I missed you so much it's like an ache in my heart. Or tooth. Or ear.

I missed you!

Evidently not enough to get online, but I did.

This was a pretty good weekend, even if I did have more than my share of moments where I sat in the car by myself going, "I really, really, REALLY fucking hate everyone."  I'm not exactly sure why, and I can't even blame PMS, but there it is.  Maybe this UNRELENTING STUPID HEAT.  Maybe.  From 60 to 90 in 3 days is not right.  Is there a complaint box? Because I have some stuff to say about this ridiculousness.  This is NOT how you run things.  It's just not.

We saw a family and friends and had fun and also lots of tasty food and snacks PLUS I got a ridiculous sunburn on one side of my neck and half my chest.  I look like a before and after ad for sunblock.

We also went to Greenfield Village, thanks to the good auspices of Unmitigated Me, and saw the Civil War Remembrance activities.

I'm sweating just remembering them.

At which point I realized that I have become an old lady because:

1.  I immediately had to go the bathroom.
2.  I wanted my sun hat.
3.  I struck up conversations with EVERYONE. The ladies in the Temperance camp, the woman sitting next to me at the fashion show [fancy! but HOT!], the young men at the Civil War pavilion.
4.  I made the husband wear a badge identifying him as a veteran.
5.  I routed our day so that we were near bathrooms AND buildings where we could go in and cool off.
6.  I made the husband go and get the car.

It was a lot of fun.  I highly recommend going.  And taking the husband, because he will get the car AND turn on the AC full blast.

We also took part in our annual Family Water Balloon Fight on Memorial Day.  My cousin filled over 600 water balloons and we went nuts.  Well, mostly everyone else went nuts while I took pictures with my sister's camera and tried to stay out of the line of fire, like a good war correspondent.

The younger kids are now old enough where they are wily and plan out their attacks.  The husband was bombed mercilessly.  I was hit by friendly fire RIGHT IN THE STOMACH while I was trying to take pictures.  That hurt A LOT.

Next year, I'm bringing a supersoaker.  Or a hose.

Week in Review - It's Raining, It's Pouring, Shut Up With the Snoring

Oh, my darlings. I've been meh all week.  I'm not sure if it's Labor Memorial Day Ennui [It's a thing.  I swear.  And I ALWAYS get those two mixed up.] or just the realization that Cougar Town is ending its season [I haven't watched the recent episodes yet; no spoilers, please.], but I've been so anxious and simultaneously lethargic.  It's hell on my psyche.

But never fear! I've compiled a precise of things you need to know this week. 

This week has been a monstrous clusterfuck, weather-wise.   There have been incredible storms, particularly those that wiped out Joplin, Missouri.  Give if you can - you know where your money should go. 

Ratko Mladich, a war criminal for his actions in the former Yugoslavia, including overseeing the genocide of over 7,500 Bosnian Mulsim men & boys in Srebrenica, was finally found living in Belgrade, Serbia.  Funny how he managed to spend the last 16 years enjoying the good life in Serbia's capital unharmed.  Sad that so many Serbian nationalists still think he's a great guy.  He's off to The Hague for trial.

Dude, COME ON.  Obama signed an extension to the Patriot Act.  Be extra careful what you say and do, people.  THEY ARE WATCHING.  Seriously.  They are.

Prisoners are becoming quite crafty in getting a drug - Suboxone, which is used to treat opiate addiction - into prison by having their confederates on the outside crush it into a paste and smear it on coloring book pages, which their kids then color, and onto the backs of stamps.  I know, I know, there are all sorts of socio-economic reasons that people turn to crime, but if you have this kind of wherewithal and ingenuity in pursuing illegal goals, think of what you could do in the straight world.  You could be a hedge fund manager and really clean up!  Legally!

In Canada, a Nova Scotia couple is suing the government.  They want to grow medical marijuana, but are too poor to do so.  So they expect the province to pay for lighting equipment, because they can't afford it on their disability income.  They are alleging discrimination.  Last year, a Halifax woman won a lawsuit forcing the province to pay her medical marijuana producing costs.

What can I say after that?  Nothing.  What have you got for me?  I'm dying to know.

When you need a good excuse this summer, just tell them The Suniverse said so.

My top ten Summer Don'ts [because of COURSE I have more than ten.  Remember how I hate the heat? Yeah. That.]

Where to start? How about, in honor of David Letterman, whose show I haven't actually watched since he moved to CBS [it's on late and I'm old and tired.], I'll do this in reverse order:

10.  Don't pretend that you enjoy being outside when you hate it.  Especially if you are the kind of person bugs think of as a moveable feast.  At that point, for your own sanity and to ensure that your system has enough blood to actually circulate, it's better to just stay inside, where the ice and booze are.  And where the bugs aren't.

I really, really hate bugs. Source.

9.   Don't skimp on the sunscreen.  Sure, a nice tan is great and will make a great contrast for that white tank top you've been dying to wear, but that tank top isn't going to look so fantastic against the lobster-red patches you've got on your arms and chest where you thought you'd put sunblock but missed because you were so interested in finding out where your friend got that great beach bag [usually at Target] or trying to see if that guy is wearing a sweater or just needs a good waxing [you know the answer].

8.  Don't shoot at the ice cream truck.  We all want to, but believe me, the legal hassle is NOT worth it.  No.  Not even if it's just a paintball gun.  Not that I speak from experience or anything.  Instead, splurge on one of those tire puncturing strips the cops are always tossing on the freeway.  It'll be like watching the news on your street!

7.  Don't be stingy - buy lemonade from the kid who looks like he never washes his hands.  Your flask full of vodka should kill off any residual germs.

Summer's Little Helper. Source.

6.  Don't do something "creative" with your steaks when you grill.  They're steaks.  They're plenty fine how they are.  Sure, you might think a nice cinnamon-basil rub would be divine, but I'm guessing your guests will be less than thrilled.

5.  Don't invite people over you can barely tolerate.  It's too hot to put up with that kind of crap. 

4.  Don't get bent out of shape about buying and wearing a bathing suit.  Seriously.  Nobody likes to hang around with that person who is constantly worrying about whether or not she looks fat.  If you do, you do.  Are you going to avoid having fun because you're not at your optimum weight?  Then just stay home.  Trust me, no one cares what you look like - they're all too worried wondering what people think of them.

3.  Don't shoot fireworks on any night except July 4th [or whatever day Canada Day is].  Seriously.  Nobody gives a shit that you went down to West Virginia and bought a bunch of dynamite from a coal mine.  If blowing shit up makes you feel like a patriot, I suggest you rethink your career choice.  Also, you can only shoot fireworks until 11:00pm.  That is long enough.  No exceptions.

Oooh.  Aaaah.  LOUD. Seriously.  Not 11:01.  Source.

2.  Don't underestimate the power of a freezepop as a bribe.  This works on anyone, regardless of age.  Trust me.

1.  Don't feel bad if you want to spend hot, sunny days indoors, curtains closed, the AC cranking, under a light blanket, reading a good book. 

And the winner of the Raw Photos Springtime Contest is . . .

Before I get to the two finalists and the winner, I have to stop a minute and tell you all how lucky Andygirl and I are to be able to see so much beauty in these Raw Photos contests.  We started this nearly a year ago, randomly chatting on Twitter about how we get frustrated with the seeming lack of actual photographic ability - it's all about Photoshop these days.

And then we get to see your work.  It's always amazing and always so hard to decide which photos to choose as best exemplifying that month's theme. 

Our two finalists:

The fragility and depth of color are astounding.
By nonspleen


I still can't get over these clouds.  They're mesmerizing.
By daredevil229


And the winner:

What a perfect image of Springtime.  And the precision in this photo - breathtaking.
By Shnerfle



Congratulations, Shnerfle.  You are this month's Raw Photo Contest winner!


And thank you all for submitting your photos. 

The next contest will be coming up at the end of June, and the theme is: PEOPLE! 

Start taking pictures.  I can't wait to see what you've got!

Raw Photos Springtime Finalists.

Here they are!

The Raw Photos finalists for this round.  These images really conveyed the idea of Springtime to us.  Aren't they amazing?


This is so delicate and yet vibrant - so much going on and such an amazing moment to capture.
By Shnerfle



Are you looking at these colors? At the magic?
By nonspleen


Fluffy and gorgeous and so soft. I think it's incredible. Love the immediacy.
By measagoddess


The bokeh here is outstanding.  I love the charge of the green, too. 
By Dawn Williams-Summitt


These look unreal, don't they? Nature's nearly incomprehensible sometimes.
By daredevil229


Andygirl and I will post the winner and the runners up tomorrow.  I can't explain to you how hard it is to select from among the incredible photos you submitted.  Seriously.  I'm astounded by your ability to capture such indelible and stunning moments. 

There is no reason these guys should still be making movies.

As I may have mentioned before, we watch a lot of movies.  Not at the theater - no, we're pretty bad about actually organizing ourselves to get to a theater and see a movie before it hits video [we had high hopes for The King's Speech, especially when it was playing at a second run artsy-type theater nearby, but somehow the three of us could not get our schedules together for any one showing.  Not that we're fabulous and have all kinds of cool stuff to do.  Mostly because we commit to things we should do and no that we necessarily want to do.  We suck that way.].

Where the hell was I?

Anyway, we watch a lot of movies and we also get Entertainment Weekly - because I enjoy reading about television shows I'd never, in a million years, watch.  Not even when suffering from horrific insomnia.  That's what DVDs are for.  But because of this confluence of events, I tend to get info on what's happening in the movies and am able, because of my gimlet eye, to spot trends.  And the one that I wish I hadn't is the ubiquity of crappy shit going on in films.

First of all, Paul Giamatti needs to stop making movies.  Seriously.  No more.  I can't handle it.  You know what? As shitty as Lady in the Water was, and it was horrifically bad [but not as bad as The Happening.  I don't have the words for how bad that was.] I'm going on record as saying that it wasn't all M. Night Shyamalan's fault.  Some of the blame goes to old Paul.  Also?  Stop casting him as romantic leads.  And Revolutionary War guys.  Just let him go raise llamas somewhere.  That seems like something he'd do.  [I can't explain my animosity toward him - while I will allow that he has done nothing untoward to piss me off, like some people who will not be named, he grates on me like chewing tinfoil.]

Second, another thing that needs to end is the sullying of the John Gotti legacy.  You know what abomination is happening now? John Fucking Travolta is supposed to be playing John Gotti in some movie they're making.

No.

NO FUCKING WAY.

This?

Aaaaayyyy. Wait. Do I think I'm The Fonz? Source.

Is nowhere NEAR as awesome as this:

That's right, bitches. I'm John Motherfucking Gotti.  Suck it. Source.

It's kind of hurting my soul.

And finally, I have had about all I can stand of remakes.  There is no reason for ANOTHER Charlie's Angels reboot - particularly since #MurderPartyStreetCrew already has its Bosley [yes, that's an arcane Twitter reference.  It's my fucking blog.  I can do what I want.].  Sure, guys dig watching chicks jiggle it, but they can probably choose from a thousand other shows that already have this oeuvre locked down. True, this doesn't quite fit in the doughy guy antipathy, but I bet it was some doughy guy came up with this idea. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to unwrap a hard candy and then blow my nose in the tissue I keep in the sleeve of my knee length cardigan.

That Time I Stayed in the Canadian Version of the Bates Motel. I Hate You, Niagara Falls.

Many years ago, our family was invited to a destination wedding.  Not somewhere magical like the Bahamas. Nope.

Niagara Falls. 

Where we ended up staying in:

The Bates Motel

Not the ACTUAL Bates Motel. No.  That one was drier and far less disgusting.

We were given instructions to make reservations at this hotel or, more accurately, House of Creepiness, by the family having the wedding.

WHO DID NOT STAY THERE.

Which we didn't find out until the end of the weekend.  Nice, right?  Did they get a look and go running?  Did they get a cut of the rental rates?  I don't know, but I don't really talk to them anymore.  Had you been there, you wouldn't blame me.

We get to this place and are skeeved out.  Seriously.  It smelled like dank.  My parent's room? Had damp carpeting.  Our room? Had the sink that wouldn't stop running.  Some cousins were in the room that had super-scary noises. 

I ask for extra pillows and am informed that there are none.  How is that possible?  Are they being used to smother and bury guests from times past?

We spent a LOT of time not in the room.  Hotel sex? Yeah, not happening.

I think the icing on the cake was that at the nice hotel across the street, where there was a party for the wedding guests the night before, the room rates were the same.  Why didn't we switch hotels? I have no idea - I was for it, but everyone else had been beaten down by the sadness and despair clouding Bates Motel Niagara and figured one more night wouldn't hurt. 

Except it did.  It hurt my soul.  It also hurt my ability to stay in any cheap ass hotel, making our trips way more expensive.  But then so was the therapy and the 8,000 loads of laundry I did to wash the stink of that trip out of our clothing.

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

This is a Studio 30 Plus writing prompt.  Yeah, boy. [You have to say that like Flavor Flav.  Trust me.  It's fun.]

You're on my list. Yes, like Nixon's Enemies List. But without all the anti-semitism.

George Stephanopoulous is a fucking tool.

I know he was heralded as some wunderkind during the time he worked for the Clintons*, and I'm sure he did a great job, but he has rubbed me the wrong way for quite some time now.  I didn't like the fact that he rode in with the Clintons and then turned around and trash talked them up and down when he left.  I'm sorry, what didn't they do for you?

And now, somehow, you've reached the pinnacle of your serious journalistic career by co-hosting Good Morning America?  Really?  You're AWESOME.

Except you're not.  You're unctuous and officious and condescending.

And then, today [o.k., not today, more like a month ago, whenever I was actually watching this], you actually compared the possibility of Sarah! Palin! running for president in 2012 with BILL CLINTON'S presidential run.

Um.  The fuck?

How about Clinton was a Rhodes Scholar and actually completed his job as governor of Arkansas and is SMART and compassionate and sweet lord, really?  Do I have to go on?

So I'm done with Good Morning America. I'll just watch the local news while I do yoga.  [Yeah, I can't do yoga in peaceful, quiet surroundings.  I have to do it while being bombarded with last night's arsons and assaults and car crashes.  It IS all about balance, right?]

---------

* Yes, blah, blah, blah about Bill & Hillary, but they actually are smart, committed people who seem to want to do right in the world. The end.  And I'm kind of hoping that in the alternate universe where Hillary was elected president, she wouldn't be fucking rolling over on extending the Bush tax cuts and keeping Gitmo open.  A girl can dream, right?  Because a truly progressive, liberal president is not going to happen, even in my dreams, so I'll take what I can get.

Week in Review - Guys Are Assholes

God, guys are fucking pigs, aren't they?   This whole week has just been one douchebag after another being outed for being an asshole.

Arnold is a baby daddy.  Gosh, who'd have thought that this guy, with a history of inappropriate behavior and assaulting women, would be such a fucking tool as to bang his family's housekeeper [am I the only one thinking of Mike Brady and Alice?] and have a kid born within days of his own? And that he only copped to it after his wife confronted the housekeeper? And also only after finishing out his term as governor?  My only surprise was that, as a Republican, he had adulterous sex with a woman.

I find this threesome markedly less skeevy than Arnold's self-involved fuckery.  Yes, even though Mike Brady was gay.  Source.

And speaking of self-entitled douchebags, the now-former IMF chief decided his trip to New York wasn't complete without a little sexual assault.  Another fucking tool with a history of assaulting women and completely inappropriate behavior.  Do you think he and Arnold are congratulating each other for their timing so that the media focus isn't solely on one or the other?  I kind of think they are.

Newt Gingrich implodes.  And I, for one, can't think of another person who deserves it more.  This sanctimonious prick, who, as I cannot stress enough, ASKED HIS WIFE FOR A DIVORCE WHILE SHE WAS RECEIVING TREATMENT FOR CANCER, evidently started shit-talking his own party's hardline attempts to dismantle Medicare which led to many a potential backer stepping far, far away from his purse-lipped melon head.  Dude, you lost your relevance when people stopped caring about presidential blowjobs.  And again, I can't stress enough, that this fucking hypocrite was getting his with a mistress while piously lamenting Clinton's ethical lapses.  Suck it hard, Gingrich.

In more hopeful news for the future of our planet, the CDC put out a zombie apocalypse survival guide which was so awesome that it crashed their server.  I LOVE whoever put this idea together and want to French kiss the person who o.k.'d it.  This? Is why people should go into public service.

What are you planning on wearing for the Rapture?  I'm thinking a feather boa.

Did I tell you about that time a near-stranger found our stash of porn?

If I did, you can ignore this post, or just read all about it again.  It's pretty entertaining.

Many, many years ago, the husband and I bought a house in a very religious city, in a whitey-white American town, in a conservative area, basically, in a place we never quite fit into.  I mean, we're not building tributes to Burning Man on our lawn, but we do tend to listen to a lot more Public Enemy than our neighbors.  That kind of thing.

The main reason - the only reason, really - we moved to this city is because of its schools.  The district has the only gifted magnet program from 1st grade on [which gets less delightful as time goes no, but that's a whole other post] where the nerd kids are in their own school being nerds in all classes, from math to art to gym.  I highly recommend it as an elementary school program.

Anyway, we moved here when the girl was in preschool, because her preschool was in the area and we liked the city [leafy parks, nice swimming pools/clubs, good neighborhoods] even though it had no soul [no real downtown, 1970s era school buildings and city hall].  The people were nice.  I mean, not all kinds of demented fun and they tend not to swear as much as I do [but then, who does?], but nice people.  Churchy.  Conservative, but not in that Newt Gingrich-y sleazy kind of way.  Just whitebread America.

So we bought the house and a few years later, our house had appreciated [remember when houses did that?] and mortgage rates were dropping, and we decided to refinance for a lower rate.  Smart, sensible, what everyone else was doing.

Well, in order to refinance, your house has to be reappraised.  I made an appointment with the appraiser and set a day and time.  At that point, I was working part time and going to grad school [totally worth it!], so my schedule was more flexible than the husband's.  Also, he hates dealing with people, so I'm usually the person who has to make appointments and call for carry out and send emails to teachers.

Anyway, the appraiser shows up, and I start showing him around the house.  He says, "I think I know you from somewhere."
I think, "Great. I'm getting either hit on or ready to be fileted, neither of which is a great option right now." I say, "Hmm. . . I'm not sure I recognize you."

He says, "Oh, our kids go to preschool together.  My daughter is Blond Girl."

Oh. Sure. Fine.  I've been president of the cooperative preschool for about 3 years and know his daughter, and I'm kind of whatever. Small world, yadda yadda.

We continue our tour through the house and head down into the basement, which has been refinished into a really nice rec room area.  There's thick carpeting, drywall, and block windows that have been trimmed out with blinds hung from them.  There's also a fuse box that has been trimmed out with blinds covering it.

Him:  Can you show me the electrical box?
Me:  Sure, it's right here.

I walk over and pull on the cord for the blinds, yanking them up and displaying the utility box and:

Yeah. Pretty much this. Source.

At which point I die.

And grab the giant VHS boxes and say, "Huh, I'm not sure why these are here," and stuff them behind a blanket on the couch.  

To give him credit, the man continued his appraisal in a very professional manner.

Love means never having to say you're sorry, which is good, because I am too awesome to say I'm sorry.

As a companion piece to this loving tribute to why the husband is a bummer, I bring you:

Reasons why I love the husband [sometimes]:

1.  It's midnight, I'm up with insomnia watching Gilmore Girls [of course] when the husband climbs into bed, eyes already closed from being so tired.  It's quiet, except for the t.v., until I hear the husband, with his eyes still closed, say, "I'm sorry, there's no fucking way Rory is valedictorian over Paris.  That's fucking bullshit."

2.  I pull on the chain for the ceiling fan and it snaps off inside the fucking fan part.  The husband will let me stew in my anger for a few days, hating how anytime anything breaks in this house, it just stays broken [bedroom window, bathroom fan, Jesus, we are the fucking Beverly Hillbillies before they discovered black gold].  Then he'll try and fix it.  He usually can't, but I'll give him points for trying.  Although I also deduct points for letting me stew.

3.  When it's dark outside, he will go outside and close the garage door or take out the trash after we've watched something scary, even though there may be chupacabras or sewer monsters or  those fucking creepy ass people from The Strangers:

Source. This is what I think happens when you go outside at night after watching something scary.

4.  He thinks I'm a great writer/person/parent and can do anything I put my mind to.  This is great, even if I tend to discount his opinion sometimes because duh, he's my husband, he's supposed to say that. 

5.  His genes gave the girl these amazing giant eyes and mile-long eyelashes.  Because I have tiny, squinty eyes and sparse lashes, I am very, very grateful for this.  As is the girl.  Or she will be when she realizes what a lucky draw she got. 

God really is in the details. So be sure to take a magnifiying glass to the details.

I'll tell you all about my day at JURY DUTY FUN TIMES later, but first, by request, and fasten your seatbelts, because this is a long one:

How I Accidentally Sent the Girl to Bible Camp:
A Sadly True Story.

Years ago, when the girl was in elementary school, her class went to a nature camp about an hour away from where we live.

I, of course, did not go, because I hate nature [and Nature], and pretty much all children and probably most of their parents and for sure the experience of sleeping in a bunk bed.

The husband did not go because he is a workaholic and this was not a field trip to a sporting event, like a baseball game, which is the only field trip he magically found time to chaperone.

So the girl went with her classmates and those parents who are better at being outside/more patient with children.  A win for everyone! 

Needless to say, she LOVED IT.  Loved being outside and loved camping and campfires and camping games and ziplining and making campfire stew and scratching bug bites and all that other stuff that people do when communing with the great outdoors.

A few weeks after she came back, we got a brochure from the camp advertising its various summer camps - stuff like Outdoor Survival and Live Like Hill People and The Many Uses of Pinecones.  The girl lobbied to be able to camp - a whole week in the outdoors! How exciting! - and the husband and I were trying to figure out what to do with her while we worked during the summer [probably throwing kibble on the floor and making sure the water bowls would be filled was not going to work].  We looked at the brochure, checked it out online, and it looked like a good, American, outdoorsy place to be.

While we were checking this out, friends of ours were also looking for a camp to send their son to.  They were thinking of sending him to a Catholic camp up north.  The husband asked if they were really sure they wanted to send their 11 year old boy out into the woods with priests. 

We met for dinner and lots of drinking and decided it would be nice for the kids to go to camp together.  They'd know someone, they already knew the layout of the camp, and why not? Fun, right?

So my friend got on the phone with the camp and did more checking around and let me know that she was pleased with the camp and impressed with their credentials.  I figured, great, between our information pool, this should be a great place for the kids to be for a week.

We told the girl she and her friend would be going to camp together.  They were excited.  We got applications and sent in the check. The husband, as he was filling out the check, said to me, "You know this is run by the Detroit Presbytery, don't you?" I was busy playing SuperMario or something and said, "Yeah, sure, that's fine," because although I had no idea what the Detroit Presbytery was and though it sounded kind of religious, I figured it was like the Girl Scouts or the YMCA.  Sure, that Christian thing is in the YMCA, but I've not really seen how it affects their day to day operations of a swimming pool and tennis courts.

Then we got the information packet from the camp, including the packing list.  Here are the first few items, which may have caused a more aware person to pause:

Bible
Pillow
Sleeping Bag

The girl and I looked at it and went, "Huh."  I said, "Well, maybe people like to take their bibles with them places." I don't know.  I mean, people do, right?  Or is that just Jehova's Witnesses? How would I know?  I was raised Muslim and am currently . . . a lapsed Muslim, the husband was raised Catholic and is currently an atheist/agnostic [depending on the day] and the girl was raised without much religion at all, except for random holiday visits to mosques and churches and exposure to kid's books such as The Children's Bible and What is God? and What is Islam? [Can you guess that the grandparents were suppliers of reading materials? Except for What is God? I got her that when she started asking all kinds of questions that I had no interest in answering.] and so she's identified herself as an atheist.

So we packed everything, except the bible, and, on beautiful summer Sunday, we drove an hour to the camp and dropped her off, meeting up with our friends so we parents could head out and enjoy some FREE TIME!

My first clue that something was not what I had thought it would be [yes, besides the whole Detroit Presbytery and instruction to pack a bible] was that the guy directing traffic into the camp was wearing a t-shirt with a tree that had a cross in it.  I thought that was kind of Jesus-y, but what do I know?  People wear religious t-shirts everywhere - the gym, court, hoedowns.  Why not while directing camp traffic?

Ignoring this omen, we unloaded the girl's stuff, signed her in, and helped her set up her bunk.  There were a number of other girls already there, and they seemed nice, as did the counselors.  The building was set near a lake and in the midst of all types of greenery and probably near where a lot of woodland creatures made their homes.  The girl's friend was to bunk on the other side of the building and we checked out his space and they looked like they were ready for us to leave, so we left.

And had a lovely dinner.

And enjoyed our week at home, with the quiet and the knowledge that the girl was having the kind of nature-inspired fun she'd never get from us personally.

So a week went by and we drove back out to pick her up.  She looked tan, tired, and happy.  We got in the car and headed home, basking in a parental job well done.  And I asked, "Well, how was it? Did you have fun?"

The girl: It was a bible camp.

Me: What?

The girl:  It was a bible camp.  I was the only person there without a bible.

Me: What?!?

The girl:  BIBLE CAMP.  We had vespers and said grace and they had religious sing alongs that everyone but me knew the words to and people were supposed to read from the bible every day and IT WAS BIBLE CAMP.

Me: I am so sorry.  Oh, my fucking god, I am sorry.

[Meantime, the husband and I are avoiding eye contact because I can see he is going to burst out laughing and I am about a second away from losing it.]

The girl:  It was fine.  We got to swim and stuff, but I was the only person there who was not Christian.  And I didn't have a bible, so I had to borrow someone's to read when it was my turn, and I still don't even know what vespers is.

The husband: Vespers is something something [I forget what].

Me: Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.  I'll do a better job of checking out where we send you from now on.

The girl: Yeah, thanks.

The husband:  I told you it was run by the Detroit Presbytery.

Me: I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT THAT WAS! I'm sorry!

The girl: It was fine.

Me: Do you want to go back next year?

The girl:  NO!

And so I spent an hour's drive apologizing and trying not to laugh.  The girl suffered no long-term ill effects and still enjoys the outdoors.

A few weeks later, I was cleaning the girl's room and ran across her journal from the camping trip.  Now, I am a pretty big stickler for privacy because I was afforded absolutely none as a child, but I couldn't help myself, I had to see what she'd written.

There were only a few pages with writing, and they all had a variation on this theme:


I 
Can't
Believe
My 
Mom and Dad
Sent Me To BIBLE CAMP.


WHY?


WHY????????

We still periodically ask her if she wants to go back. She always says no.

Yes, I'm still on Blogger. I'm working on it.

Hey, remember that time last week when Blogger fucked itself and lost everyone's posts and comments and then didn't let anyone on the site? 

Did Blogger get bought by Microsoft, too?  What the hell?

So I'm planning a move, but that's going to take time because it takes me forever to get my shit together [hence, the still-delayed Etsy shop.  It's coming.  I swear.], PLUS I got a jury duty summons, so while you're reading this, I'm sitting in a room with hordes of humanity, hoping no one breathes on me.  AWESOME.

Here's what's been happening with me:

*****************************
It's Raw Photos Contest Time!

Have you played before?  If not, what the hell are you waiting for?  If you have, you need to play again!

The topic for this round is:

SPRING!

Yes!  Submit your unphotoshopped photo of what Spring means to you. 

The full rules are on our Flickr page, but here's the gist:
 
1. You have to have taken the photo.
2. The photo has to be a raw photo. What does that mean? That means NO PHOTOSHOPPING. You can screw around all you want with exposure and white balance on your camera, and we'll even let you crop the photo, but that's it.  (Both digital and digital scans of film are okay)
3. You have one week to enter a photo. You can enter up to two [2] photos per contest.

When we decide who the winner is, that winner's photo will be posted on our blogs Crazy with a side of Awesome Sauce & The Suniverse, our Twitter feeds @andygirl & @TheSuniverse, and on Flickr. Plus, the winner gets an AWESOME BADGE to post on their blog.

Submit here. You have a week to submit.  From May 16, 2011 through May 22, 2011.

Questions?  Just ask:
awesomecrazylady@gmail.com
suniverse.email@gmail.com

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

I've been having crazy anxiety dreams.  Seriously weird.  Like that I was running late to take the girl to the orthodontist, even though she doesn't have braces in the real world, and we got into a fender bender with a group of mean girls [and I swear to god, Lindsay Lohan was one of them] and then we had to go to the auto body shop, where a creepy guy fixed up the car and then asked where the payment from last time was [?] and then I kept trying to find the ortho's office on my iPhone map, but couldn't remember the street name and we finally got there and I forgot the dr.'s name, so we were waiting around, because I couldn't fill out the Who Are You Here To See form and then I cried because all these other people kept coming in and getting seen before me.

God.  Even anxiety dreams suck, don't they? Nothing interesting.

So, that's what's been going on with me.  Anxiety and photo contest and public service.

My husband is so lucky he met me.

Spring - a time when your fancy turns to photos. Raw Photos.

Hey! It's that time! RAW PHOTOS TIME!

The theme for this contest is SPRINGTIME.

What does Springtime mean to you? What's it look like where you live? Don't you want to show us? You know you do. 

And the best part is?  This is a RAW PHOTOS contest - none of that fancy photoshopping stuff, just you and your camera and Springtime. 

Don't be intimidated.  You know you like your photo - we'd love to see it!

A quick recap of the rule:

1. You have to have taken the photo.
2. The photo has to be a raw photo. NO PHOTOSHOPPING. You can screw around all you want with exposure and white balance on your camera, and we'll even let you crop the photo, but that's it. (Both digital and digital scans of film are okay)
3. You have one week to enter a photo. You can enter up to two [2] photos per contest.

Once all the photos have been entered, we'll take a few days to look them over. When we decide who the winner is, that winner's photo will be posted on our blogs Crazy with a side of Awesome Sauce or The Suniverse, our Twitter feeds @andygirl or @TheSuniverse, and on Flickr. Plus, the winner gets an AWESOME BADGE to post on their blog, showing the world that they have mad photography skills.

Submit here. 

Good luck!

Blog of War - The Reckoning

Hey all!

Remember how I did that Blog of War thing a while ago?  No?  Well, we're on to ROUND 2, anyway, so let's just jump right in, o.k.?

In this round . . . well, here's the scoop from The Puppet Master:


Welcome to Round 2 of “Blog of War”

The remaining 3 competitors are going head to head with each other, having been given the task of finding a small blog (less than 20 followers)

As readers please take the time to look at all 3 entries - There was clearly a little bit of over enthusiasm in the last round, with votes being cast before all the entries had been loaded ….This is not Florida guys, or even a one party communist state….

The links to the other entries can be found - Link to Blog of War – round 2  

You have until the 21st May to vote - This is done by “following” one of the selected blogs and should be based on the job that the competitors have done in selecting a good blog and how well they have championed that blog. ….

Please note. If you happen to like more than one of the featured blogs my advice in order not to nullify your vote is go back and follow the 2^nd or even 3^rd blog after the 21st May)  

Best of luck to all three contestants

Regards BlackLOG

***********

So.  That brings us to today's post and my hearty exhortation to visit and follow this site:

Hate You, Probably

Are you already in love with that name?  Of course you are.  You'll be even MORE in love with me and her by the time you've finished reading this post.

Yes, sure there's the possibility that HYP [that's Hate You, Probably, of course] already hates you, but! You might be that one person she DOESN'T hate.  It's like a popularity contest of the most discerning kind.

Now, why should you follow @HateYouProbably on Twitter and on her blog [mostly on her blog, because I kind of want to win this contest]?

Here are a few reasons:

T-Pain follows her on Twitter.  I KNOW, RIGHT! [Disclaimer: I'm not exactly sure who T-Pain is, except that I believe he's a rapper of some sort and he follows HYP on the Twitter.]

She's a do-gooder - she's started the Jeremy London Date with Destiny Foundation for @JeremyMLondon [perhaps his IMDB page will refresh your memory] who is suffering from Late Stage Mulletitis and desperately in need of a date with HYP.

She judges people based on the level of their Costco membership.  That is taking bulk shopping to a whole other level.  A hilarious, biting level:

There are three kinds of members: Gold Star Members, Business Members, and Executive Members.

If you’re a Gold Star Member, why are we friends? Don't even continue reading this because your membership level tells me everything I need to know about you.      

AND! She had a Royal Wedding Birthday Party the day after Wills & Kate got married.  Complete with a bridal gown, Princess Diana Sapphire Ring, guests in wedding clothes and a wedding/birthday cake.

Are you dying from the awesome yet? ARE YOU?

It should not surprise you that I kind of want to make out with HYP - she is so. fucking. brilliant.  And I haven't even touched on her dad thinking Justin Timberlake is a pussy.  

Seriously. 

Go.

Read. 

Follow.

You won't be sorry.

Week in Review - Fuck you, Blogger.

How have I spent all week forgetting that I'm supposed to watch out for interesting bits of news or finding interesting bits of news and then forgetting them? HOW? 

Oh, because the weather is actually warming up and I haven't turned on the AC [even though I will, get over your environmental hate now, please, I just don't care, I need to be cool] because it's not quite warm enough to justify turning on the air [even for me, or for my neighbor who honest to god, must be part . . . what is it that lives in a cool climate? Polar bear?] and then I go to sleep and it's Dante's Inferno and I end up waking up at 4am UNABLE TO SLEEP ANYMORE and then I watch an episode or two of Cougar Town [how I love you, truly] and then drift off have weird sex dreams about REALLY. OLD. MEN.

I need Lysol for my brain.  Please.

Anyway, here's what's been happening:

Microsoft bought Skype for $8.5billion.  Great. Just when I was ready to start using Skype.  Now I'll have to find some other way to communicate with people online.  Ah, Twitter, there you are.

Speaking of Skype, in Australia [hi Sarah!], several Australian Defense Force Academy cadets were involved in a sex scandal. IMPOSSIBLE! Yeah, so two guys ended up filming two other cadets [boy and girl] having it off and then broadcast it over Skype.  They've been booted from the academy and face criminal charges.  I don't think Sarah's involved.

And in other news that actually makes me want to move to Australia solely to have a child grow up in a country that values her, there's an ambitious program on the part of the Federal Government to start mental health screenings for children.  This, so that any developing issues can be caught and addressed early on.  Excellent job, Australia. 

In Canada, the Federal Industry Minister wants oil companies to explain how they price gas. My guess? Take the real price and add $3/gallon.  I'm not sure what this will solve, but what the hell, maybe they'll squirm.

In Germany, John Demjanjuk, who was deported from the US two years ago, was found guilty of being an accessory to murder when he was a concentration camp guard.  The 91 year old is facing 5 years in prison.  Better late than never.

Evidently, this is a thing now?  In the US, adults, who should know better, are having proms.   For themselves.  Really? Stop making me sad for you, America.

But then there's this: the Presbyterians have approved ordaining gay people as their clergy.  YAY! Equality!  

Also, did I ever tell you the time I accidentally sent the girl to bible camp?

And then I ate my own head. It tasted like chicken.

I tend to go from zero to starving in what seems like a nanosecond.

Like, so hungry that my mouth is watering while I'm cooking, and not in that mmmm . . . that smells appetizing way, but more in that If this was the Donner Party, I wouldn't even finish chopping this lettuce, I'd just start gnawing on the husband's arm way.

You know. 

Hungry.

Part of it is that I make a meal from scratch 99.5% of the time.  No, no - no accolades.  It's not that I'm better than you or am trying to give She Who Must Not Be Named a run for her money in being smug about my eating practices [only organic fresh ground black pepper from my artisan pepper mill to grace my bowl of celery ceviche, thanks].

It's mostly that I'm pretty particular about what we eat, and we went through a patch where we couldn't afford to eat out and so I cooked.  Every. Fucking. Day.

And then, as we got more solvent, the meals would become more elaborate.  Not gold leaf instead of lettuce leaves elaborate, more like, Hey, we can have hot dogs AND hamburgers for dinner [Hebrew National and turkey burgers, thanks] tonight! elaborate.

Which brings me to last night.

I finally made my Incredible Blue Cheese Coleslaw - and it was absolutely worth waiting for.

Of course, I was starving, since I skipped breakfast and had a meager lunch, so not only was I drooling for coleslaw, I needed to feed the beast.  Because FOOD IS GOOD AND DELICIOUS. And when I'm really hungry? It's like a Henry VIII feeding frenzy in this place.

Really.

It's embarrassing the amount of food I will prepare for 3 people. The cooking switch gets turned on and I cannot be stopped.

So in addition to coleslaw, I made potato salad and corn on the cob [6 for $1.99! I can't remember if that's a good price or highway robbery! Well done, market!] and sliced up a Vidalia onion for the grill and the husband made burgers and hot dogs and chicken apple Gouda sausages [oh, good lord, you must eat those].  I also made a nice plate of toppings for the burgers, which only I ate, because evidently the husband and the girl had no interest in greenery on their bacon cheeseburgers. [Of course there was bacon.]

We ate.

I ate.

And it was so. fucking. good.

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

Here's the recipe:

Adapted from Ina Garten's Blue Cheese Cole Slaw Recipe - which is just as good.  I'll give her that.


The Suniverse's Incredible Blue Cheese Cole Slaw
Serves: However many you want to let eat

1/2 small head red cabbage
1/4 - 1/2 cup mayo
1-2 TBSP apple cider vinegar [I've used red wine vinegar before & it's just as good]
1-2 TBSP spicy mustard
Black pepper
Celery salt
1/4-1/2 cup crumbled blue cheese

1. Rinse and chop cabbage. Sure, shredded cabbage looks nice, but it's a pain in the ass to eat flapping all over your mouth.  I end up dicing it. No one's complained or died.
2. Put the cabbage in a large mixing bowl - larger than you'll think you need. Trust me. 
3. Grab your car keys and head to the store - you didn't realize that you had about 2 TBSP of mayo in the jar in the fridge and NO BACK UP JAR in the pantry.  This is nowhere near enough mayo for the slaw, potato salad and burgers.  Swing by the grocery store nearest your house, which for some reason you never go to, and realize they've really spiffed the place up. 
4. Vow to visit that grocery store more often.
5. Realize that's probably not going to happen because you're not a fan of that chain and be o.k. with that.
5. Back home, add the mayo, vinegar, mustard and seasonings to the cabbage.  Stir to combine.  Taste, and adjust seasonings.  No, you don't need to taste that many times.  Relax, it's almost dinner.
6. Add the crumbled blue cheese and stir.

Serve, and enjoy your addiction.

PS I would have posted a photo of the slaw, because I actually took a ton of pictures, except as I was uploading them to my computer, my camera battery died and I only have the one, so I got all the pictures on the camera EXCEPT of the slaw.  Because of course.

It's like Where's Waldo except without the creepy Freddy Kreuger looking kid.

You know how they say the best way to minimize your embarrassment is by sharing your story?  And how basically having a blog is the most efficient way of sharing?  Well, guess what?  I'm sharing my . . . faux pas, let's call them, here today:

I am the featured writer today at Studio 30 Plus.

Jealous much?
  
I joined Studio 30 Plus a long time ago and then, as is my usual method of doing things, lamed out.  And then I got my shit together and found that there are a lot of fun and cool people on there - really! Not just me! Other cool people you should know.  So if you're over 30 and wordy, you should definitely join up, and then friend me, because you know I don't like to be left out. And then read all the cool posts from everyone on there - some amazing writers.


But first?

Read this.  You'll feel a lot better about yourself.
 

**COMMENTS CLOSED: Come visit at Studio30Plus. You won't be sorry.

It's Not as Dirty as It Sounds. Swear.

Because I am fantastically awesome, the lovely and royal Lady Estrogen bequeathed to me an STD.

Sit down, it's not gross.

It is, in fact, a sort of People's Choice Award for Sexy & Talented Bloggers - which I am, duh.  See?



So I get this cool award and I get to write a story to go with it [which is doubly awesome, since I am looking for blog fodder and am still basking in the righteous indignation you've all shown on my behalf, which makes creative thought difficult.  You are a blood thirsty lot, you are.  I like that about you.  I also like thinking about the fact THAT I WAS RIGHT.  Gah.  I need to settle down.].

Anyway. Award:

Here are the rules:
1. Make up ONE totally ridiculous story about yourself that is a complete rip-off from a movie. It can be as long or short as you want; clean or crass as you want.
2. Pass it on to whomever you feel is deserving of this STD - or accept it and keep it for yourself; it's your blog - it's your choice.
I'M PRO CHOICE!
3. If you choose to accept this STD, please link your acceptance post back here. (I'll keep it open for at least all summer.) There's a very good chance that I'll be sporadically choosing random winners to get some of my world famous mediocre Estro-goodies.
I know you want some!

Without further adieu:
----------------------
I'd spent the day with the Tarleton twins, playing one against the other, enjoying flirting with those silly Gingers when Brett Tarleton dropped the bomb on me:

The love of my life - the wussy, Leslie Howard-looking puss Ashley Wilkes - was going to marry his insipid and pale faced cousin Melanie Wilkes.  EEEEEWWWWW.

I would put a stop to that.

I put on my most shoulder baring, boob thrusting dress and went to the picnic at 12 Oaks, where I told Ashley that I loved him.

He, equivocal no-balls-having bastard that he is, finally admitted he loved me but that he was going to marry Melanie, who was so stupid that she thought I WAS NICE.  Dumb bitch.  I'd show her.

Anyway, Ashley turned me down, and this scoundrel Rhett Butler showed himself to be a sexy, dangerous and impudent . . . excuse me, I need to collect myself.  Anyway, he was a jerk.

Then the war broke out.

Then I married Melanie's brother to serve two purposes: Spite Ashley's sister India and keep my enemies closer [read: Melanie].

Then Melanie's brother died.

Then Rhett bought me at a dance.  I was still in love with Ashley, of course, but my body was saying YES YES YES to Mr. Butler.

Then some more war stuff happened.

Then I wore a dress made of green velvet curtains [in the South! in the heat!] to try and screw Rhett out of some money to save my plantation. But that jerk was in prison! And, even more importantly, his funds were frozen! Useless bastard.

Then I married Frank Kennedy, who was going to marry my stupid sister Sue Ellen, because he had a barrel full of money, and I may be many things, including a woman who will prostitute herself for her plantation, but I am not stupid.

Then Frank died.

Then I married Rhett.

Then we had a baby.

Then she died while riding a horse.

Then Rhett told me to fuck off, but not in those exact words.

And then I realized, fuck this, I'll deal with all this bullshit tomorrow.

And that was how I met your mother.

Your Anger May Be a Gift - My Anger is a Righteous Fury

I am a pretty easy person to get along with.

Stop laughing.

I'm pretty easy to get along with because I am a pretty friendly person - I mean, I'm not in love with people or humanity in general, but I am very polite [to your face] and a big believer in doing the right thing and behaving properly when out in public.  If I happen to go home and bitch about what a shitty driver you are or tweet things about how fucking stupid boys are, that in no way negates the fact that I will follow every protocol and treat you with respect.

I will make small talk.

I will act like your idiocy doesn't appall me.

I will nod and agree when you complain about kids these days and their rock music.

I will go out of my way to include you, particularly if your inclusion is the right thing to do.

That being said, don't ever, ever fucking cross me.

Ever.

There are two things that make me insane with anger* and which will make you dead to me:

1. Being called a liar**
2. Being called out for not being polite.

When those things are combined?

Oh.
My.
Fucking.
God.

I will end you.

It turns out that this weekend I found out that this situation occurred.

I'm not going to get into the who/what/when/where of it all, but I will say that the WHY is because some people are complete fucking narcissistic idiots.

And so I found myself on the horns of a dilemma:

A.  Correct the record, explain the truth, drop some motherfucking knowledge on people in an explosion of fact and fury

OR

B.  Just let it go

I'm having a REALLY, REALLY hard time letting it go, even though I know that option A is NOT really an option.

So I've been seething and bitching and then remembering that I need to set and example and then getting pissed off even more, because the husband is not a satisfactory person to bitch to.

So here is my query, friends:

What do you do when you find yourself impugned?  Chemical warfare or the high road?

--------------
* Recognize that quote? It's Mel Gibson's character in Signs.  Excellent movie - wtf, Mel? WHY SUCH A RACIST, CRAZYBAG TOOL?

** A subtopic is being told I'm wrong when I KNOW and empirical evidence WILL SHOW that I am right. I am still pissed that this guy I was dating over 20 years ago thought that Eberhard Faber was a silent film star and not a pencil. IT'S A PENCIL!!!

SEE? JACKASS! Source.

Maybe I'm pissed because that guy was an idiot. 

Week in Review - Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

I've been very America-centric in this weekly round-up thus far, which I loathe in the news in general, so taking a cue from my foreign readers, I'm going global:

Stephen Harper and his Conservative Party won handily in Monday's election in Canada.  Evidently, the Liberal party imploded, leaving the New Democrat Party to surge into the opposition position for the first time.  And the Quebecoise just fell apart.  Duh.  Be separatist and hateful on your own time, buddies.  In more positive news, Elizabeth May was elected Canada's first ever Green Party MP.  Awesome!

Pope Uncle Fester beatified Pope John Paul II.  Fine and dandy, whatever, fastest path to sainthood.  My thing is, how is Mother Theresa not a saint yet? SHE CLEANED LEPERS.  Hands down, most saintly thing ever.

Investigators finally found both black boxes from Air France Flight 447 that crashed into the ocean en route from Rio de Janeiro to Paris two years ago.  The flight's systems evidently failed before it fell, in one piece, into the ocean.  Finding the boxes will help investigators figure out what, exactly, happened.  Horrible, but hopefully this will offer some closure.

In  Complete Opposite Land from the US, both geographically and in intent, Australia's budget is taking $200 million and creating a windfall for education and teachers, specifically for children with disabilities. Unlike America, where we are STILL CUTTING school budgets,

"This is an important new investment; $200 million is a lot of money,'' said the Prime Minister.
"And we are investing it in a tight Budget because we recognise that there is nothing more important for the nation's future than what happens in schools today.  And we want to make sure that every child in every school gets a great education.''

 Huh.  Wouldn't that be nice?

In Pakistan, Osama Bin Laden was killed by a US attack. I was surprised when the husband told me, mostly because I was asleep and he woke me up, and for the first few minutes I thought he was telling me that Saddam Hussein was dead [because like Dick Cheney & George Bush, I think they're the same], which duh, I knew, and then for some reason I was thinking about Arrested Development, and then I finally put it together.  And then I turned on the tv and was . . . weirded out to see all the college kids cheering in the streets. Did they think we won a National Championship? I found it unseemly.  Celebrate, but not like you're at Mardi Gras.

Remember Libya? And how stuff is going on there? Bloody, violent stuff?  Even Qaddafi's erstwhile regional compatriot the Prime Minister of Turkey has said that he needs to step down. Dude, JUST GO. This is not going to end well for you.  

And finally, evidently Obama kicked ass at the White House Correspondents Dinner [You Tube Link]. I didn't actually watch, but did follow along on Twitter, which is where I get most of my information.  Shut up, so do you.  Anyway, he took aim at Fox, Birthers, Trump, all manners of idiocy.  Refreshing.  Particularly the Kenyan Muslin birth video. 


What did I miss? 

Green with Envy, Red with Anger, I'm Like Christmas, But With Less Jesus

Like everyone else, I find myself envying people and jealous of their things.  Which is weird, in that I'm not generally a luster of objects.  The only thing that I really, really want is a Birkin Bag, and for the most part, I'm not thinking about it.  Just every once in a great while, when I'm asked what ridiculously expensive thing I want.

Actually, I'll take both the orange and fuschia, please.  And the red.  That khaki one looks like it belongs to someone who is colorblind and also can't smell.  Source.

Actually, there is something that I really, really want on a daily basis:  built-in bookshelves in every room of my house so I can store our books.  We are a bookish family.  Keep your Kindle.  Keep your Nook.  We want books.  [Give me your iPad, though, because I could totally get behind that.]

Seriously.

One of my profs in grad school was talking about how she and her partner were almost done renovating their library WHICH HAD A WHEELED LADDER AND BALCONY and I was disconsolate for days.

I still get twitchy thinking about it.

The nice thing about my envy issues is that, excepting the whole bookshelves thing, I tend to be very OOOOOH LOOK OVER HERE, SHINY OBJECT about envy and jealousy.

Like with the Birkin Bag.  If I'm thinking about it, I get the gut wrench seething hatred and desire [seething hatred for the person who has the object I desire].  But that moment will pass, or something will capture my attention [hence the SHINY OBJECT] and I'm distracted by day to day life or something funny people will say or do or the fact that I have yet another PTA meeting to go to [are these kids in school ALL YEAR LONG? What is this? Japan?], and so my jealousy that other people get pornographic spammers commenting on their blogs will go away and I'll just start --- Wait, did you see that pretty flower growing over there?

I have to go.

To Sleep, Perchance to Have Really Weird Thoughts

I listen to a lot of classical music.  My alarm is set to a classical music station in the morning, so I usually spend an hour listening to the music and the hilarious DJ [Seriously.  He kills.  As I've noted before, he name checked the Bluth Banana Stand and Arrested Development.].

I spend an hour listening because I still have my alarm set as if I'm going to wake up and do yoga and go to work, even though I generally do not.  Neither yoga or work [WHOOT FUNEMPLOYMENT, BITCHES!]. 

And the husband - oh, the husband.  He PURPOSEFULLY will set the alarm an hour or so early so he can get extra sleep time.  Don't ask me how that works.  I have no idea.  It's like he goes out of his way to be obnoxious about sleeping.

I also listen to classical music in the car sometimes, to calm the road rage.  This works about 50% of the time, less often if I'm hungry or people are being particularly stupid two or more days in a row.  At that point, it's classic rap music, and motherfuckers better be getting out of my way.

Anyway, as I said, I listen to a lot of classical music, and for some reason, a lot of it seems to be directed by Andre Previn.

Who was married to Mia Farrow.

Together they adopted Sun Yi Previn.

Who ended up shacking up with Woody Allen.

Which is quite possibly the most disgusting thing to happen in family relationships since VC Andrews wrote Flowers in the Attic.

So I often, daily, will have to think - Jesus, do you think Andre Previn is skeeved by the fact that Woody Allen is banging his daughter?

Because I would be.

Loooove, TWUUUU LOOOOOVE

Scene: Bedroom, very, very late at night.  Or maybe 11:00pm.  I don't know, I go to bed early.

Me [crossly, because I was ASLEEP and the husband came to bed and WOKE ME UP like he does every fucking night, and also fixing my pillows in a menacing fashion, because I can't get comfortable]: Why do you do this every night? You woke me up! You ruined my pillows!

The Husband [calmly, marking his place in his book]: It must be nice to be married to your nemesis.  You conveniently have someone to blame when everything goes wrong.

Me: ......

The Husband [smirkily]: You know, we said, "For better or for worse."

Me [still adjusting pillows, unhappily]: When does the better kick in? Because it's been worse, poorer and sickness.

The Husband: Better, richer and in health were just options, not guarantees.

Me: That is NOT fair.

The Husband: We might not even love each other better, richer or in health.

Me [finally getting my pillows organized]: I'm willing to take that chance.

End scene.

Of blogs and blogging. And blogginess. BLOG BLOG BLOG. Whatever.

There are people I follow in Twitter and people whose blogs I read, and more times than I care to count, those two don't overlap.  I'm not sure why - I mean, if you are killing me with the awesome on your blog, why wouldn't I want a moment by moment account of your life?  Similarly, if you can captivate my attention in 140 characters, why am I not delighting in many more of your delicious bon mots?

And then I feel like a jackass because it's been a month and I haven't put it together and that person is following me on both.  If you've noticed that I'm following you on only one or the other, believe me, it's not you. It's totally me.

*******************
Speaking of the Twitter, I sometimes go on unfollow binges for no real reason.  Just suddenly I'll think, "That's too much use of the word Brobdingnagian, loser.  YOU ARE UNFOLLOWED."  Douchey, or do you do it, too? It's like Twitter has shortened my already minuscule ability to tolerate people's foibles. [You are well within your rights to unfollow me for using the word foible.] 

*******************
As being only tangentially related to blogs, in that she has become my nemesis through blogging, I finally watched the Glee episode with You Know Who.  And I'm sorry, but was she calling me out with her "Everybody tries to tear other people down" bullshit? Because here's the sitch, missy: If you hold yourself out as an expert in, oh, say, LIFE, then you will get backlash. 

You cannot act as if you are the be-all end-all of all things fabulous and not expect people to say, "Hey, Stick, hold up a minute. Your ideas are pretty shitty."

Also, you cannot act. That scene at the end of the episode, where she and Shuster break up? I've seen more realistic tears on Telemundo Telenovellas.

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

I'm planning on rolling out my Etsy store for cross stitches.  Interest? Please say yes. 

Also, better to have product or custom make product?  This is market research, people, tell the truth.     Also, pricing? Please don't say free or $1.  My ego cannot take that kind of abuse. If you have an Etsy store or sell merchandise and want to give me advice, I would love you long time.

I have no idea how to remove this awkward highlighting because I suck at the technical aspects of blogging.
*******************
So many people complain about getting spam comments on their blogs. I get a few, but not many.  This should make me happy, but instead I think, "What the fuck is wrong with my blog, spammers?  Not good enough for your discount pharmaceuticals and underage pornography?"

I may need medication.