Caught In a Loop of Rambling Questions...

I hate to sound like an old hen sitting here asking myself, “Where does the time go?” But seriously, where does it go? We’re almost to Groundhog Day and I think I am still tired from staying up late on New Year’s Eve. Does time really have to fly this quickly? How does each day at work DRAG ASS while the weeks and months fly by? Do I sound just like your grandma yet?

Speaking of drag ass, not in the passage of time sense, but in the dog’s dragging his ass on my carpet sense, why do dogs eat string? Do they have the attention span of a flea? Did we not just deal with the whole string-eating thing last week? How does this dog not remember the humiliation of having to beg and plead with his big, watery eyes for me to cut that string off only last week? I typically remember embarrassing moments like that right on into the next lifetime, and the dog can’t retain this for a week?

Speaking of retaining, and not in the memory kind of way, but in the bloated water-retaining way, why are my fingers puffy? They look like little Lincoln logs right now, and they feel funny when I try to bend them. Why would I eat anything salty… ever?

Speaking of salty, and not in the food-flavoring sort of way, but in the salty old man way, why do old men tell you their life stories in the waiting room at the dentist’s office? It would never occur to me to break open the story of my life with a stranger waiting to see the dentist. Of course, my life story is not nearly as entertaining as his story was, but still… a stranger… at the dentist’s office.

Speaking of strangers, and not in the stranger you don’t know sense, but in the people you know and don’t understand sense, my mom just called. Good talking to you, Mom – all 3 minutes and 11 seconds of time well spent - but I think I’m heading off to bed. As you can see, I’m suffering from mental exhaustion with all of these questions and my bed is calling me.

Wasilla Was Here!

I can’t stop playin’ with my Feedjit, and I’m findin’ all sorts of folks stoppin’ by.

Wasilla, Alaska arrived from google.com on "More Mindless Rambling".
11:24:16 -- 7 hours 35 mins ago

WELCOME SARAH PALIN!

I know that’s you – there can’t be that many people in Wasilla who have internet access. I’m sure that the title More Mindless Rambling is what attracted you here in the first place. I betcha’ you thought you were gonna find your debate notes here, didn’t you? You’ll note that we use “g’s” here in Illinois; we say them and we write them. Just for you, I’ll try bloggin’ without ‘em and typin’ in a folksy way. While you’re here, can I just tell ya’ how thankful I am for that quote that I’ve gotten so much mileage out of these last few months? You know, “Say it ain’t so Joe! There ya’ go again pointin’ backwards!” I must say that 10 times every day and I’m still not tired of it.

How ya’ doin’ these days? Is it cold enough for ya’ up there in Alaska? I know it’s pretty far north because you can see Russia from your house. Oh wait, maybe that was Tina makin’ that statement. The two of you have just run together in my mind. I’m gonna miss ya’ both!

While I’ve got your attention, I also wanna tell ya’ that I really tried to like ya’. I’m not a republican by any stretch, but I gave ya’ credit for bein’ out there runnin’ and I wanted to like ya’ just for bein’ a girl. Oh how I tried to listen to what’cha had to say but ya’ kept gettin’ drowned out by the voice of reason over there on the other side of the ballot. I’m a pretty tolerant sort of person, but I couldn’t imagine goin’ through the next 4 years listenin’ to a voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Plus, I gotta tell ya’, Obama’s just hot. Not only does he speak English in a way that doesn’t defy his formal education, he makes sense too. I couldn’t justify votin’ fer you and Maverick when we actually had democratic folks who seemed to understand the issues. What’d ya’ say? Yep, you’re right. I probably woulda voted democratic anyway, I usually do.

Take care now, you stop on by here anytime and be sure to let me know when you’re gonna be on TV again so I can set my DVR. You’ve been gone so long I’m runnin’ outta stuff.

P is for Perpetual

There are about 3 weeks out of each month when I could rationally tell you that I have a miserable problem with PMS. During that 4th week, I suggest you not mention it at all because you're the one with the problem. I am fine, dammit. The rest of world doesn't understand me, and I might just cry because I can't open a jar of peanut butter. During that 4th week, I have no idea why I feel that way and the last thing anyone wants to do is blame my PMS for their inability to do anything right. Seriously, I don't recommend it unless you want to know how that fireplace poker will look sticking out of your ass. And don't ask me any unnecessary questions about anything, because my answer will be unkind and will probably involve stabbing you or setting you on fire.

So that brings me to the last several weeks of perpetual misery. P no longer stands for Pre at all... it stands for perpetual. How can it be PRE when you have the MS part off and on for 22 days and counting? How is this fair? Can we just have the entire works removed if I sign 12 forms stating that I do not plan to have any more children? Will the pope sign off on this? No, I really don't have to be in agreement with the pope on everything; I've probably already got a reserved seat on the bus to hell. Anyway, I digress... again... as usual.

Honestly, I don't really want to have it all removed, I just want all of my female stuff to fall in line, to behave, and act in the prescribed manner. I'm worried that if I have it out, I'll probably grow a beard, or at least a few noticeable whiskers (believe me, there may be a whisker post soon because I really can't stand that shit), and I do not want to spend a fortune on permanent hair removal. Why does aging come with additional hair on previously non-hairy parts? Is there something I can take so I will be spared this gorilla-like transformation? Is this why our eyesight becomes worse as we age; so we don't SEE the beard we're growing? I have questions. Will someone call their mother and find out all of this stuff for me, please? I need to know soon, I am 40 and I have to start making plans.

Anyway, I had a point when I started writing this post. I think it was something along the lines of lobbying for a new meaning behind the PMS acronym. I want it to be Perpetual Misery Syndrome unless one of you can come up with something better. I believe Psychotic Man Slayers is already in use and I really don't wish the fella's any harm... unless they talk to me... during that 4th week. The week that has lasted 22 days.

More TMI - Run away... Save yourself...

I happened to pop in over at Cate's blog this morning and found a perfect excuse to avoid thinking up an original blog this weekend. Go ahead and be jealous, you know that was clever of me. My work here is done.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
A queen. Not the gay or cross-dressing kind either. Although, one could wonder on his own if she was really a man. You decide. My name is Anne.
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Oh hell, I never used to cry at all. Now I’m leaking all the time, and I’m pretty sure I teared up a little bit yesterday.
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
I love my handwriting because it looks like I did it with my toes. Other people… not so much… they usually request the deciphering key that should come with it.
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Gross. Lunch meat is not a food item.
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Define “have.” I gave birth a few times, but I do not currently HAVE my kids – they’re all out wandering somewhere.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
I am several other people, and we all like me.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM?
The better question is do I ever stop.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
I still have all the parts I came with… unless sanity is a part.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
You’d better believe it.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Diet Pepsi
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
No, and I don’t make my bed when I get out of it either.
12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Lays potato chips. Sorry – I really hate ice cream.
13. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
I tend to look for the kindness around the eyes when they come in; I look at their ass when they leave.
14. RED OR PINK?
Red
15. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
My checkbook balance.
16. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
My M-I-L. Most of the people that I’d really like to miss do not give me the opportunity.
17. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO COMPLETE THIS LIST??
Absolutely. The more I know, the better I can stalk you.
18. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Green fleece pj pants with Mickey Mouse and snowflakes – no shoes. What are you wearing?
19. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The loud hum of my computer – it sounds like pending doom. Also, I hear the fish tank bubbling in the other room. It’s making me want to go pee.
20. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Wild Watermelon #FD5B78
21. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Fresh cut grass and burning leaves, but I can only smell them for a minute before I can’t breathe at all and I’m running for Benadryl.
22. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
My mom… for 4 minutes… an improvement over my usual 2 minutes and 32 seconds. I’m getting better. Keep praying for me.
23. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO POSTED THIS NOTE?
Well, sure.
24. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Football, soccer, hockey, and Michael Phelps doing anything or nothing at all.
25. HAIR COLOR?
Naturally, or now? I think we’ve covered this, but I’m a redhead by birth and a strawberry’ish concoction of grey-covering magic a la Zazu hair stying salon today.
26. EYE COLOR?
Green
27. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
Only when I want to see.
28. FAVORITE FOOD?
Prozac. I’ve always wanted to say that, but I’ve never really taken mood-altering drugs. Probably should. I don’t really have a favorite food, if I’m hungry I will eat almost anything that does not out-run me.
29. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Happy endings.
30. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
I watched Meet the Parents last weekend. I think the last movie I saw in a theatre was Superbad. I know… I’m sorry. I don’t watch much TV and I clearly never go to the movies. My friend is making it her personal mission to correct this about me and get me caught up on things like Talladega Nights and some golf course movie with a gopher. You know… all the classics.
31. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
If you must know, I’m making a fashion statement right now. See #18 – and now throw in a hoodie bears sweatshirt and a fair amount of dog hair for good measure. I’m clearly a red carpet kind of gal. Classy, huh?
32. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer… please… like, right now.
33. HUGS OR KISSES?
Hugs – hold me, please.
34. FAVORITE DESSERT?
See #28, I am not a big sweets eater.
35. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
You’ll respond – if only to agree that I am nuts, you’ll comment.
36. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Jon Bon Jovi. He doesn’t like to encourage me in public.
37. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
Scarpetta by Patricia Cornwell, I am My Mother’s Daughter, by Iris Krasnow, and a horrible yellow book that is mocking me from a drawer because it knows I should be spending more time with it.
38. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
I use it for a coaster, so I’m thinking this is Diet Pepsi, coffee, and I don’t know what else might be there. Clearly, this thing should be sent to the CDC.
39. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT?
Nothing.
40. FAVORITE SOUND(S)?
The sound of a singing child when they don’t know I’m listening.
41. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
I’ll take the Beatles. I’ve never liked the Stones and they can’t Roll far enough away from me.
42. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
I was pretty far away that time when the aliens snatched me.
43. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Yes.
44. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
I’ve been told all my life that I was found under a rock.
45. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Anyone who wants to answer is welcome to do so, but seriously, that stopped being likely about 35 questions ago.
46. HOW DID YOU MEET YOUR SPOUSE/SIGNIFICANT OTHER?
He was a customer at the bank where I worked and he bribed(?) his buddy’s girlfriend to get a job there and get him a date with me 20 years ago. I swear that’s the truth.

I’m not tagging anyone, but if you want to do it, let me know so I can come read it.

My Son is Not Getting Married... And I Still Need a New Purse

Just to clear that up, The Boy is nine, there’s no real pressure here to marry him off and I already don’t like whoever he picks. You know how it is. No one will ever love The Boy as much as his momma does; I don’t care what the Bitch tells him. (Just kidding, I solemnly promise to be a good mother-in-law when the time comes… or at least I’ll try to be a quiet one.)

The Boy and I had quite a chat this morning while I prepared his nutritious breakfast of egg whites, sausage, pancakes, and fruit pop tarts on a paper plate. (We’ve touched on this before.) He was jabbering on about something at school and we got to the subject of girls. I was thrilled to hear that he thinks girls are she-devils in sparkles, and that he doesn’t “get” all that Hannah Montana crap. (Let it be said, I never did get that crap.) He said he will never get married and I couldn’t help but be reminded of a conversation we had one afternoon two years ago when I picked him up from school. When he was only seven he had a much clearer view of how the world really works.

The Boy: Momma, will I ever get married?

Me: I don’t know, Buster. I don’t think it’s something we have to decide today.

(Pause… internal laughter… and the bite.)

Me: Do you even want to get married?

The Boy: Well… I have to get married. I sure don’t want to be poor.

(Bigger pause… more internal laughter… and I bit again.)

Me: Why do you think you’ll be poor if you don’t get married? (In my mind, the opposite happens, but I’ll admit my memory may not be clear.)

The Boy: (Exasperated) EVERYONE knows that the wife keeps all the money in her purse. I have to get a wife if I’m gonna get me one of those purses.

In amongst the screams of laughter in my head, I realized that I needed to get myself a new purse… or a wife… and I wonder if my husband feels cheated that he didn’t marry the right purse.

In any case, today, I feel so much better that The Boy no longer intends to marry for money… or at all for that matter. We’ll worry about how we’re going to get him out of the house later.

PROMPTuesday #39 - Interview With a Sexy Minivan

It's PROMPTuesday #39 and Deb is at it again. This week's prompt is, The Interview. Here's the assignment:

Conduct a pretend interview with someone. It could be with your dog, a box of rain, zombies, your kid, Ricky Gervais, Brad Pitt, an Idaho potato, your alter ego, Hilary Clinton, Lysol Deodorizing Spray, your CD collection, ring around the collar, the Border Patrol, the weather, the Village Idiot, Puritans, a favorite blogger, Hannah Montana, Bozo the Clown, Fiestaware, what-have-you.

My choice, you ask? I gave this a lot of thought. I know my relationship with my minivan, nicknamed “The Baked Potato” for it’s sexy submarine shape and dark, brown color, would really deepen with an interview because, truth is, I do not usually consider its feelings. Given that I expect a lot out of this relationship, I thought it was probably high time that I invested something in it and took the time to get to know The Baked Potato.

Me: What do you see as your purpose in life?

BP: Well, I am all about the job of shuttling you, your kids, and their friends from place to place while consuming as much gas as humanly possible. I’m happy to do it, really….

Me: But? It sounds like there’s a “but” in there somewhere.

BP: It’s the bathing issue. I want to be clean; I want to lose the salt and grime of Chicagoland in January. I want to be dusted out, rugs cleaned, windows wiped. You know, the things that make a plain, brown minivan feel good about itself. I want you to make those kids take their trash with them when they leave me. I’m tired of transporting 9-day old chicken nuggets in the rear cup holder. Do you have any idea what that’s like? Having furry chicken balls stuffed into the cup holder for weeks? Nowhere in my job description does it say that I am to double as a dining room. And remember the juice box incident? You let The Boy leave the juice box in the back seat for so long that the box biodegraded and most of the juice evaporated.

Me: I’m sorry. I had no idea it was there. I couldn’t smell it over the stench coming from The Boy’s soccer cleats back there. I’ll try to do better.

BP: You’ll try to do better? You’re a whole different problem; I haven’t even gotten to you yet. Stop calling me sexy. I know this is pure sarcasm and it hurts my feelings. Also, I don’t drink coffee so I sure as hell don’t want it spilled all over the table up front every time you take a corner too fast. Would you like motor oil all over your kitchen table? And you’re killing my tires, too. Corners were not meant to be taken at top speed on 2 wheels and curbs were really not meant to be driven on at all. Minivans like me should never be forced to squeal tires or stop on a dime either. Do you realize that you cause me a heart attack whenever you pull out your phone and text while we're driving? Plus, I work my butt off to give you those beepy warnings when you’re going in reverse. The whole purpose of the beep is to let you know how close you’re getting me to objects behind you. And, may I just remind you that the objects in the mirror are closer than they appear?

Me: Yes, can we talk about that for a minute? Why not just have the objects in the mirror appear exactly where they are, why make them look farther away? Isn’t that just asking for trouble?

BP: Not with regular people! That’s why I beep! Turn down the music so you can hear the beep. Remember that time you backed into Fig’s car in the driveway? I warned you! Everyone knew I warned you and now I’m going around with that little tear in the bumper and I look like a failure.

Me: Yes, but the other car looks a lot worse!

BP: That’s not the point. This is my interview; it’s supposed to be about me.

Me: You’re right. I will take better care of you. From now on, it’s going to be top-quality gas, properly inflated tires, weekly carwashes, the works! I'll even spring for an air freshener and a trash bag.

BP: All right, I'll give you a chance to improve. I’m glad we had this chat.

So that’s it. I think we learned a lot about each other here. Great idea, Deb.

I'm Raising Thieves

Dear Girls,

I love you both more than life itself, that much is understood right off the bat. I give you food when you’re hungry, water when you’re thirsty, clothes when you’re tattered, hair products when you’re nasty, and ProActiv when you’re oily. I can go on for days and you both know it.

However, and this is a big one, I DRAW THE LINE AT YOU BORROWING MY SHOES, especially without asking me first, and especially when you wear my suede shoes and there is a foot of snow on the ground. I cannot stress this enough; I do not want to see your feet in my shoes without my express written permission. Period. Any questions?

Imagine my surprise when I was standing at the store buying your socks (oh, yeah, don’t forget, I give you socks too), and I looked down at Girl #2 in my cute brown skecher tennis shoes. You know the ones, the really cool ones. Yes, those. They’re on your feet now, aren’t they? Just as I exclaimed my surprise with a loud, “Oh, my,” (that IS what I said, Liar), you acted as if you actually believed that those shoes just dropped from the sky from heaven to you, and you had no earthly idea that they might be mine. Never mind that they are my size and not yours, I believe you didn’t know. Heaven had no idea what shoe size you wear. I can’t blame you for not realizing how foolish that sounds.

And you! Girl #1, do not think you are getting off so easily. Hardly even finished with my embarrassing rant to Girl #2, I catch my brown suede clogs out of the corner of my eye and they are on YOUR feet. Again, with the looks of incredulity! Again, with the shock and amazement that I have an opinion about you wearing my shoes. Again, with the look that says, “Oh my Gosh Mom, you’re so embarrassing me.” I DON’T CARE if you’re embarrassed. Those are my shoes and I have only worn them one time… and NOT in a foot of snow. Might I also add that you GAVE those to me for Christmas? I no longer trust you to buy me gifts if you’re really buying them for yourself. From now on, I want nothing but Starbucks and Barnes and Noble gift cards from you or I’m going to start buying you fuzzy pj’s and hoodie sweatshirts in MY SIZE. Do we have an understanding?

So, my dearest daughters, there may be a contract waiting for your signature in the morning. The contract will define the boundaries around here – you know, where your closet ends and mine begins. The contract will spell out in great detail the consequences for future violations and let me just say that the consequences may extend to cell phones and text messaging services. Oh yes I did just say that!

‘nuff said? We’re all clear on this now, right?

Love,
Mom

I Have Things I Was Supposed To Do...

I'm so irresponsible I can't stand myself! I was supposed to write a post acknowledging an award I received from kjamama this week. There was a whole special set of rules for me to break that I was meant to follow. This is not my strong suit, this rule following thing, but I will give it a try because I'm really, really in need of awards grateful to have someone pick me to receive award bling.

Also, as my week of sauciness draws to a close, I want to thank the Academy... and SITS for picking me. I love it! I met lots of new blogger friends this week and I couldn't be more grateful to be acknowledged in that way by SITS, especially after going out to everyone else's site and finding myself writhing with jealousy wildly amused because you all write better than I do.

Another thing I was supposed to do - and this was born of a conversation I had while out at a bar with friends Friday night - so I may not remember it as well as I should because I was drinking there was a lot of noise. I believe I agreed to post a photo of a lady's ass. This is not just any ass, mind you, this is an ass that was suffering from a horrendous case of rip-ass. This mighty ass left a fog with more hangtime than I have ever experienced in my life. This award-winning ass almost created a full-scale panic that evacuated the entire bar.

Pay no attention to the ass on the left. I do not know her and she does not photograph well. A strange metamorphosis comes over her whenever a camera is pointed in her general direction and she gets a look about her as if she might shit. I do not know her, I'm just guessin'.

All right then, I think that just about covers all that I was obligated to do this week. For kjamama, I was supposed to select 8 bloggers to also receive the award bling and I was supposed to say this: "These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award." Here are the 8 bloggers I'm picking.

Ms. Cupcake for being so darn cute. She also has a site called Camp Sock Monkey. I have to get to the bottom of that.

Bee and Rose, because she's just sweet.

Call me Cate, because she cracks me up.

Crap! Is this only 3? Do I even have 8 friends?

Rebekah, because anyone who can write about waffles has my attention.

Laura, because she's in a funk and doesn't want to clean her house. Who can't relate to that?

Deb, because she rocks all day long and her Mac is giving her trouble so she needs a pick-me-up.

Jenn, because she's as reliable as a rooster and I have a new post to read every morning without fail. She's way cool like that.

And, last but not least, Diane, because a trip to her blog is like a trip to my blog, only darker. I just love this bloggy lady!

Ladies, here is your bling, do with it what you will!

Cold, Snow Days, and Long Commutes

It’s stupid cold out and I'm whining again. This is not just any kind of cold either, it’s like minus 20 wind-chill and it’s supposed to get worse overnight. It’s the kind of cold that actually hurts. I suppose there’s no chance of packing up and moving closer to the equator tonight so someone is going to have to come over here and hold me.

School has been canceled for tomorrow in anticipation of the bitter morning we have in store. Do I get to stay home? Oh no! No way. The announcement about the school closings made no such mention of an emergency closing of the banks so that we bankers would not have to venture out risking life and limb to frostbite and hypothermia. I get to look forward to a morning where I will be instantly flash-frozen like a side of beef the moment I open my door. To make matters worse, there will be no customers in the bank tomorrow and I’ll have plenty of time to ponder the question of why I’m there. (Isn’t that the story of my life?)

If I’m really lucky, and I always am, there will be plenty of snowing and blowing going on during rush hour and I’ll have the commute from hell again. Today’s drive was a full 3 ½ hours of snowy bliss. Did I ask for that? No! It took me so long to get where I was going that I didn’t even get coffee until 11:10am. I had caffeine withdrawal so BAD that my head developed a heartbeat of its own and I’m still dealing with it even now. On top of that, half the people who were supposed to be at this meeting, that we were specifically asked to attend in person rather than by conference call, (notwithstanding the 42 feet of snow and bone-chilling temperature), attended the meeting via conference call instead. Ahem! Need I remind anyone of last week’s post about conference calls? In spite of the lack of etiquette displayed by those in attendance for last week’s call, this still would have been my preference. We all know that I would have been warm, well-rested, and headache-free if I had simply stayed home.

Anyway, this was about cold, snow days, and stuff like that. Forget all that cranky-assed stuff I said about my 3 ½ hour drive. And don’t worry that I had to pee so bad I could have tasted it had it not been for the US Postal Service truck belching diesel exhaust in my face for a 40-mile stretch on I-294; Uncle Sam is just doing his part for global warming there. I’m over it.

Me? Saucy?

When I woke up this morning I had all kinds of comments congratulating me for being saucy. I had no idea what to make of this and my first thought was to look down at my shirt and see if I had spilled. Then, FINALLY, I clicked around enough to discover what had happened. Wow! Me! I’m famous! Crap, people are coming over to my blog from SITS and I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet!

Oooh, the pressure is on now. I’ve been called many things, but saucy is not one of them. I didn’t even realize this was an option. My first step had to be finding out exactly what that meant, so I did:

1: served with or having the consistency of sauce
2 a: impertinently bold and impudent b: amusingly forward and flippant : irrepressible
3: smart , trim

I ruled out definition number one immediately. I do not have the consistency of sauce. Although, now that I’m thinking about it, I have been soused a time or two; is that the same thing?

I’ve been impertinently bold, impudent, and downright rude but I’d like to think I outgrew it. Oh, but there’s that one time I…. Never mind. I’m ruling out 2a because that’s not who I want to be, and that’s that. (Shush, I know what you want to say.)

I can live with 2b: amusingly forward and flippant. Now that’s something I can be proud of for sure. I’ll say it again, “Amusingly forward and flippant!” Yay! I’ll go with definition 3 too. I’m totally okay with being called smart and trim. Although trim is a stretch, I find it quite acceptable. (If you must know, a friend of mine compared me to an eggroll today so trim is definitely what I need to hear right now.) I’m still trying to outrun my Christmas cookies and it gets harder every year to get them off of my ass.

Anyway, welcome to my blog. If I had known you were coming, I’d have cleaned up a little or at least put on a dress, but you’re all here now and you are welcome to look around and make yourselves at home. Thanks for coming and you're welcome here anytime.

TMI FROM ME TO YOU...

The illustrious Jason, from the world-famous The Jason Show, has undertaken the huge task of interviewing the blogosphere. Check it out because it's worth checking out, and because I'm not going to explain how this happened. Here at More Mindless Rambling, we (that would be me), like to avoid re-typing when we can just link out to someone else. It's not cheating.

Here are the questions he has for me:

1. Which would you prefer; taking a bath in watermelon juice or taking a shower in tomato juice?

Ummm... is watermelon juice sticky? Because I don't like to be sticky. I'm going to have to pick watermelon juice because I had a really unfortunate experience with Bloody Mary's when I was about 19 and I practically did bathe in tomato juice but not in a very good way. Needless to say, I have no tolerance for the stuff anymore. Can't stand the sight of it and the smell leaves me retching.

2. If the electricity were cut off in your home, how would you pass the time?

By driving to a hotel.

3. If you had to live in another country, which one would you choose and why?

Canada, because those Canadians crack me up, eh?

4. Enough about me, what do you think about me?

I have absolutely no idea what to do with this question. What do I think about who? Jason? I think you rock! What do I think about me? I rock too. What does the rest of the blogosphere think about me? Well... now that's a little frightening.

5. Your opinion on feet would be?

I think feet are adorable on babies. Everyone else should keep their feet covered up, they're nasty. I don't care how much you spent on your pedicure. They're nasty. Keep them away from me! I don't like feet. This is an issue for me. Can you tell?

6. BONUS QUESTION: How do you feel about memes?

Never got one.


And now - because I forgot about publishing this post from last week - I'm tacking on the 7 Truths that I told Diane I was going to write. The thing is, I'm shameless and I really wanted to get this Honest Scrap award because if you look to the left, I have none and I'm a little embarrassed about that. Diane has 2 bazillion of these things and I thought about stealing one from her because... like, she'd miss it? But I couldn't do it because I'm not a thief and I like this bloggy person from whom I suspect I may have been separated at birth. (Okay, enough about her, just go check her out for yourself and you'll understand.)

So here are the 7 Interesting Truths a la' Blognut:

Interesting is in the eye of the beholder, sandwiched right between Beauty and Taste if you’re looking for it. With that said if you should find any of this the least bit interesting, I’m impressed… and a little afraid.

1. I am a natural redhead, auburn actually. This strawberry’ish, blonde’ish concoction is merely masking a scary amount of gray to the best of my stylist’s ability. Forty is too young to be this gray.

2. I have been in love and been loved, and I’ve interviewed lots of applicants, but I’ve only been head over heels in love one time in my life. He is not perfect, but he is perfect for me and he has been my husband for 17 years.

3. I was closer to my mother-in-law than I am to my mom and I loved her as if she were my own mother. She lost a gut-wrenching fight with cancer last spring and I still miss her.

4. I am terrified of dying the way she did.

5. I am really trying to work on my relationship with my mom and to forgive her for not being the parent I needed her to be.

6. My biggest fear in life is that I will do something to screw up my kids. My biggest accomplishment in life is that I haven’t yet. My biggest goal is to have them know, no matter what, that I have loved them with every fiber of my being and that I have done this parenting thing to the very best of my ability.

7. I don’t talk about myself a lot. I wrote most of this last week and forgot to publish it. If you’re a therapist, you might think that’s significant. I think so too. The voices agree. (Don’t be jealous because you can’t hear the voices; get your own.)

There you have it! I’ll be adding the Honest Scrap bling to my sidebar as soon as I have it figured out. Yay!

Sometimes I Just Shouldn't Write

I either have a bad case of bloggers block or I have finally come to the realization that I have nothing interesting to say and that it may be a sign that I shouldn't write. I usually find blogging to be kind of therapeutic and I definitely need therapy because I'm crazier than a shithouse rat. (For sure anyone who knows me will back me up on that.) Since I don't have anything to say, I'll just tell you about my day. Yep, no problem. You're not required to read any further.

I had big plans for today. I was going to pop right out of bed when the sun came up and head out to the grocery store(s). I don't know why I planned to do this because I don't do the grocery shopping around here. Normally I see no reason to insert myself into a routine that goes along just fine without me, but there I was making a list and preparing to do the shopping. (Kill me next time I think of doing anything like that.) After the grocery shopping, I was planning to come home and start something wonderful for dinner, some sort of comfort food like stew or soup. (I don't even like stew or soup most of the time.) Then, I was planning to spend the afternoon catching up on some of the work I brought home with me because it's going to be a very busy week. (Ummmm... I might not bring this up again because I never even moved my briefcase today and now I'm sitting here blogging so it's not looking good for the briefcase even now.)

The best laid plans...

First of all, there was no "popping" out of my bed. I can't remember the last time I actually popped out of bed, I was probably 5 and it was probably Christmas morning. So there's that - I didn't pop. Secondly, I think the reason I subject myself to these trips to the grocery store is to remind myself how very much I HATE going to the grocery store. (Side note - I actually saw a handful of people who appeared happy to be there - WTF?)

Shopping is a harrowing experience for me, I don't know where anything is and I don't know what labels to buy because my husband is brand-loyal and does most of the shopping and cooking. (Yup, I really said that! He totally does!) Plus, today was evidently National Go-To-The-Store day so everyone was there. Seriously, every person in the universe was there AT MY STORE and they were all GETTING MAD at me for wandering around like I had lost my shoes, and for occasionally hitting their children with my shopping cart. It should be noted that I did not do this on purpose, it just happens to be impossible to see little Johnny or Suzie pushing around that horrible mini shopping cart when I'm pushing an overloaded cart, ciphering bargains in my head, and looking (for the last time) for a specific kind of granola bar. People don't have to get so mad about it and it didn't really look like the one kids' lip was going to bleed for very long and that other kid, well he was a dive artist. I didn't even really hit him, I think he slapped the cart and dropped to the floor all on his own.

By the way, someday, not today, I will conduct some sort of poll about what people wear to the grocery store. I don't really consider this a dress-up event so I'm a little curious about that... ok, a lot curious. I was so busy people-watching that I forgot a whole bunch of stuff, spent a lot of money, and didn't really get anything that will prove to be useful this week. So there's that - and if you have any recipes for meals that we can make from granola bars, chips, cereal, assorted produce, and peanut butter, let me know because I'm not sure if I bought anything else to eat.

God Bless Conference Calls

Guess what? I'm working right now. I am... really. I am listening to the most butt-numbing, ridiculous, non-work related drivel I have ever heard in my whole life. I am a multi-tasker by nature, so even if this call were interesting (which it is most definitely not), I would still be doing something else (this) too. Why, you ask? I can only attribute it to my adult attention deficit disorder. Keep in mind that I have never been formally diagnosed with this disorder by anyone qualified to do so, I just decided to blame my inability to pay attention on something that has a fancy name. I tried to read an article about adult attention deficit, but I couldn't get through it. (Isn't that all I need to know?) Okay, if I were to be honest, I'd probably have to say it's not that at all, it's really just poor discipline and that I'm easily distracted by shiney things. Isn't it nicer to have a disorder though?

Anyway, back to my point, was there one? Oh yeah, conference calls. They're great. I'm sitting here in my wonderful office at home, in my wonderful chair, watching my dogs chew the hell out of something they probably stole out of the garbage. It's like being back in elementary school and having a field trip! I could be sitting at work, but I got lucky and had a conference call. I could have driven 79 miles in the snow, at the risk of all the other drivers, to attend the meeting in person, but I got lucky and had the option of attending by conference call. I have bedhead, I'm wearing fuzzy pajama bottoms with Snoopy on them with a hoodie sweatshirt... and I'm getting paid! What could be better?

I do have one observation to make about these calls. Okay, a few. All right, we'll call it a rant if you insist on it. (Why do you always have to have your way?) There are a lot of people on this particular call who missed the memo about Conference Call Etiquette. People! MUTE your phone if you're going to type, chew, slurp, or fart. And I have to know... who invited Darth Vader to attend the call? Who is this person? Can you take a decongestent before dialing in? Oh, and one more thing. For the love of God, DO NOT PLACE YOUR PHONE ON HOLD if you're on a conference call. None of us wants to hear your tinny hold music and we sure as hell don't want to hear any of your company's advertisements complete with their "Drink the Kool-Aid" subliminal buy-our-shit messages. Enough! End my pain.

But don't get me wrong... a boring conference call attended from home is WAY better than a morning at the office. I'm not complaining... I'm not.

PROMPTuesday #37: Book Club

If you don't already know what PROMPTuesday is, go here to understand the what and why of it. If you do, you're good to go. This week Deb at http://www.sandiegomomma.com/ came up with the following:

What was the best book you’ve ever read and why? If you’d like to creative this week’s PROMPT up, write your post as a poem, in the voice of the main character, as a review, or a book jacket teaser.

The assignment? A tough one if you ask me. I could never choose just one book and say it was the best book I've ever read because I read different books for different reasons. One well-written book really isn't "better" than another, just different. However, there is a book that I read early last summer that stuck with me for a long time. Actually, it's still with me and probably will be always, and that was The Last Lecture, by Randy Pausch.

Just after being diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer, Randy was asked to give a lecture at Carnegie Mellon as part of a series called The Last Lecture. The premise of the series was hypothetical: If you knew you were going to die, what would you want to say to those you leave behind. For Randy, this was anything but hypothetical and the lecture became the catalyst and the foundation for a book in which he would share his secrets for realizing the importance of dreams and making them come true. To paraphrase his own words, aware that he was leaving behind 3 young children, he was hoping to put himself in a bottle that would one day wash up on the beach for them to find.

The life lessons in the book are too many to count, but the overriding theme throughout the book is probably the most important life lesson of all. Live your life. Focus on your dreams, help others reach their dreams, make spectacular mistakes and learn from them, and don't waste any time. Live your life. Randy Pausch grabs the reader immediately and gets straight to the point. He inspires readers everywhere to take a good look at their own lives and to look for ways to live better and reach their dreams. This is truly a must-read for everyone.

Dear God, Please Open the Schools Tomorrow

Please, God, let them go back to school tomorrow even if it is Saturday. We have had way too much Christmas break and I don't know if they will survive. Of course I meant to say, "I know how much they miss school."

My children have already become bored with the thousands of dollars worth of crap we bought them. Of course I meant to say, "My children are already seeking out new forms of entertainment that will help further their mind growth and development." Can I get my money back? Of course I meant to say, "I am grateful that we were able to buy them such nice things." The thankless little shits have not stopped fighting over foosball championships and Guitar Hero since they got them. Of course I meant to say, "The little darlings have really honed their negotiating skills while playing foosball and Guitar Hero." And, we've learned that the guitars are pretty sturdy and stand up well when used as weapons in hand-to-hand combat. By the way, God, if you're still listening, please don't be negatively influenced by the threats that Girl #1 makes to The Boy. She will not really do that with the drumsticks, she's The Quiet One and you know she isn't violent. Furthermore, you know that Girl #2 just might... so please keep her away from the drumsticks.

Also, when Girl #2 snuck into The Boy's bedroom and stole his new game, and he found out and crashed into her bedroom and flipped the gameboard during mid-play, that was just an exercise in protecting their boundaries, right? He won't really "draw back a bloody stump" if he touches her again, will he? And you'll let me know if I should be concerned about her graphic references to how she plans to injure him, right?

And God, when I find both Girl #1 and Girl #2 helping the The Boy get a snack, they aren't putting soap in there, or Ex-Lax, or anything like that, are they?

One last question, God, if you're still listening, when The Boy crawled up into my lap and asked if The Girls were babysitting him tomorrow because he's afraid they might kill him, he wasn't really afraid of that, was he? He was really just strategizing, right?

One last question, I promise. When they were all tired of fighting and got sweet at the end of the day, and they watched TV together and acted like they would do anything for each other, that was You, right?

Breaking News - I'm Busted

::: BREAKING NEWS :::
In 2009 the government will start deporting all the mentally ill people.
I started crying when I thought of you.
Run my little crazy friend, run!

Well, what can I say?? Someone sent it to me, and dangit, I'm NOT going alone!!

A friend of mine sent this to me today and I had 2 thoughts about it. First, "Shit, it shows and now they're on to me!" And, "Yay! I finally get to go on a trip."