in wife's car.

Browse handle sets... and rotisseries for grill, but buy nothing.
Leave storm door handle-less, forcing the family to pull carefully at the deadbolt to gain entrance.
On Sunday, trip over to a few home centers and bring home... a rotisserie.
On Monday leave handle in car, which goes off to the high school for the day.
Assemble rotisserie. When handle comes home, ride bike to H'Depot and buy FIVE different lock sets - 3 different colors and 3 different styles.
Show wife the 5 options that have been purchased.
When wife states that her only request is that it be the lever style, try to talk her into some weird-ass type that lifts up!
When wife states that either brass or white would be acceptable colors as long as it is the lever style, show her the weird-ass handle again and pretend you didn't hear her.
When wife starts building the road map of pressure filled veins on her forehead, note how it reminds you of Cincinnati and tell her about your planned trip back to Lowe's the next day to purchase some other available options.
When wife states that she would definitely like a BRASS set WITH A LEVER and will accept NOTHING ELSE (because there is one right in front of her), suggest that she consider black because it would match the slate floor that you would like to put down in the ADDITION.
Mumble something else about a slate-topped table and making a man-space as wife retreats to bedroom... and locks the door.
Leave all five options on the kitchen counter so wife gets a good look at them.
Tuesday do nothing.
On Wednesday, decide to save ass and go with the only lever style handle that you've purchased... except discover that footprint is different and will require touch up paint. Apply touch up paint. Meanwhile, temperatures have dropped to glove weather, adding a new challenge level to the game of gaining entry.
Thursday... scrape off crappy looking touch up paint and try again.
On Friday go skiing.
Saturday - give up making paint patch look good. Delegate to wife. Note what good job she does with the paint and wash hands of project. When wife swears out loud about the new lockset not even fitting... AT ALL, after all that rigamarol... argue with her. Tell her she is wrong and when it becomes obvious that SHE IS NOT, change the subject... to the remodel.
When you tell wife that you bought every available handle type and the one she wants is NOT available anywhere, change your story AFTER she breaks the seal on her second choice, consolation, weird-ass handle and tell her that you never actually went back to Lowe's.
Mention how nice the installed NON-lever handle looks. Make note to sleep with one eye open, lest the old handle find a new dark, uncomfortable home.

Actual time: 1 week+
Actual cost: Currently $100+ pending return of 4 locksets which may or may not happen before divorce is final.
****************************
BTW- Does anyone know why the bullets and numbers don't show up on the published posts even though they are quite clearly there when you write it?