It's the Little Things

Some days you have to focus on the small things that make your day.

My new snazzy toothbrush came with a clock that's handy to have in the bathroom. It's a nice little reminder of the time as you're getting ready in the morning--you know in case you get a little too carried away flossing. Another perk of my fine clock is that it times how long I brush.

When I brush for two minutes it gives me a smiley face.

And when I brush for more than two and a half minutes??

It winks at me!

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

My office is on the 22nd floor. Getting on an empty elevator from the garage usually means I get to travel all the way to my floor without any stops.

This morning I got to pick my nose in peace all the way to 22 (Don't think I haven't thought about cameras. I'm just sure they've seen much worse.).

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

No clients today, so I got to wear these.

Home on Fumes

I'm kinda hinky about religion. I'm trying to work on it, but this general outlook results in a habit of not making bargains with G*d.

I do, however, on occasion find the need to enter into small agreements with inanimate objects and small children and pets who have no possible way to understand the ramifications of the covenant I'm making with them.

When my adorable, little puppy ran into the middle of a flag football game being played by a dozen hot guys down on the Mall that day in my 20's, I promised then that I would forgive the future destruction of one item that she was sure to undertake.

When my youngest child behaved incredibly in the ER waiting room for hours on that visit when he was two? Well he doesn't know it yet, but he has one free pass on breaking curfew when he's a teenager.

I forgot to get gas before leaving for home tonight (what is it about the gauge that it always ends up in my blind spot?). I had to be home in twenty minutes. There was no time to stop and even to make it in that time I'd have to take the HOV lanes (there are no gas stations or exits on the HOV lanes).

The needle was on empty as I pulled out of the garage. The little orange light was on.

I really didn't want to run out of gas. I didn't want to stand in the cold. I didn't want to wait for AAA to bail me out. I DID NOT want to hear it from my husband.

So I made a bargain with the car.

She has more than 100,000 miles on her. I tend not to give her the respect she deserves. I often let my eyes stray to other cuter, younger cars.

But I made a bargain with her.

My little car got me home tonight. I wasn't late, and more importantly I didn't have to listen to my husband rant about my inability to pay attention to the gauge (or the clock).

So I will stick by my promise. Next time I'm tempted dismiss that little car, I'll remember she got me home on fumes.

A Thought From Game Night

I'm sure playing cards were purposefully created to be difficult for children to hold in a fan to keep them from losing all their money at poker.

Loss

Sometimes when you lose something you don't even notice it's gone until you see it in an old picture and casually wonder where it went. Other times, the loss is so great you don't know if you'll ever stop looking in the back of that drawer just one more time.

Why are some things so hard to let go?

Bedtime Stories (without Adam Sandler)

Bedtime has arrived again and I haven't recorded any grand thoughts, figured out which came first--the chicken or the egg--or even found some mildly funny words to make at least myself giggle.

In exchange for the prophetic, I leave you with some little nuggets of late.

As I sat in the doctor's waiting room today--the foot and ankle surgeon--I looked up and took in the image of the man in a wheelchair sitting across from me. He had no legs from the knees down. WHAT THE HELL WAS HE DOING SEEING A FOOT AND ANKLE SPECIALIST?? HE DIDN'T HAVE ANY.

First grader came home from school before the holidays with a 3-D paper creation. The hubs complimented him on his dreidel. Son gave him the hairy eyeball and proclaimed, "Duh, it's not a dreidel dad, it's a lantern. The Jews use it to celebrate Ramadan."

My first activity of the new year was so incredible that I don't know how the rest of the year is going to be able to compare. I woke at 7:00 a.m. to the sounds of a whining puppy. I tried the time-tested approach of putting the pillow over my head to make her stop, but that approach was a failure. I rolled out of bed, threw on the closest items to protect any still-partying neighbors from the sight of my pale flesh and shuffled down stairs. And what was I greeted with?? A nearly six month-old puppy covered in her own poop looking up at me from her crate. So weird how the rest of my family was so tired they didn't hear any of the whining.

There I was trying to get her out into the backyard and the crate...well somewhere without getting covered myself. Crate unceremoniously deposited in the carport awaiting some other sleeping ass's attention, the puppy was brought upstairs for a bath--AT 7 FREAKING 30 on New Year's Day. Oh yeah, it's gonna take a lot to improve on the start of this year.

Another Port-o-Potty Post

Baseball season is upon us once again (does it really ever end?) and as you know there aren't many options for a girl when nature calls at the field.

I avoid the dreaded Port-o-Potties as much as possible, especially after the incident last year, but sometimes there's just no choice.

We were down at the fields for a marathon afternoon and all of the sudden my breakfast came back to haunt me.

There wasn't any time to make it home.

I found a relatively clean cabinet o' ca-ca and went about my business. So many thoughts ran through my head as I was finding my way to sweet relief.

What if some kid forces the door open and everyone sees me with my pants down?

What if a long line has developed since I stepped in here?

Is the tank full enough that the next person will know I had the sour-apple-quick-steps?

As these totally rational and sane thoughts caused me to sweat a little, my eyes landed on this:


I HAD to know whose job it was to figure THAT out.

As part of my research (see what I do for you??), I made the most fascinating discovery--the PSAI--and boy is their website full of interesting information!

For instance, did you know that there are 1,400,000 portable toilets in use worldwide? That they call waste "effluent" (I'm kinda liking that word)? And that they have developed a Special Events Usage Guide?

I know, me neither.

Those portable sanitation people are some helpful folk.

To top it all off, the nice folks at the PSAI hand out the M.Z. "Andy" Dump--I mean--Gump Award which is a "lifetime achievement award honoring those that have improved the image of the industry and have created innovative approaches for sanitation needs through new and improved products and services."

I want to party with these guys.

There Are Days

There are days when your kitchen sink develops a clog and it's a holiday weekend and 35 people are coming to your house so you run back and forth to use the guest bathroom sink while preparing the food for said guests--ignoring the fact that you will have no way to clean up after them when they leave at 3:00 a.m.

There are days when you read her and you almost wet your pants because holy crap is she funny, but then you secretly plot to steal her brain because you know you'll never be that funny, but then you secretly thank the goddess of discount designer shoes that she walks this planet at the same time you do.

There are days when your six year-old mumbles the word "evaporate" as he's drifting off to sleep so he can commit the new word to memory and your heart just explodes with pride, but then you remember five minutes earlier he was telling you about the "masagna" he had for dinner and you decide that he might not get that Nobel after all.

There are days when you don't think your blogging is ever going to amount to much and then you get invited to this super-swanky, invite-only reception for the premiere of a new movie and you decide that you might not abandon your blog after all, until you get to the super-swanky, invite-only party and they play Kung Fu Fighting over and over and over again for two hours straight and there is no alcohol, so you decide that the party was secretly a punishment and you were invited because your blog sucks big black licorice-flavored turds.

There are days when your friend complains over email about all the traveling they must do over the summer and your inner bitch can be silenced no more so she sends a snide reply suggesting that the person have a terrific summer and contact her when they actually want to talk, but then your bitch rethinks her rudeness and cancels the reply before it's sent. Still feeling pissy after the original reply is discarded, the bitch decides to send one anyway--just a bit snarkier this time--only to realize once that one is gone that they were both sent and now you just look like an idiot.

There are days when you can feel the scream begin deep in your stomach and as it rises you know that if you don't figure out soon what your purpose in life is there is no way you're going to prevent that scream from deafening those around you so you decide to tell your husband about it and he suggests you quash it by getting up earlier in the morning to make your children pancakes.

There are days you don't kill your husband.

There are days when you are little and you think it would be cool to have a retainer or a cast or something neato like that and then you grow up and you trip on the sidewalk because apparently a single step down can be dicey terrain to negotiate and you break your ankle and you get a cast and then the cast comes off and your ankle still doesn't heal and then you want to remove your leg at the knee and use the separated appendage to knock your orthopedist silly until he fixes you enough so that you can wear flip flops again, because damn it's finally flip flop weather.

Yep. There are days.

If a Tree Falls in the Forest...

If I avoid walking through my kitchen today, does the mess cease to exist?

Welcome to my Sunday experiment more easily accomplished because of the two baseball games and the meetings both the hubs and I need to attend today. Add to it the fact that I'm supposed to be using crutches again and I think I feel perfectly justified in closing my eyes as I walk through that room just one more time as I head out the door.

Hope you're enjoying your Sunday and ignoring the ugly in your life--even if it's just for one day.

Popcorn

I'm a big fan, but I hate those little kernal skins that get stuck in your gums.

Is it my imagination or is the microwave variety worse in this area?

Nothing New Here

I just told Kelly that I think I lost my sense of humor in traffic a few weeks ago. I seriously don't have much to blog about, but I hate going silent for days.

The little photo you see of me when I comment on your blog--or in my profile...well my hair is much longer now. As I mentioned a while back, my hairdresser had the nerve to move out of the area (without asking my permission) and as a result I haven't had a hair cut since September.

Luckily, I can tell my hair is growing by the ever increasing skunk stripe running down my part.

And while I'm on hair...why is it that all the hair on my head is going grey, but my leg hair remains dark, dark, dark?!

If I'm going to:

a.) spend a fortune pretending I'm still a brunette
b.) stain my bathroom from floor to ceiling trying to save money on salon costs or
c.) look like an old hag

Why can't I at least have the benefit of lighter leg hair?

Does all your pubic hair eventually go grey, will it fall out/stop growing first or will I need to spend my nest egg pruning the bush (es)?

Do the stop signs in parking garages hold legal weight? Can I get a ticket for blowing off a stop sign in a parking garage? I tend to view them as suggestions. But really, can police officers just skulk around a garage hanging out behind the next turn when they need to fill their ticket quota? I would.

I love growing things.

I've been seing all these photos of new infants lately and every time I look at one I feel like I'm going to start lactating. I really think I'd love to have another (that would be number four for those keeping score at home), but the very thought sends Shakey into a catatonic state (once he finishes hyperventilating).

So I garden instead.

I was going to put the cutest bumper around my vegetable garden but it made it too hard to weed.

Okay listen. I can't hang around here all day chatting. I'm supposed to be earning a paycheck. You're such a bad influence.

Any good blog topics for me?

I have an idea. Let's do a reverse Linda "Duran Duran is neither a Duran nor a Duran. Discuss." Richman.

You give me a topic "The Thigh Master is neither a thigh nor a master. Discuss." and I'll discuss (and MammaLee I haven't forgotten about the meme).

I Probably Shouldn't Be Left Alone With My Thoughts

Okay, can you guys just stop posting for a bit? Little league season has started and I have two playing this year (on different teams), so I can't keep up.

When I do try I get so involved with reading blogs that I'm too tired to post here.

To be honest with you, I think I've run out of things to say. I feel like if I can't make you laugh like her or cry like she does or rant like this one or give you beauty like this, well then what's the point?

So in the meantime I'll share with you the few thoughts/questions bumpin' around in my brain. I had five hours in the car yesterday traveling to and from an hour and a half meeting to consider some of this.

1. I love the term attorneys general. Pluralizing the word attorney rather than general is a fun surprise.

2. One of my favorite words is efficacy. Not for it's meaning, but because it's fun to say. Try it. EFF-I-CA-CY. Fun huh?

3. My Blackberry Texas Hold 'Em addiction is rearing its ugly head again. I'm such a risk-taker betting large sums of pretend money against a computer.

4. Did you know the State of Maryland has no natural lakes? All that exist are the result of river damming. Yeah, me either. (Thank you NPR)

5. I had to cros the Mason-Dixon line to get to my meeting. Why are there MORE country music stations North of the line?

6. Passed a tattoo parlor in the middle of nowhere. Wanted to stop on my way home to get me some ink, but I couldn't decide on a design. I wanted to get something to commemorate being a mother, but not something cliche. I know, I know, getting a tattoo because you're starting to feel old is a cliche, but I don't care. Any designers out there want to throw me a design? I have three boys and three strong women who inspire me. I was leaning toward some sort of oak tree/acorn thing, but I could change my mind tomorrow (especially if you send me a good design--hint hint).

7. If porn stars get hemorrhoids are their careers done? You can't airbrush them out of an entire video.

I Have Questions

Two questions remain unanswered from our recent trip...

1. Why don't you ever see baby pigeons? Lots o pigeons in NOLA all full-sized.

2. Apparently dacshunds are THE dog of choice in NOLA now. We saw them everywhere. But does it really makes sense in a city (hurricanes aside) that floods easily to have dogs with such short legs?

I'm just asking...

Is Your Kiss On My List?

Do you and your significant other have your lists assembled? Are they fluid or is the rule at your house that they must be laminated--no substitutions?

You know what I'm talking about right? The list of 5 famous people you can hook up with should you actually be presented with the opportunity.

There's no laminating in our house. Because, you know, we're surrounded by so many celebrities here in the DC burbs that we just don't want to get pinned down.

So here's my current version:

1. Patrick Dempsey
2. Bono
3. Derek Jeter
4. Patrick Dempsey
5. Patrick Dempsey

And Shakey's:

1. Ashley Judd
2. Ashley Judd
3. Ashley Judd
4. Ashley Judd
5. Ashley Judd

As you can see, we're both pretty committed.

So who's on your list?

And because this was inspired by Joe, who would be on your list if you decided to switch teams?

Me? Thanks for asking...

1. Ashley Judd (the brunette version)
2. Mariska Hargitay
3. Jenna Jameson (oh come on! you know she must have a trick or two)
4. Ashley Judd (the red head version)
5. Ashley Judd (the blonde version)

So be honest. Who's your fantasy Daddy/Mamma?

And I totally reserve the right to adopt your list if it's better than mine.

Considering Career Options

I wouldn't say that I write for a living, but my job does entail quite a bit of writing. I sort of took this job as a personal challenge because I was always so afraid to write for others. You might find this ironic considering you're reading my blog right now (are you? are there actually still readers?) Anyway, I don't consider what I write here real writing because it's usually just what comes flowing out of my brain when I sit down in front of my computer. But whatever...this is all just a really long-winded way to bring up the topic occupying my thoughts this evening.

Writing.

Is there one consulting firm (or industry of writers) who specialize in writing directions and packaging copy for sex-related items? Or does each company hire their own copywriter? This inquiring mind wants to know.

I mean, can you imagine being at a cocktail party and asking someone what they do with their day and they say, "oh I write the instruction inserts for condoms." Pardon me while I pull this lull out of my pocket.

This IS someone's job! I love that!

How do you think they got into it? Do you think they rose up through the corporate ranks at the vibrator factory or were they hired on specifically for their writing skills? Do they giggle when they sit down with a new product or are they so tired of looking at blow-up dolls that they think they might curl up in a ball at the sight of one more? Do you think there are writers who specialize in one variety of "toy" over another? Is there a hierarchy of what products they write for? "I used to write for latex, but I only do leather now."

Speaking of which, you know the US Patent and Trade Office has to review everyone of these products if they apply for a patent. I actually think I've heard that there is one division that specializes in this area. Again with the conversation.

Mr. Smith: "How was work honey?"
Mrs. Smith: "Well, I reviewed this new dildo today. It's ten inches long and is made of the most realistic new polycarbon material. And it will be available with or without the most realistic feeling pubic hair I've ever seen."
Mr. Smith: "That's nice dear."

I have GOT to meet someone who has one of these jobs. I have so many questions!

Random Updates & A To Do

1. I can skate on my backyard...and I live in Virginia. WTF? It is pretty fun to slide around though. I'm just worried about landing on my dupa.

2. My a**...it still hurts like a mo' fo' (see yesterday's post.) Oh and the purple? It's darker--much darker.

3. Speaking of a**es. You want to be a pain in the a**? Karen over at Troll Baby has been slapped with a meme. As part of it, she's going to answer any question you ask her in the comments on this post. Go ahead. You have to read the comment string if nothing else. Lots of farts and M&Ms.

Hope you had a good Thursday!

One of Those Days

Today sucked. It sucked like one of Mr. Oreck's vacs picking up a bowling ball. It sucked like Mark Foley dreaming of a Congressional page. Anyway, you get the point. Today sucked.

But there was one bright spot and I want to acknowledge it. There was one thing, one thought that brought a sparkle to my eye. And for that I want to say a huge THANK YOU!!!!

And for all the shit that made me feel like crap today all I have to say is fuck you.

How's that for sharing on this blog what I really feel?

A Million Thoughts All At Once

Okay, so that's probably an exaggeration but that's what it feels like. My head has been spinning for a number of days now and I haven't been able to form a coherent thought to base a post on, so I'm going to just let them all flow out here and if you can hang with me to the bottom and ignore the seemingly unrelated nature of these random thoughts, I promise to reward you with the secret to my great apple pie recipe.

So here it goes...

People with ugly toes should not wear opened-toe shoes.

I love aspargus but the pee smell after? That's just too weird.

Did you ever notice how some vitamins have the same effect?

I love the peep-toe shoes that are popular now, but I can't wear them because my toes are strangely too short for the length of my feet and they don't peep.

I developed a bionic sense of smell during pregnancy that has never really gone away. Because of that I am rarely indifferent to scents. I just went crazy in a homemade soap store in FL and spent way too much money on soaps that smell so good! (Feel free to ask me for recommendations if you feel so inclined to order from their site.)

Along the scent line, I love to smell good cologne/perfume and always notice when someone has on a scent that I like. I link so many memories to the scents of certain boys. The smell of Polo or Drakkar pulls me back to the 80's so quickly that I suddenly find myself frantically searching for my favorite Forenza sweater and acid-washed jeans as I reach for the Aquanet to primp before a date. Disturbingly, I came downstairs one morning during high school and smelled the cutest boy...who turned out to be my dad donning a new cologne! The horror!!!!!

Have you ever lived believing in a certain version of a story for so long that you didn't realize there were other perspectives--until it was too late?

What else can you do besides get another tattoo to successfully breeze through a midlife crisis without causing any permanent damage? And if you get a tattoo, where would you get it and what design would you choose?

Will your kids be embarrassed of your tattoos when they are in high school? Even the one you got before you had kids?

Will I care?

If you realize you wronged someone, it's necessary to apologize right? What if a tremendous amount of time has passed? Are you really apologizing to make amends or are you just making yourself feel better? How can you tell?

Sometimes you get in a bad mood--like I have been for a few days--and it's hard to get out of it. But then your best friend tells you she loves you and everything just looks a little bit brighter.

Best friends can feel like family--more than some family members feel like family sometimes. And thank goodness.

Okay, that's all I have for right now. I could use some witty comments to lighten my heart. I'm really not trying to sound pathetic, but it does sound that way doesn't it. Oh well. Leave a comment now and hate me later. I'm still trying to get through all of the posts I missed while I was away and as much as I'm trying to get through them quickly I can't help stopping to make comments. You all are a funny, inspiring group of writers and I'm glad you're out there!!!

So congratuations! You made it. Sorry you can't get those few minutes back. But since you're here, here's the secret to my apple pie: use a variety of apples (both sweet and sour) and add a teaspoon or two of vanilla. Works every time!!!

Did Anyone Die Before CNN?

A few famous people have died over the holidays. First was James Brown and now last night Gerald Ford. It got me thinking that it seems like famous people always die around Christmas. I couldn't quickly find a Google answer to this hypothesis, but I did find this site that shows which famous people died in 2006.

It might seem morbid, I understand, but I always like that "In Memorium" part of the award shows. I like thinking about people who have made me think or laugh--but I also find some humor in the number of times I say to myself "huh, I thought that guy died a long time ago."

As I write this, CNN is talking to anyone who ever bumped into Gerald Ford. Maybe it just seems like someone famous always dies around Christmas because there isn't any other news around the holidays so they spend extra time delving into the lives of folks who die at this time of the year. And if there is any station that knows how to leave no amount of minutia unexamined while they wait for the "big event" funeral it's CNN. Did you all take part in the death watch for the Pope? Seriously, we got to learn all about the cost of custom red leather shoes the man wore while people filed past his casket. And Princess Diana? I was guilty of getting up early to watch the funeral.

Oh wait, CNN is breaking for one minute to examine the other news around the world. You know Iraq, Sadam Hussein's impending death, poisoned spies, we can cover that in a minute. Now...back to Gerry Ford.

This all gets me thinking about funerals. I understand the concept of a viewing or a wake for the family or close loved ones...and I think they serve as a way to show respect to the family of the deceased, but I don't understand when thousands of people stand in line for hours or days to file past a casket...or to sign a book of condolence. Who the hell is going to read your name? And where is the family supposed to store all those books?

Have you ever read Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum mysteries? They're hysterical and quick. But there is a grandmother character in the series whose social life revolves around attending viewings at the local funeral home. Can't help but think about her every time.

I know it's the Christmas season and all this talk about death may not be in tune with the holiday, but I wouldn't be me if I didn't comment on whatever was in front of me when I sit down to write.

Christmas is over...my visiting family has all departed...should be hearing much more from me now. I've missed ya!!

Pray for Me

Day 36
Mood: Happy

I just had to go downtown for a meeting with a client. En route I cut off a woman (by accident) who was a) either a nun driving a Volvo or b) just a woman wearing a white headband driving a Volvo.

So here's my question. If it was a nun, am I going to hell for this infraction and what the heck is a nun doing driving a Volvo? I thought they were supposed to take a vow of poverty. If it wasn't a nun, what was someone who had the obvious taste to drive a Volvo doing wearing a white headband after Labor Day?!

These are the questions I ponder in traffic...

Oh Crap!

Day 22
Mood: Rested

It's day 22 and I almost forgot to post tonight. How many days do "they" say it takes to form a habit? 28? Great, just when I get used to this whole post a day thing it will be time to stop. Well, I guess I don't have to stop posting every day once December rolls around...but I'm really not sure I'd have something to say every day for another thirty days. And I know there are a number of you out there saying "you haven't had much to say for these last 22 days." I appreciate you hanging with me. I have to say thanks to my favorite new Google tool--Analytics--I can obsess all day about how many readers I have and where they're coming from.

It was a rainy, cold day here in VA. In a way, it's perfect weather for the Thanksgiving holiday. We're supposed to sit in the house, eat food and watch football right? You wouldn't want it to be gorgeous outside, then you'd just feel like a sloth for lounging on the couch. This way--with the sucky weather--we have an excuse. In an early nod to tomorrow's theme, I'm grateful that we have family close by and that I didn't have to brave the highways or airports this weekend. I'm all about the no traveling around the holidays excuse we now have because we have three kids. Though if someone was going to offer me an all expenses paid trip back down to The Breakers, I'd be at the airport in a flash. I'm still missing that twice a day maid service. I can't quite get my boys convinced that this would be a good habit to start.

Oh, I noticed a weird thing when I was at my parent's house. Wouldn't you think you'd get your preference for how the toilet paper goes on the holder from your parents? I did. But APPARENTLY I was wrong. I was using my parent's guest bathroom when I noticed that the paper hung down off the back of the roll--not over the front! Now I still have to check with mom. It's entirely possible that this was the doing of dear ole dad, but let's be real...that would mean he actually thought about putting the paper on the holder. Don't know about your house, but in ours...I'm not really sure what my boys (all of them) think that little bar next to the toilet is for (other than balance for our newest potty-trained friends). I just find it hard to believe that I grew up with a paper down the back mom and somehow transformed to an adament over the top kind of girl. Sheesh, you think you know someone!

End Note: I titled this post before I ever even thought about writing about the toilet paper. That was just a funny coincidence I realized once I saw the photo near the title. Made me giggle.