It's good to have goals

At this very moment I am feeling quite energetic and optimistic about how wisely I'm going to use my weekend. But I often feel that way on Friday, only to have my hopes tank like the Titanic. Call it lazy... or distraction... or willfulness, but Jane-with-Good-Intentions usually becomes Suddenly-its-Sunday-Night Jane.

Since I have used up half the weekends of my life, I need a new plan. The best I can think of so far is to set myself up with a little bit of internet-pressure.

My idea is to make a list, post it here and then come Monday I will have my post-of-reckoning where I will have to shamefully admit if I didn't complete all my tasks. But this will only work if there are consequences and since failing grades didn't scare me in college, I doubt they'll work now. Here's where you all come in.

I need you to come up with your best idea for Jane-appropriate punishment. Never mind what you're thinking, what I'm talking about is... something that I would totally HATE to do. Like Momma would make me eat a sandwich with mustard and mayo... or someone else might know to *gasp* make me wear pantyhose for a day. Sorry, I took the easy ones but you all gotta work for this. If you don't know me well enough, just make up some punishment that sounds pretty darn bad... like goin' huntin' with a VP wannabe. Gah!

Okay, here's what I need to accomplish:

1. Clean the good stuff out of the garden - rumor has it there's a freeze a coming.
2. Drain/wrap/cover the swamp cooler.
3. Bring in my house plants.
4. Put away all the $hit on the patio, excluding Homer's duck sh...tuff (notmyproblem).
5. Get the furnace cleaned and running.
   
6. And... find a new picture for my blog... one that makes me look less like a stoned woman in a mom-bob.

PLEASE comment me your motivations. I have a cool prize for the owner of the most motivating suggestion. REALLY!

I said please.

Simply charming

Yesterday on my ride home from work, I blew not one but TWO holes in my front bike tire. The first hit came from a wire lawn flag. The tip must have been bent juuuussst right so it lodged in my tire and went flarp, flarp, flarp spinning wildly with the tire until I was able to reign in my speed as well as my potty mouth. Thankfully, I wasn't in a school zone. This is You-tah so there's probably a fine for that.
Well, my bike has slime tires which are supposed to be self-healing so I hopefully yanked out the wire and the tire oozed a wee bit of green stuff and a few bubbles before sealing itself just as promised. I rode for another mile or more before I hit another something which brought me immediately down to the rim. Yikes! The new hole looked more like a vomiting little pac man who was obviously not going to get well on his own.
I pulled over and parked my butt next to the irrigation canal and considered using the phone-a-friend option, specifically a 'friend' that I gave life to. The one who had 'my' car. But that seemed like more trouble than I needed, so I took off the tire, put a couple patches on it and off I went; later and dirtier but feeling good because no fossil fuels were burned on my behalf.
So big deal, right? Well, it is actually, because the day before that, I rode home with no patch kit, no air pump and no cell phone (also no helmet - bad morning that one) illustrating once again just what a charmed life I lead.
I really believe that.
I also believe that one of these days, everything is going to go to $hit in a monumental way. And I want you to remind me of things like this when I am whining with intense agony over losing my million dollar lottery ticket.
I want you to say "Suck it up, Jane. Remember back in 2008 when fate postponed your flat tire by one day? This here is just payback."

Just for Shanna, I took a picture of my 'toolkit', with my cellphone joining the party just to show how big everything is. It all takes less space and is much lighter than my water bottle... now on the other hand, Homer's toolkit is quite a bit more complicated, because he has to abide by the rules of the man club which state that you must be able to rebuild the engine of a '52 Chevy with just the tools within reach.

Soon I suppose, he'll by smokin' catnip

CatOne has been sporting some new stripes lately. They tend to be of the flourescent highlighter variety. Sometimes pink, sometimes orange as shown here. On special days he gets both!

If the guy had any dignity at all I would track down the perp and make her clean him off with her very own tongue. But I just can't get up the energy to defend the honor of someone who regularly grooms his privates on the roof of my car for the whole neighborhood to see.

Omega Ways

I took some flack for my last post because it appeared I was criticizing Omega for not knowing geography.  That's not quite the way it is.  I love that girl to death but frankly I am not at all sure that we share any DNA. 

See, it doesn't matter that she was around this summer when Marial and I planned our Tahoe trip.  Or that I talked about it oh, probably 13 bajillion times before we left.  Or that she was around when all the preparations were made.  No, in spite of all that apparent exposure, she never once thought to ask 'Where is Lake Tahoe?'  I would bet that HAD she been taken along, she would not even have thought to crack a map along the way.  And when we crossed that border and saw the big 'Welcome to California' sign, she would have been just as shocked as when she read that sweatshirt! 

Maybe I'm just more curious than necessary.  Maybe I'm too concerned about what's going down around me.  I admit, I might have an overgrown nosy gene but how did I raise such an oblivious child?

Her new role as driver has given me a few more wrinkles.  You cannot tell her to exit the freeway at 45th,  go west to 23rd, and stop at H-boulevard.  No, it has to be: exit off the fancy bridge, go down the hill, turn at the gas station with the big green sign, and stop right after the rickety fruit stand.  Street signs?  They're probably just for the mailman.

But her oblivity is not limited to geography.  Omega has been very good friends with Rocki for over 3 years.  Rocki's parents own a business.  Omega has NO IDEA what type of business it is. I know what it is because I sat with Mr & Mrs Rocki at a banquet and the subject came up.  It's not anything obscure or difficult to understand.  I'm sure if Omega asked Rocki, she would tell her but, here's the part that baffles me, Omega has never thought to ask the question!!  And she can't understand why she should care.

There were times when she would attend her sister's basketball games and appear to pay rapt attention to every play.  She would cheer and shout encouragement to her sister, definitely following the action, but when asked what the final score was or *gasp* who even won, and she would just smile sheepishly. 

One time when Alpha and Omega were about 8 and 6 years old, I demanded that one of them confess to some damage done in the bathroom.  I told them that they couldn't play outside until I found out who did it.  Omega finally confessed and off they went.  As I stood by the bedroom window I overheard Alpha ask Omega why told me she did it.  Omega's shocked response was "Didn't I?"  No, she didn't, Alpha had done it but since she didn't jump in and own up to it, Omega assumed she must have done it herself... and forgotten. 

As I've mentioned before, blonde or not, Omega is no dummy.  She has a high school GPA that probably exceeds both Homer's and mine put together.  She has no problem recalling complicated dance routines and can recite mathematical equations with the same practiced rote of a hockey mom in a national debate.   Just don't ask her when the election is or where she and her friends went for dinner last night because not only might she not know the answers but she will look at you pitifully and wonder why your life is so empty that you would care. 

She may have a point there but I think I have determined that Omega runs her head like she runs her life.  Her bedroom is virtually clutterless.  Not to say it's clean but everything that's in her closet or on her floor or draped over the bed is something she needs and uses.  If something doesn't fit or just doesn't please her, she will pack it up and give it away.  Toys?  Long gone.  Memorabilia?  Forget it.  The girl even has one totally empty dresser drawer.  I know!  She should totally be forfeiting her woman-card.

So maybe that's it.  Maybe she just tosses everything out of her head that she doesn't need.  I guess that's cool... for her.  But I still think I might've brought home the wrong baby.  Anyone out there have a 16-year-old tall, goofy, clutterish daughter that doesn't fit in their family? 

If so... too bad for you.

Maybe her real last name is Donner

So I'm passing out the souvenirs that I bought in Tahoe and I hand Omega a hoodie sweatshirt which she looks over before excitedly reading the printing on the front.

"Lake Tahoe, California... wait... CALIFORNIA?!"

She looks at me like I've played some horrible trick on her.

"Um... yeah?"

"You went to California? You didn't tell me you were going to CALIFORNIA!" she says in her huffy voice.

"Where did you think Lake Tahoe was?" I'm assuming that she probably thinks it's exclusively in Nevada but I'm enjoying the idea that she believes I was in 'California', which to her means Disneyland and beaches and hot surfer boys.

"I thought it was in like Idaho... or maybe Utah. Not California!"

And now I have to cross geography teacher and travel agent as well as pioneer off her list of career possibilities.

What happens in Tahoe... gets blabbed all over the internet

If only I had some lurid, saucy stories to share. But no, Chick Trip '08 was pretty tame and that was all good with us.

My friend, Marial, flew into town a week and a half ago and we packed up and headed off to Tahoe for a week.

This is basically what you see when you drive between Salt Lake City and Tahoe.

Well, that's not true. This is the Salt Flats which is quite a bit more exciting than Nevada via I-80. BTW, did you hear that someone went 415 mph on the salt flats last weekend? I bet those drivers wear Depends or something. Four hundred and fifteen mph's!!! Yikes!

Back to us, though. Marial snagged us a swanky condo in Squaw Valley. Check out the views from our balcony.

No tents and coolers for us this year, because we be celebrating the big FIVE OH!

Those hot tubs were wonderful... the perfect way to marinate our abused bodies.

We hiked down to Emerald Bay and beyond one day. Beautiful only starts to describe it.

This is the Vikingsholm Castle. It is under construction, like most of the roads in the Tahoe area.

And we biked the west shore of the lake, stopping at Sugar Pine point. This is Marial multitasking.

She is parenting by phone and taking pictures at the same time.

That's a boat that we didn't ride.

Can you believe how clear that water is??? They say you can see a white dinner plate in 75 feet of water. I believe it.

We also took a hike up to Ellis Lake and had a little lunch lakeside. It was so pretty and peaceful.

Notice my cute new pants from REI. The legs zip off when it gets too hot! I have no idea why it looks like I have a stick up my butt.

Here's our kayak trip on Donner Lake... another unbelievably clear lake.

Here's my copilot on her virgin kayak trip.

Okay, it was my first trip, too, but I'm pretty sure it won't be my last since we didn't rip any holes in the boat.

We paddled up and down almost the whole lake - not bad for a couple of novices.

Marial took this picture. Notice how ONE of us is busy paddling while the OTHER one, the one in the BACK, is taking pictures!

One day we drove around the whole lake and made brief contact with the racy Nevada side, but that was about it. We both preferred to throw our money into massages and body wraps at the spa. No pictures, just one word - ahhhh!

Definitely heaven, this Tahoe place.

Oh to be, wedgie-free!

I wish I had some amusing story or tidbit to share, but I really haven't been paying much attention to life around me the last few days. You know the drill: run yourself ragged trying to get ready for your vacation so you can relax for a week and then run yourself ragged trying to catch up after you get back. Ah well, it will be SO worth it.

My friend is flying in Saturday morning and then we are heading out on Sunday. I am trying to figure out a way to keep her away from my house until dark on Saturday. Combine that with the faux power outage that I have planned for Saturday night and she will never have to know what a sad state my house is in. When we get back the next Saturday, the mess can all be blamed on the rest of the family... not that most of it isn't caused by them anyway.

Last night I spent over half an hour that I didn't have, sorting through all the options in the panty department of my favorite local store. Back in August, when I was watching the Olympics, I saw an advertisement that showed several women trying to discreetly shake their underwear out of their crack. I know, I know, spare me your thong theory - I just can't go there! Anyway, the advertiser promised to cure all need for any 'adjustments' and I tell you I have never before felt so moved by anything on tv. I thought 'Oh, My! THAT is MY STORY!!!'... only I was so busy feeling kinship with those women that I failed to absorb the brand name. I kept thinking I would see the ad again but no... and THEN last night as I was shopping, I saw something that almost made me call up my broker to buy stock in Hanes... if I even had a broker. There on a package of panties was a little sticker that said "Be Wedgie-Free" and I remembered that ad and I think I even squealed a bit at the idea that I could be going on a vacation without constantly doing the panty dance. Mr. Hanes was even promising to give my money back if they did ride up. How could I go wrong? In my excitement I bought two packages... 6 pairs total... almost a week's worth of cheeky comfort!

Well, I took them home and washed them... because, well, you know... you could catch something. Anyway, this morning I grabbed my full-of-promise panties and seriously, jumped into them. Hmm... front looks good... fabric is nice... size feels perfect... okay turn for the rearview.
E. Gad.
Do you know why they promise not to ride up? Because there is enough fabric in the butt-al area for at least a whole 'nother a$$. I looked like a toddler with a big load of junk in her trunk. No kidding. I could've probably pulled the backside up to my bra strap. Instead I folded it over a few times and finished dressing, feeling very let down. Now I keep nervously checking to make sure the wad o' panty-back isn't erupting from my trouser-top. Can't wait for the bike ride home from work. People will think I'm packing a parachute.

I truly believe that life is too short to wear bad underwear, but I have tried almost everything out there - from VS to FotL. All I really want is underwear that fit, don't shrink, don't ride up and make me look like Cindy Crawford. Is that really too much to ask?