40

Last modified on 2012-09-20 14:15:41 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

There must glorious things to turning 40, but I have yet to find them. Of course, I have only been 40 for one day, so granted 40 hasn’t had been given a proper chance to impress me. But I felt the need to make sure that 40 knew what I expected of them, so I helped 40 out by defining clear things I would like to do while it decided to stick around.

1. Wear more wigs, because…why not?
2. Attend more concerts – yes, this requires being amongst other ‘humans’.
3. Don’t take sharp objects to said concerts
4. Dress up more often. Yes, put on a fancy dress and go out and dance.
5. Learn to dance.
6. Pierce more things.
7. Get some tattoos
8. Elevate pain tolerance.
9. Volunteer for political causes.
10. Don’t take sharp objects to said volunteer events.
11. Get Cheyenne through high school, and out of the house.
12. Get Trace through high school, and out of the house.
13. Leave house, move to the city, get one room apartment, make kids stay in hotel when they visit.
14. Attend an opera.
15. A good opera.
16. Start traveling again.
17. Lose weight for passport photo.
18. Finish writing my book.
19. Find creative muse.
20. Sleep with muse.
21. Break up with muse, drink heavily.
22. Repeat steps 19-22, ad infinitum.
23. Learn to speak Spanish.
24. Run marathon
25. Stop drinking and decide on half marathon
26. Pose for pin-up photo.
27. Count number 26 as volunteer effort, since depriving the world of this rack is a travesty.
28. Have less animals in the house.
29. Take in new kitty because he needs a home.
30. Play more poker
31. Learn to stop giggling when I have a great hand.
32. Try to be nicer.
33. Give up on Item 32 three days into being 40.
34. Cook more.
35. Hire someone to clean up after me when I cook.
36. Have sex on the beach.
37. Take down video of sex on the beach from YouTube that some random stranger filmed.
38. Learn to ski.
39. Have a grown up party.
40. Remove all sharp objects from my house before said party.

Alright, 40, you have a lot to do, get to it. Don’t make me lie about having hired you, 39 is just waiting to step up to the plate again.

Welcome aboard!

Argue with me

Last modified on 2012-08-31 14:04:37 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

How many times have you heard the phrase ‘If you want to have a good time, don’t discuss politics or religion?’ If you are like me, a lot. It burns me up, and, especially in this political climate, is advice you should ignore.

Spout your political opinions, your religious views, hand out flyers, wear t-shirts! Do it ALL!

Why?

Because you (yes, YOU) have forgotten how to listen to someone with differing views. Don’t even try with the excuses, I don’t want to hear it. I see what you call people on the other side of the argument; idiots, brainwashed, Hitler, socialists, sinners, and on and on and on. You know what that means? That means you aren’t LISTENING.

Dammit, listen.

Debate.

Argue.

And then go out and do it with your friends. There is an art to arguing, and we have lost it. Here are some handy tips;

Don’t drop conversation nukes: You know the ones, it’s when people start using phrases to which there is no logical comeback because it is so completely inane. Here’s an example;

“I am going to vote for Obama.”

“You’re a socialist.”

I mean, WHAT THE FUCK do you say to that? It would take an hour to explain political theory an American history to explain why that term is overused and misunderstood. Try this;

“I’m going to vote for Obama.”

“I resent his overreach of government powers, so he’s not for me.”

“Cool. Want a coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

See how different that is? Stop using words like “stupid”, “unamerican”, “deranged”, “asshat” to describe anyone who holds a different views.

You can vote based on religion, but never assume anyone shares your faith or vision, and don’t insist your deity is the ONE TRUE deity. Always leave room for doubt, respect those that don’t believe. Know the difference between science and belief, and never, ever tell someone they are going to your version of hell. You sound like a pompous asshat.

Don’t assume your beliefs/view need to be everyone else’s beliefs/views. One of my favorite lines in the abortion debate is this; “Don’t like abortion? Don’t have one.” To me it really is that simple. Don’t believe in something? Then don’t do it, and don’t assume everyone else shouldn’t either. I respect pro-lifers who simply understand this simple line. You (nor your party or religion) is the curator of morals and good taste. Don’t try to act like it.

Don’t bring the kids into it. WON’T SOMEONE THINK ABOUT THE CHILDREN? Wait…what? No matter the taxes, social issue, government program it is always the kids who get dragged into it. Look, my 11-year-old just learned to quit picking his nose, he doesn’t give a damn about healthcare. That’s my job to worry about it. Assume if I believe or argue for something, I have already put my children in the equation.

It’s time to learn to argue again. Have a point of view or opinion that’s different than mine? Then by all means, let me hear it -let’s talk about it. I promise not to hate you, think less of you, or ruin a good time talking about politics or religion.

Here’s a little peek into my personality. I was recently asked (when I was have my umpteenth argument with someone) why I even bothered. Because, I said, you will stand toe to toe with me and argue. I have mad respect for that, especially when the argument is a personal one and my temper is engaged. Your friends may be the ones that laugh with you, but my friends? They are the ones that argue with me.

(I know there’s a follow up post to this about knowing when it is time to stop arguing, when enough is enough, but this political season I really want to see more arguing.)

 

Things I don’t get

Last modified on 2012-08-12 23:55:09 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

There is some stuff I will never, ever understand. It helps to keep a handy list. So here goes – stuff I will never, ever get;

Camping – I tried to like this. It seemed like a good idea – get away from ‘everything’ and reconnect with nature. Then I realized nature had things like spiders, centipedes, and mosquitoes. The next best option seemed to stay inside while looking at nature. This is called ‘Staying at a lodge’ and isn’t a new thing. Who knew? It costs money and I don’t like nature that much. Which brings me to;

Hiking – See above. Also, if I’m hiking, it better be because there is shoe store at the end of that trail.

Vampires – I don’t get it. EVERYONE loves vampires. Whether it’s the classics with Bram Stoker, to the modern Twilight, everyone I know thinks these things are the awesome. Nope. Not me. Why? Well, they’re DEAD. That means no sex, and, um how awkward would that be? I know what you’re thinking – they’re fictional creatures, why are you worried about their sex life? BECAUSE. Nevermind. Also, I get to see blood four days a month, nothing special about it. Trust me.

Summer – Just…no. “Let’s go do stuff!…. Outside!” Fuck no. It’s hot. Go away. Wake me in November.

Olympics – I didn’t watch a single event. I don’t feel like I missed anything. OK, I might have missed that awesome photo of the guy with hard-on during the medal ceremony, but other than that? Nah

I’m sure there are other things, but that is what has been on my mind lately. Yeah, it’s been a slow season.

 

A little boy

Last modified on 2012-07-23 22:06:25 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

There is a lot that can be said about the shootings in Aurora, and most of it has been said. I wasn’t sure I wanted to comment, it was still too new, still so much hurt. But today, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So here a few random thoughts about the tragedy.

Guns- wow, we have a lot to say about guns, don’t we? Look, as a liberal, I hate them as much as the next person, but this fight is lost. Guns are never going away in America. Yes, they are too easy to get and yes, assault rifles aren’t necessary in the hands of the everyday person – but frankly? I’m not interested in fighting that fight. Violence is more than about guns, violence is just as deadly without guns (suicide bombers, anyone?) and violence kills. Every day in a hundred different ways.

I know, really, I know. It is so easy to blame a machine of metal and gunpowder. It’s something you can wrap your head around, and the math seems so simple – take away the guns, 12 more people would be alive today. But you’re intelligent and I hope you know, it isn’t that simple. Which brings to me my next thought;

Mental Illness

My best friend made this comment on Facebook “It’s interesting that gun control becomes the issue, not better funding for mental illness care or social services. Yah, cuz the gun laws have done such a bang up job so far.”

I think that sums it up.

Mental illness is so stigmatized in this country. Families that want to get help and care face a bevy of laws just trying to get someone committed or forceful help. And there are very few long-term solutions if you do end up getting care. The hospital will give him (or her) some group therapy, start them on meds, and then release them hoping for the best.

Ever tried to get someone in denial about their problem to take their meds? IMFUCKINGPOSSIBLE.

And this person ends up on the street or hurting someone, and, dammit, the family TOLD you he needed help. But no one listens. And those are the lucky families. Too many households today are simply trying to survive. Yes, they are sad when the oldest son disappears, but, inwardly, they sigh in relief not having to worry if they will have to miss work again because they have to bail their son out of jail. Or, even worse, protect their other children from violent mood swings of an older sibling.

It’s just so goddamn sad.

Last, a little boy.

I don’t watch trials, the whole thing makes me feel icky. However, I remember a newscaster talking about the Scott Peterson trial; specifically the sentencing phase. His father was on the stand talking about Scott as a little boy, how he used to sit on his lap and read stories. At the time, my own little boy was on my lap and I was reading him a book.

How does a little boy get from that to murder?

12 people died, no amount of sorrow will bring them back. So, if it’s OK with you, I want to spend one moment and mourn that little boy who sat on his mother’s lap, and was read stories, and was loved. A child who, by all accounts, disappeared into a haze of mental illness and violence, who walked into a theater and slaughtered 12 innocent people.

I’m not sure if I believe in God or not, but every night I pray, ‘Please God, don’t let that be my little boy.’

Ashes to Ashes

Last modified on 2012-06-16 01:29:41 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

I held on too long. I kept trying long after the race was lost, we just couldn’t let go. It is this feeling like someone is holding your head underwater, while telling you that you can breathe, but you know you can’t.

I have been on this amazing  journey, but my ex-boyfriend just couldn’t let go. You see, he wanted to be friends. I am not friends with exes, not ever. I have nothing but admiration if  you can do that, I can’t. I told him, clearly, we are either together or strangers, and he couldn’t accept that. He accused me of being horrible for cutting someone out of my life that I had once claimed to love.

Well…

Bite me.

Those are my rules, I have them for a reason.

So we talked. For months, he sat on the fence and kept me moving to his puppet strings. Days with 17 hour discussions/ fights (God, I wish that was a typo). He made promises, only to break them in next breath. And I couldn’t walk away.

But even I had a line, and I told him months ago, that when he crossed that line with her, there was no ‘more’ for us.

He said he wouldn’t, he said he might, he said he will, he did.

He was using her to hurt me – who does that? I don’t like her, she is a horrible person, but she doesn’t deserve to be someone’s pawn.

There we stood, each of us, each saying to each other ‘if you do this thing, then I will do this thing to hurt you’. But then a funny thing happened – perspective.

And I started reading twitter – people were LIVING, having children, marrying, doing things, loving, grieving, succeeding, and just…living.

Perspective. Suddenly I saw them for what they were, and I was sad.

Two people who have never had anyone, whose lives have passed them by, no children to hug them tight, no loved ones to sleep next to, no career to try to succeed at….they had nothing. Except for this small world they had created for themselves on the internet. The only world they would ever live in, the only one were they mattered was entirely fake. It was a cesspool of loneliness and despair, and that was their kingdom.

They would never know real love or real life. I had both – and it was waiting for me.

I got up and walked in the other direction.

I am not unscathed. I have wounds I have to let heal, but I will be able to move on.

They never will.

He stole a computer from me and lied about a release for some work I had written, but I knew this small bit of power was all he had left. I let it go.

I let them go.

I have a new path ahead of me.

Crack’d

Last modified on 2012-06-03 02:21:36 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

We all knew it was coming, didn’t we? I was finally going to lose it. And I did.

Except the process was entirely wonderful. Two years since the divorce I have focused solely on putting one foot in front of the other; kids, work, school, making another goddamn dinner, family, what next?

All the while I have been chipping away at my shell looking for the part of me that had disappeared while I was drowning in a failed marriage. Then came a failed relationship, and I knew I had it all wrong. I was trying to replace my missing part with another, not ever stopping to thing that it was the wrong part from the the word Go. I could not remove one person from my life only to try to plunk another in and expect him to function the same way – not without feeling the same horrible thoughts, or having the same arguments. It is like the same play with a different cast.

It was all wrong.

To be honest, I never saw the crack coming. I was still looking for Amy. Frankly, I was looking right, and it hit me from the left. Well, never let it be said that I am not a bundle of bad decisions because once I figured out that part of me that was missing I accepted it wholly. I did not think about how it would change me, my life, my psyche. Nope, I just said “Yes, this is what I have been looking for” and tried to continue on as if nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

And, finally, I cracked.

I grieved for the person I never was, the time wasted, the words left unsaid, the bad decisions, the lies and deceit. I railed against those who would help and comfort me, those would help me be….me. I had accepted that I was the new being, but I had not evolved into her yet, nor said goodbye to the old one. However, not once as I have stepped onto my new path did I think I was doing something wrong. This new person is who I have always been, and, fuck, she is wonderful. And, hopefully soon, really, truly happy.

Dammit, I deserve it.

I would love to tell you what this change is, but I won’t. It is so intensely personal, that I must keep it to myself. (No, I am not gay, bi, a man in a woman’s body, I am not joining a nunnery, a cult, or a traveling circus. Where are your minds, people??)

All I ask as I set foot on this path that you do what you have always done. Cheer me on. And stand back, watch what I can do.

A new houseguest

Last modified on 2012-05-20 23:17:50 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

As I get older I find  new exciting things have come to visit. Sadly, none of those things is Jeremy Renner. No, new feelings and quirks that really….I didn’t ask for. Judy Blume should have written books for those of us turning 40.

Freckle Juice
Andy discovers a new cocktail. It cures the motion sickness, and tastes good going down and coming up. Also, there is meaningless sex.

Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.
Margaret wants to go around and smack idiots but is afraid it might land her in jail. This is a story about a woman’s struggle with the Stupid People, while at the same time confronting issues brought about by her 40th birthday. Should she take more anti-depressants? Why is the doctor so stingy about the Xanax? Does she really have to wear a push-up bra to get laid? When will her period END already, not liking she’s popping out more babies. Turns out God doesn’t give a rat’s ass about Margaret.

Then Again, Maybe I Won’t
The kids keep insisting on being fed three meals a day even though they know how to make macaroni and cheese. The ex keeps being an ass, and Tony still doesn’t have a housekeeper. Turns out people are assholes, but there is a great section on vibrators and masturbation so it’s not a total loss.

Man, I would read the SHIT out of books like that.

Sadly, Judy Blume didn’t write books for women turning 40, so I’m kind of on my own here. Imagine my surprise when anxiety came out to play and then stayed. And never left.

Yep, as I turn 40 I have been beset by the VERY unwelcome house-guest known as anxiety. And it kind of sucks. I get locked into a cycle of ‘everything is going wrong please everyone go away’ or even better ‘everyone hates me and I am so horrible’.

Fun times.

When I get locked into one of these spirals, I can’t even answer email, much less write or function.

Turns out this whole anxiety is a side effect of the anti-depressants I have been taking for years now. I really love the anti-depressants, and it is a common side effect. Soooo….yeah. Looks like anxiety is here to stay.

Awesome.

Judy Blume – call me. You know those book ideas rock. Don’t even pretend.

Watch what you say

Last modified on 2012-05-07 13:33:16 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

I am a dealer;  in words, turn of a phrase, meanings, things said and not said, paragraphs of meaning. I measure words carefully before doling them out. I am constantly stung by how many people don’t deal this way, and, in turn, conversations for me are hard. In the ashes of a failed relationship, it is the words said that are the hardest to re-live.

“I will be your rock.”

But when things got tough, you couldn’t wait to go.

“You can write about me, it doesn’t bother me.”

It bothered you when things got bad. So cavalier with your permission, can’t take it back now.

“Each time you do this, you push me father away.”

You mean you get closer to her? The woman you took up for and defended to death, the woman you left me for? I didn’t push. You pulled away. Please look up the definitions, they are fundamentally different.

“I won’t ever write with anyone else.”

Except you are.

“I promise.”

Except you didn’t, did you? Not really.

Words are important to me. If you really knew me, you would know how much. To me they are a form of intimacy, something shared between two people. You are the second person in two years who has left me for someone else. And I get it, the whole “the heart wants what it wants” bullshit. But I want honesty. I deserved it.

Watch what you say. Your words were important to me.

The Stages of a Break-up

Last modified on 2012-04-20 14:47:23 GMT. 6 comments. Top.

As we all know there are five stages of grief. These stages apply to many things – really any loss in any way. I certainly went through these stages as I was grieving the loss of an important relationship, but I also found the stages to be incomplete. Woefully inadequate for all the drama that I demand when I am suffering. So here is a revised list of the Five Stage of Grief; I call it “The Five Plus Five Stages of Grieving Over that Jackass who DARED to dump you”.

Stage 1- Denial; “You are breaking up with me? No, see, that is NOT how it works. I dump you, not the other way around.”

(Stage 1.5 as defined by @BmoreSex – Two Bottles of wine. This is mandatory, do not skip this step.)

Stage 2- Anger; “How dare you think I even wanted to go out with you?”

Stage 3- Bargaining; “Look, return my shit in good condition and I won’t tell your friends about that thing you like to do in bed.”

Stage 4- Depression; “I am so mad at myself for going out with you, and then allowing myself to get dumped.”

Stage 5- Acceptance; “Fine, we’re broken up. I am not even upset. No, we cannot be friends. Asshole.”

Stage 6- Being all Preachy; “I cannot believe that I went through all that. Let me make sure to tell EVERYONE, because I just KNOW they care and need to hear what pearls of wisdom I learned. Here is sermon numero uno; Don’t date assholes.”

Stage 7- Body Piercings; “Nose piercing, try number three, please.” (For the record, this time the nose piercing is doing fine and I haven’t had any the complications of the past two. pfft.)

Stage 8- Country Music; “Yes, I am listening to Dolly Parton, and then I am putting on Rascal Flatts – touch that shuffle button and I will cut off your fingers.”

Stage 9- Posting lyrics to songs on Social Networks; Anything by Adele works here. But don’t be too emo, you don’t want to embarrass yourself. Look, I’m just saying.

Stage 10- Beyonce that bitch; “You were the best thing I never had.”

Now THAT is how it is done, dude. Woman of the world, follow this 5+5 plan, and you will be over that break-up in no time flat. And if you’re not, then you can do what I do – be all angsty over twitter. Bitches love some angsty shit.

My favorite tweet of this whole time period: “Someone told me today the “I burned that bridge.” Yeah, it was called Bridge Getting Shit Upon, on the road to Getting Screwed Over.”

Another Sad Tale

Last modified on 2012-04-03 20:18:01 GMT. 8 comments. Top.

You and I have been through a lot together, dear reader. You have been with me through my divorce, a move, a tween daughter, BlogHer madness, anxiety attacks, depression, and lots and lots of ranting. There have been a good share of good times too, and you have supported me. I thank you for that.

The other day I realized something important. Baggage. We all have it. Maybe I have more than my share, but I manage well enough. What I realized though, was that the only way to work through my baggage was to write about it. It is a way to set it down, leave it, and move on. And that is why I am writing this post.

Even though I was asked not to by someone I care about. But I am anyway, becasue I have to; because it is the only way I can move on; because it is what I do.

The beginning is easy – I am single again.

Yes, my boyfriend and I broke up.

I wish it was clean, I wish it was respectful, I wish we had reached that decision mututally. But none of that is true. It is ugly, and with this post, I know I add to the ugliness – yet I write it anyway.

Where to begin?

How about a short-handed version? People meddled, I was angry, he was not, I said ‘them or me’ and he said ‘them’. Now, you know the whole sordid story. But I know you, you want details? Well, here they are.

Remember how I wrote that we had broken-up, but gotten back together? Yes? Well, what I did not know was, during the short time we were broken-up, people he knew (we both knew) were happy about it. Proof:

(if you can’t read it, it says “Just so you know, we’re keeping you. Hang in tight, you’re worth it. You are worth better.”)

Nice, huh? The worst? This was a person I had trusted, a person he had always said I get along with better than him, a person he wasn’t even sure he liked.

(I should note here that we have had each other’s log-ins to twitter for a long time, and always made it clear “what is said to one, is said to another’. Some out there view this as an invasion of his privacy, but he always encouraged me to read his DMs and vice versa).

When I pointed out this DM, he immediately changed the password to his account and never let me in again. I was the one who had done something wrong, not the person who had sent the message. I am a pretty big self-doubter so I showed the message to a couple of people I knew, people I know for sure who will tell me the truth. Each and every person was shocked. And then I knew.

I knew choices had been made, and they had not gone in my favor. The man who had never lied to me was now hiding things; the man who always took up for me was now standing up for someone else; the man who loved me, didn’t anymore.

The last straw came Sunday night, in the form of two more meddlers.

The first one, upon seeing a tweet that had nothing to do with her assumed it was about them (because, of COURSE, everything I tweet is about her. OF COURSE IT IS). My boyfriend decided that instead of talking out our differences (which we were doing, right at that very moment), he would comfort the other person.

Then another message from the another person, on another of our accounts (along the lines of the one above, but…at that point…what is the point? He even accused me of ‘breaking in’ to his messages. He fails to mention the part where he gave me the password. But I am the bad guy.  A professional one at that, dontcha know?)

At the end, the swath of wreckage and destruction is wide. And I want to blame all these other people, make it their fault, but I can’t. I can’t lie to myself or you. In the end, two people separated because one was looking for a way out and the other wouldn’t except anything less than what she deserved.

So thank you, readers, again, for being here for me. For listening to me – here and on twitter where I have been emoting on the timeline for weeks now – and all my babbling. If it is OK with you, I am going to set this baggage down right here, and leave it here.

Time to move on.

 

(For those NOT on twitter a DM is a direct message. It is like twitter’s email. It is private and can be only sent to people who follow each other. Think of it as a ‘private message’.) 

That escalated quickly

Last modified on 2012-03-28 00:13:42 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

Do you ever get in the car to go the store and, by the time you’re done, you have detonated an atom bomb?

Yeah, me too.

Welcome to my last two weeks.

I have dragged out every neurosis, button, and trigger for the world to see and, boy, it was not pretty. All along, that voice in my head whispered, “You deserve everything bad, you are a bad person.” That voice seemed right. Everything I said was wrong, situations that I didn’t cause became my fault, situations I did cause weren’t situations at all but figments of my paranoid imagination, and all along I stood in the center of the destruction I had wrought and thought ‘I only wanted to go to the store for MILK!”

I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to constantly wondering if I am saying the right thing or the wrong thing, and feeling hurt either way. Sometimes I have to accept that people I desperately want as my friends, or people I want to truly like me, don’t speak the same language.

Oh yes, we both speak English, but just not the same English. Here’s an example;

Them: “Do you like my shirt?”

Me: “I don’t like purple.”

What they hear – That I don’t like their shirt, that they look awful in it and HOW DARE they rape my eyes with that shirt.

What I meant – Purple’s not my color, so my opinion is biased and you always look good, so don’t worry about it.

See the difference? See how it isn’t really anyone’s fault but, instead, two people just don’t speak the same language? It is hard.

The final straw came when the man I have been dating convinced himself that I was ready to break-up with him, and preempted that imaginary break-up with one of his own. And suddenly all the words I had never said stuck in my throat;

I am sorry I never told him that his texts were the only way I can start my day, or end it.

I am sorry I never told him the utter joy I have at reading every word he writes.

I have never told him thank-you for listening to me rant about nonsense, because it is all nonsense.

I am sorry that he went away in November, it should not have happened.

I am sorry for every word I ever said that may have hurt him.

They always tell you to hold on to those most important to you. I was so busy meddling with people who aren’t important to do that. Never again.

We are back together in traditional middle-school 24 hour break up style, but picking up the pieces is hard. And sometimes I sit at the computer and just cry, because I don’t know what else to with the all the emotions that are rising to the surface.

Perhaps it is what I deserve, perhaps it is a lesson.

As my boyfriend says; “What wine do you serve with comeuppance?”

So that’s been my last two weeks, how about yours?

So it begins

Last modified on 2012-03-01 16:50:47 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

Tomorrow my daughter is 13. She will officially be a teenager. She is a smart, strong, and capable. She is everything I would want in my daughter. I have reached that awkward phase where I have to balance childish expectations with adult goals. Unsure what I mean? Here is an example;

Her sexuality is a constant subject. Sex is a subject. Here was her question from yesterday; “Mom, do you think my being gay is a phase?”

The honest answer is “It could be.” But I don’t want to say that, I don’t want to inflict my thoughts into a very personal journey. But she is waiting for an answer, so I do what I do best. Hedge.

“Well,” I say, “if it is or it isn’t, it wouldn’t bother me.”

She goes on to insist that she is gay and it is not a phase. And I go on to assure her that it truly doesn’t matter. The point I am trying to get across is lost. At 14 and 15, I was sure my calling was to be a missionary. I was going to spread God’s message around the world, and even went on a missionary trip to Guatemala. (I know you are laughing now, but, wait, it gets better).  I spent a lot of time at church and was feverent in my devotion. No one else in my family was religious, and I am not sure why this was how I choose to rebel…but, well…I am weird.

I think we all know how this story ends. I grew a brain, and realized that I was following some deity was just…. asinine. I have been agnostic ever since. But it is a great example of how I almost set my life course based on a really silly assumptions and childish apirations. What if I had followed through with it? I mean, can you see me, being a missionary? The missionary position, maybe..

I want her to have sexual freedom to do whatever she wants, and I suspect that, in the end, she will be partial to both sexes. I just don’t want her to say ‘I’m gay’ because, right now, boys are stupid. Ok, to be honest, boys are always stupid…but you get what I am saying.

However, she is making some semi-adult decisions. She has decided what high school she wants to go to, and what she needs to do to get there.

Tomorrow, she will be 13. No longer a child, not quite an adult. But certainly old enough to do the dishes.

 

 

Warning Label

Last modified on 2012-02-23 02:25:30 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

I need one, apparently, so here you go.

And in case you want to complain in person, please come see me at my address;

Not Mourning

Last modified on 2012-02-17 16:43:25 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

I don’t know if you heard, but Whitney Houston died. People seem pretty upset about it. All of this so-called ‘grief’ over her death really bothers me. (SHOCKER!) I simply don’t understand it.

Here is how I see Ms. Houston – a woman who was raised with every advantage, embarked upon a stellar career, and threw it all away. It is the classic Poor Little Rich Girl story. Excuse me if I am not empathetic.

I was chided for feeling this way. I was told that I didn’t understand mental illness or addiction.

Fuck you.

I do understand. More than you will ever know, and I know women who weren’t given half of her advantage who survive day-to-day under the specter of mental illness, and do so a damn sight better than Ms. Houston. This does not make one person weak or another strong, it makes one person a survivor and another a casualty.

And don’t tell me your life was changed because of some Whitney Houston song. No, it wasn’t. She didn’t sing anything particularly earth-shattering. She was a pop singer with an amazing voice, she did not create world peace.

Here is my main problem, famous people die and suddenly all of the horrible things they have done are gone. Whitney Houston will be remembered for this great talent, not a woman who self-destructed. Coach Paterno will be remembered as a great Penn State coach, not as a man who left a man on staff after he was exposed as a pedophile. (Don’t, not for one fucking second, tell me “He didn’t know” or “He did all he could” I will drag you out and call you a liar).

I don’t believe in fame or celebrity. I don’t allow that crap into my home.  Every one is measured by the kind of life they lived, good or bad – and just because you are famous or talented doesn’t mean all that is wiped away before your body is cold.

We all fight demons, some of us are more successful than others. Whitney Houston, by all accounts died in a bathtub, drunk and/or high, nearly broke, her voice a mere shadow of what it was – I see nothing here to celebrate or honor.

People are not their mistakes, they are their character. Good or bad, we are complicated humans. Death is sad, Ms. Houston was a mother, daughter, friend and idol to many. Ms. Houston deserves a memorial and private burial by her family, but she does not deserve to be treated like a hero.

My God, when did we start celebrating addicts?!?

The same day that Whitney Houston died two little boys in Washington State were buried. Two little boys who never got a chance to live because they were killed by their father.  The same father that may have killed their mother a couple of years ago. What a great time to open up dialogue about mental illness, protecting kids, spousal abuse, and other sad topics.

But we aren’t doing that. Nope, we are a listening to “I Will Always Love You” on repeat.

I weep for our society.

2011 Posts in Review

Last modified on 2012-01-10 18:07:14 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

It’s time for the 2011 wrap-up. I know I’m late getting this done, but my main blogging laptop had an accident. An I-can’t-read-the-screen accident, so I had to wait until I could pull off my photos and such. And here we are!

Posts first-

Most popular posts

1. My take on the Japan disaster and whether or not you should donate.

2. How I got my feelings hurt, and then moved on.

3. Where I gave my daughter some very un-Cleaverly advice.

4. Y’all liked my letter to nameless PR people everywhere.

5. Of course, any mention of my sex life brought out the readers.

And, of course, my favorite part of the year, 2011 in photos. Enjoy!

 

2011 In Photos from Amy Phillips on Vimeo.

Amy Translator

Last modified on 2012-01-03 19:05:01 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

 

You’ve heard of Google translator, right? Today, I am going to introduce you to the ‘Amy Translator’. Much like the Google version, I will put in common phrases and then you will get a glimpse of what someone with my crazy brain actually hears when you utter this drivel.

Ready? Great, let’s go.

What I hear:

Live your joy!

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

Quit whining about your dead end job and be glad you get a paycheck, buddy!

What I hear:

Helping others succeed!

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

Couldn’t succeed on my own so now I take your money and tell you how to avoid all the mistakes I made.

What I hear:

Community Builder

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I tweet a lot.

What I hear:

PR Friendly

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I wouldn’t dream of writing anything negative, anywhere. Also, I am a swag whore.

What I hear:

Living my passion

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

Trust fund baby.

What I hear:

Brand builder

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I get paid to talk about products I don’t really care about.

What I hear:

I am influential

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

(Hahahaha, who am I kidding? Nno one believes you when you sprout this shit).

What I hear:

You are such an inspiration.

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

Tell me more about your pain, so I can feel better about my crappy life. Because, hey, at least I’m not you, right?

What I hear:

Mom to missperfectpants and mrhandsomeboy

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I gave up my identity when I became a mother. I stay at home because I am a white middle-class mom who can afford to do so, but I am going to call it a ‘choice’. I receive validation only through what my kids achieve. Also, I am better parent than you.

What I hear:

Ignoring the haters.

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I am oblivious to everyone but me.

What I hear:

No matter what anyone says we’re going to make it! I love you [insert current husband here].

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

We will be divorced within a year.

What I hear:

Photographer

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I got a DSLR for Christmas and now I think that certifies me as someone who should be charging for photos.

What I hear:

Professional Blogger

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

Stay at home mom.

 

That’s all I could think of for now, but if you have any more phrases that you think sound like maybe they could really be code for something else, don’t hesitate to let me know in the comments.

The one where I tell you why I disappeared….

Last modified on 2011-12-05 18:58:03 GMT. 6 comments. Top.

Yes, I have been gone two weeks. TWO WHOLE WEEKS. I know you were inconsolable during my absence. You were brave, you tried to hold up. I admire that about you. Keep on, keepin’ on or whatever it is people say.

Yes, but the burning question. WHERE WAS I?

Good question.

Answer: GOING FUCKING CRAZY

That is no lie. I know what you you’re thinking – I am already crazy, so how did I add more to it? Talent, folks, talent.

Actually, it creeped upon me in a very unusual way. In an email. In a lot of emails. Suddenly, I couldn’t answer emails. I was so scared of getting behind in something that I couldn’t answer one email for fear of forgetting another. And then deadlines were passing, projects were crumbling, and I was in the deer in the headlights. Of course, I handled it in my normal calm way, but looking in the mirror and shouting at myself: WHO DOES THIS SHIT?

Me is the answer. Yes, I was beset by the anxiety plague. Let me tell you that shit blows. Hard.

In addition, I had quietly came upon the second year of this blog and it was time for a little introspection. Did I want to continue? Is it worth the effort? Well, here I am. Not because I actually answered those questions but because I did not want to leave you grieving.

I’m here for you.

Except when I’m not.

But today? Today I totally am, and for the first time in about eight weeks I was able to answer some email. TAKE THAT GMAIL!

I’m BACK baby!

 

Celebrating Six Things

Last modified on 2012-01-03 19:09:24 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

Tonight is #sixthings. My friend Laverne over at Kindred Adventures wrote a great post about it. Thank you, Laverne!

She also made a great button, please feel free to grab and post it! And then join on us on twitter for #sixthings at 8pm (EST) and tell us what makes you interesting.

<center><a href=”http://www.accidentalmusings.com/six-things/” target=”_blank”><img border=”0″ alt=”#Sixthings” src=”http://www.accidentalmusings.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/sixthingsUSE.jpg”/></a></center>

What’s your number?

Last modified on 2011-11-09 19:05:08 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

Recently there was a silly movie called ‘What’s your number?’ Don’t worry if you don’t remember it, it isn’t worth seeing or remembering. But the premise of the movie caught my attention. Here is the IMDB synopsis;

A woman looks back at the past twenty men she’s had relationships with in her life and wonders if one of them might be her one true love.

Got that? A woman who realizes she has had twenty relationships/lovers/boyfriends reads (in some magazine) that she has had too many relationships/lovers/boyfriends to find true love. She sets off to find all of her old boyfriends, convinced that she has missed the love of her life. I am not even going to touch the premise of the move, so insulting is it. Go ahead and fume at home. I have other things to talk about.

It got me thinking. What is in that number? You may not know this, but I know my number. I’m going to tell you what it is in a moment. First, what does this number mean to you? Don’t fool yourself into thinking you are not judged on it. According to a recent poll:

Cosmopolitan and AskMen.com recently surveyed thousands of women and asked them what they considered to be a woman’s “slut number”: 37 percent said it was 20 sexual partners, 35 percent said it was 10, and 16 percent said it was 50. Just 9 percent of respondents said a woman can never be a slut.

What is wrong with this? First, the terminology. “Slut number”? Really? I have never seen an episode of Sex and the City, but I know the archetypes of the women portrayed, and I’d rather be a Samantha than a Carrie any day. ANY DAY. Do you know how grateful I am for my number? Each person who makes up that number has been a learning experience. I know what works for me and what doesn’t, what turns me on and what turns me off. I know how to vocalize all those things to my partner. I also know what men like even when they don’t know how to vocalize it.

But many of those sexual encounters were easily forgotten, and for that I am little wistful. Too much time with a sexually incompatible partners led to boredom, and a jaded view of sex. All of this before I married my (now) ex at 25. (For reference, I did not start having sex until I was 18). Even my ex and I weren’t sexually compatible. That should be no surprise to anyone. I don’t care how bad things are in your marriage, if you are having hot sex things are usually going to work out. Now, again I have to stop and say this. That is not a dig at my ex, nor a comment on his sexual performance. It is only a statement that we were not sexually compatible. It led to a loss of closeness in our marriage early on and loss of intimacy near the end.

Back to my number. Ahem.

I look at my daughter. Do I want her to have the same number? The honest answer is ‘I don’t know’. Is she having sex because she is comfortable with her sexuality and her body or is she having sex to fill an empty void left by someone or something? If it the former, then go get busy. If it is the latter, then slow down and have look at what is wrong. Also, do not start having sex until you are 30. Thanks.

I reject the idea that women have a slut number. I reject the idea that I am ashamed of my number because it is high. I reject the idea that I forfeited true love by sleeping with more than a certain number of people. I reject the idea that I have found my sexual soul mate (because if that’s true, men, you need to step up your game. No joke.) and discarded him, I reject the idea that I won’t find my sexual other half. And above all I reject Anna Faris movies.

So what is my number?

40 (39 of those before I married at 25) 

Seem high to you? Well, I am taking a walk down my sexual memory lane as I write this. And I am smiling. This is all that matters to me.

Bring on number 41.

Taken Out of Context

Last modified on 2011-10-27 23:46:48 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

Sometimes I wonder what people think of some of the things I say. Now imagine you have no background and you stumbled upon these conversations:

Me (on the phone in the middle of a military PX): Don’t forget to bury the body

Matt: No, I am going to put it in a time loop.

(Looking over my shoulder to see a Marine in dress blues looking at me strangely)

Me: I gotta go, do something with the body, just don’t leave her there.

——————————————————————————————————–

Chey: My stomach has been hurting everyday at school.

Me: OK, I will make an appointment at the doctor’s for you. I’ll call tomorrow. I need to go anyway

Chey: Why?

Me: I need to go back on birth control.

Chey: Why are you having sex?

Me: I damn sure plan to.

Chey: When?

Me: As soon as I can arrange it.

———————————————————————————————————-

Trace: Mom, look at my thin mustache. (sticks his face near mine)

Me: Yeah, cool.

——————————————————————————————————–

Me: You are taking FOREVER! Hurry up.

Matt: It’s only been five minutes.

Me: *heavy sigh* Come on!

Matt: Amy, you do know that time moves differently for you than everyone else, right?

Me: BECAUSE EVERYONE ELSE MOVES SO DAMN SLOW!

————————————————————————————————

Me: Get the devil to come and get me.

Matt: He’s busy, he might be around later.

Me: What the hell? Can’t we get a good Lucifer around here?

————————————————————————————————

Me on twitter:

Note to self: When writing dramatic scenes-do NOT turn on Adele. Sobbing commences over your fictional characters. And someone gets killed off.

(that actually happened, I cried for two hours)

———————————————————————————————

Me on twitter:

And of course, tweets that even vaguely mention my cleavage get retweeted instantly. I’m calling that a win for the twins

———————————————————————————————-

Six Things, Part Deux

Last modified on 2011-10-28 04:37:12 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

Tonight it will be time again for Six Things. I thought I would take a moment to share some of the things that people posted last time. Hopefully, it will remind you how interesting you are to everyone else. See you at 8:00 (EST)

Twitter on Monday Morning

Last modified on 2011-09-26 14:40:17 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

First, let me preface this by saying that I should not have access to twitter when I am hormonal and living on two hours sleep. It just isn’t a good idea. Here is what happened, a friend of mine tweeted about something spiritual and someone else I DIDN’T know jumped in about ‘daily spiritual’ whatever. Well, of course I figured it was one of those self-righteous mommy-bloggers I love to hate. So I tweeted something rude back to this unknown person, and I may (MAY) have dropped the f-bomb. My friend got on gcaht and this happened:

S: Did you just cuss out my mother?

(immediate panic sets in)

me: nope, deleted. F***. F***

S: lol

me: F***, F***, what the hell is WONG with me. I did not sleep last night. I A SO SO SO SO SORRY

S: hahaha it’s seriously okay, and also hilarious

me: no, no, no it is NOT okay. You know how it is I deal with so many self-righteous mommy bloggers, I thought it was another one of those. Oh man, did she see it??

S: even if she did I’ll just explain, my mom’s pretty chillax

me: yeah, sure…..oh god, I am so embarrassed, me and my mouth

S: she also hates Jesus people so.

me: oh lord, I am staying off twitter today, I think I am about to cry.

S: oh, lady

me: ALL THE EMOTIONS

S: hahaha seriously. it’s my mom. it would be like if you did it to me.

me: also, I am pretty sure I am PMSing, and this WHOLE dating thing. and oh god, I need to go back on Birth Control. AND I JUST SWORE AT YOUR MOM.

S: this might be one of the best days of my life.

me: I hate you, enjoying my misery - it is why I love you

S: it’s just so much funnier when it’s not you lol

me: ok, so true, that made me laugh

S: i started to write my mom and explain, but I think I am going to wait for her to call me and be like WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH THE TWITTERS

me:  if she hasn’t logged on yet, then she won’t see it b/c I DELETED IT #likeaboss

S: let’s just hope she’s not as iphone savvy as i am cause the damn thing just popped up on my screen lolz

me: ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I am going to be sick

S: dear, you are quite overreacting, GET IT TOGETHER

me: no more twitter for me today,ever, ever, ever, ever – wait, let me tweet that. FINE! I’m over it. Just let me know if she saw it or not

———————————————————————————————————————————-

Of course she saw it, and of course she was so cool with it. Still does not lessen my embarrassment.

Six Things

Last modified on 2011-09-14 14:01:29 GMT. 3 comments. Top.

A couple of weeks ago, I was approaching 21,000 tweets. What an accomplishment, right? OK, just wanted you to know.

Goodnight!

No, really, I was within 10 tweets and I thought, let’s do something fun. How about for my last six tweets up to 21,000 I tell you six things about me? It was just a fun, little thing.

Here are my six things (remember when reading a tweet stream, read bottom to top);

 

I know, interesting, right? Really, no sarcasm….I think I’m interesting. I mean, think about it, if I don’t think I’m interesting….why would other people?

Anyway, other people joined in and before I knew it, it was three hours later we literally had hundreds of people sharing six things. And they loved doing it. They loved to remember what made them unique, what made them special,what they have accomplished and what they have endured. It was touching, funny, sweet and fantastic.

Here are somethings I learned about people;

I learned about anxiety disorders.

Abuse survival.

Jail stints.

Secret wishes.

Long lost loves.

First jobs.

Unique jobs.

Hates.

Likes.

Lovers.

Every single person was fascinating, and that night we joined together to reaffirm that. Now, today, I will hit 22,00 tweets and we will be doing it again. We’ll start this evening sometime, no set time (after 8, for sure) and for a couple of hours encourage people to post six things about themselves. I’ll start off to get me up to 22,000 tweets and from there get the ball rolling. Join in when we are doing it or anytime in the next couple of hours.

Think of six things. Mark the tweet with the #sixthings hashtag or link to this post…..

And remember, you’re interesting, let me pull up a chair and listen to you talk about you. It is perfectly acceptable. And wonderful.

(Thanks to MinkyMoo who became an accidental partner in this surprise endeavor. I love you, lady.)

 

Where were you?

Last modified on 2011-09-12 02:21:10 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

(For the 10th anniversary of the attack on September 11, bloggers are sharing their stories of where they were that day. Here is my story.)

My mom was calling, I ignored it. I was tired. I had a baby that was 5 months old, and a 2 1/2 year old. Chances are I gotten up with one or both of them during the night, I don’t remember. The phone stopped. Then it rang again. She never did that, so I picked it up.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Are you watching the news?”

“No, I just got up. What’s going on?”

“You need to turn on the news.”

I sigh, throw my legs over the bed and get up and head out to the living room to turn on the TV. And that was how I found out that something terrible had happened.

It was all over before I even got out of bed. Living on Ft. Lewis, in my small Army-provided base house, I was three hours behind everyone else. I tried to take care of my small children while dissolving into a puddle of tears. My husband had left house at six for physical training. When he came back 7:30, he found my hysteria irritating. He dressed and went back to work. The base was closed, it would never open again the way it had been before 9/11. I spent the day with the baby on the bed with me watching the TV in my bedroom. I don’t remember what Cheyenne did all day. I must have found her something to do…and fed her, I just don’t remember.

As a military wife, I prepared myself for the change that was inevitable. And it wasn’t a couple of weeks later that my husband left to guard a Homeland Security asset.

I watched the news. Every second….I wept for women, children and men caught in the inferno…..I called my family to make sure they were OK, they called me for the same reason.

The whole base took on a feeling of nervousness…of anticipation….of ‘when will our husbands and wives be leaving to go someplace to strike back at this evil”

Today, ten years later I don’t know how to explain to my children what happened in terms they would understand. But even as I stumble through the story, I am glad that I can end the story with “And we caught the guy who did it and killed him.”

I would like to say we are a better nation since then but we’re not. I would like to say we’re a better people since then but we’re not. But we are forever changed, and for a few days in September we remember the day that brought about that change. We honor those who died and we try to make sense of the date that caused it.

A beacon of light

Last modified on 2011-09-06 01:56:43 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

(I have a couple of serious posts coming out this week, feel free to come back next week when I am my normal snarky self)

Yesterday, Trey Pennington walked to the steps of his church and shot himself. You see, Trey had a disease, and yesterday he lost the fight. He had a very common affliction: depression.

I did not know Trey, we only met in passing and talked a few times on twitter. This is not an attempt to insert myself into his family’s very real tragedy. But I cannot escape the profound affect the news had on me. Hours before he committed the act, Trey updated all his photos on Facebook, talking about how he had loving being a dad, how he had loved his wife. He used the past tense, the decision already made. He signed off twitter, thanking his online and real life friends for being there for him.

He leaves behind six beautiful children, and a community that has over 100,000 members. At first there was shock and dismay, then sadness, then the inevitable ‘why didn’t he reach out’? It is a sad paradox that in the social media community you can be surrounded by hundreds or thousands of people and feel incredibly isolated.

He was passionate in his goal as a marketer, and social media leader. May he forever be remembered as that to those of us who interacted with him in the social sphere.

But how many people knew of his struggles? So many people ask now how they could have helped him or saved him, most mourn that his life was cut too short.

But for those of us that suffer depression, for those of us that have stood on the black abyss day in and day out, we closed our eyes for a moment. And we were jealous. His fight was done, his burdens gone.

You will say it is selfish…I will tell you I do not care.

You will say he left more problems than solutions…I will tell you I do not care.

You will say ‘think of his children’ and again I will tell you I do not care.

Depression isn’t just ‘sadness’; it is a deep undertow of mental brokenness that threatens everything you love. It steals your joy, your drive, your ability to love and to function. It is perfectly normal to for anyone who has been through it to want put all that down, to give up.

Every woman in my family has stood at that abyss. We have fought to varying degrees of success. I have self-medicated with alcohol, sex, and food. Even now that I have found a good regimen of medication, it wasn’t three months ago I was sitting in my bed and writing good-bye notes to my children in my head and thinking of a plan so they don’t have to find a body.

I go through ups and downs, we all do. So many people wonder how they could have helped Trey or anyone in the same position and I will tell you what I know.

Be a beacon to that person. Turn on your lights to show them the way safely home when the waves put them near the rocks. This does not mean to inundate them with trite phrases such as “It will get better”,”Don’t be sad”,”It’s not that bad.” It means to hold on their hand when they would cry, to shore them up if see them in distress, it means to hug them. Not the ‘how are you’ hug. It means to put your arms around them and wait. At first they will pull away, but hold on, and wait for them to really hug you back. Don’t be surprised if, when you do that, a person you have never see cry before cannot hold back tears.

And for those that fight every day, reach out. For the love of God – REACH OUT. To anyone. When you reach that place where you cannot break anymore, when the whispers of a forever peace haunt you, hold out your hand.

We won’t let you go.

(I am not allowing comments on this post, I do not want to turn a man’s tragedy into a discussion about me. Please respect my wishes.)

 

How to be as epic as me

Last modified on 2011-09-01 01:36:24 GMT. 3 comments. Top.

I know you all wish you could be as epic as me, but the truth is I don’t like to share my secrets. But today has been SO epic, such a winning day in every way, I thought to myself, I MUST share with all my wonderful readers…..

Now to have a day as great as mine you have to prepare. Here are some ways to do so;

1- Do not, under any circumstances, buy school supplies for your kids. This could be for money’s sake, time,  confusion over school – lots of reasons but don’t have a thing ready when the first day of school arrives.

2- Be as behind as possible in all aspects of your life. Let email pile up, articles go unwritten, take on too much – whatever it takes, just be REALLY behind.

3- Forget to take your meds the day before….or at least twice in a one week period. Emotions running high are a requirement.

Are we ready? Here we go…

1- Jump out of bed around 5:30. You need to get school supplies so everyone needs to be out the door by seven.

2- Rush the kids out the door without food, this will ensure maximum whiny-ness.

3- Go to Wal-Mart at seven in the morning to get school supplies. Do it while listening to two kids talk, complain, fight, and ask to leave the entire time. Be proud of yourself for keeping your cool.

4- Take the kids to Starbuck’s for breakfast, realize your oldest daughter doesn’t have lunch, get here a sandwich at Starbuck’s. Get food and coffee for all of you, have heart attack at cash register when the total is displayed.

5- Realize you don’t have any gas, glance at clock, start panicking.

6- Get gas

7- Drive your daughter to her school, along the way rear-end a truck. Once said truck is rear-ended, get out of the car with your low-cut blouse and dig up your southern accent to get out of insurance exchange. Smile at your success.

8- Drop daughter off at school, teach inventive new ways to use swear words in the Catholic school parking lot.

9- Take son all the way back to Target for the supplies you forgot to get him at Wal-Mart.

10- Drop son off at school. Sigh deeply, ignore signs that emotional tsunami is on its way.

11- Make it work, sit at desk for ten minutes before receiving call from Catholic School expressing concern about daughter’s expressed paganism/lesbianism.

12- Drive to school, prepared to stab people to fight for your daughter.

12- Be totally disarmed by princiapl’s politeness, realize they have no prejudice and are try to make sure you unique daughter fits in. This emotional roller coaster will put as close to possible to meltdown without actually getting you there.

13- Return to work to see that a (very important) online friendship has gone into meltdown. With no way to save it, feel first waves of the emotional tsunami crash on the shore.

14- Watch in frustration as your lifeline, twitter, stops working correctly….

15- End up in bathroom crying.

16- Return to desk, attempt to cover up sobbing.

17- Abandon work, putting your further behind insuring a weekend full of work. Go to pick up daughter, head home to your son.

18- Feed children a nutritious meal of McDonald’s, thereby cementing your role as mother of year.

19- Want desperately some wine and Xanax, but you are a single parent – such wallowing is NEVER allowed.

20- End up on your bed by five, sobbing, exhausted, and utterly useless.

Yes, you too can be as epic as me in these 20 easy steps! Now, go! And try to be awesome as me!

 

Today in twitter news

Last modified on 2011-09-01 12:50:19 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

Keep an eye on how the timeline interacts…..you have to see it to believe it…

Earthquake time

Last modified on 2011-08-24 01:54:23 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

We had an earthquake on the East Coast. We acted like normal East Coast people do when something like this happens, we upped our meds and waited for the alien invasion.

Sadly, it didn’t come.

But I had one burning question – would there be a foursquare badge for this?

Priorities, people.

Lo and behold! It happened;

 

This means I win the internet, right?

We here on the East Coast are suffering, give generously;

iTunes Regret

Last modified on 2011-08-18 16:18:59 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

It’s true I have iTunes regret. You buy a song and then the next morning, it’s there lying next to you and you can hardly remember why you bought it or why you thought it was good. But you don’t want to delete it, you paid GOOD MONEY for that little piece of shit.

I have more iTunes regret then most people. At any given time I have shared my iTunes account with my mom, my daughter and son. It is perhaps the time that I share my account with my mom that feels me with the most regret. Every time I think I have blocked out that horrble time in my iTunes history another Georgr Jones or Janie Fricke song comes on in my shuffle. Janie who? EXACTLY.

My daughter is also giving me some moments of shuffle panic. What is shuffle panic you ask? It’s when a song comes on and you can’t change it fast enough, as if you don’t change it you will be struck down by all the horrible notes working their way to your ears. There was a horrible moment when I thought she would be getting into Slipknot, but thankfully that was a one-song phase. However, the amount of Nickelback on my account may actually may cause me to die from shame.

My son has discovered bad 80′s pop.  I consider him to be the least of the ear offenders.

I know some of you can’t wait until your kids are off to college, but me? I can’t wait for them to get their own iTunes account.

I’m getting even though –  I have been on AC/DC kick lately. Awesomeness advantage – me!

 

Whatever happened to….?

Last modified on 2011-08-14 04:05:18 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

I get that question a lot, actually. I talk about something on here then never give you an update or tell you how it ended. BAD BLOGGER! Well, let me catch you up…

Whatever happened to….

My divorce? – My divorce has been final for months and my ex has remarried. I don’t talk about it much here for several reasons; one, my ex isn’t a bad guy. I know it’s easy to make someone out to be the bad guy, especially one who isn’t here to defend himself, but he isn’t. We just weren’t meant to be together anymore. I wish him happiness. Two, like I said he isn’t here to defend himself. And last, it might hurt my kids. My ex is a good dad, and the kids don’t deserve to have me bashing their dad online.

My daughter’s school troubles?- She’s repeating the sixth grade at a private school. Mostly, she seems OK with it, but everyday I question whether I am making the right decision. There will more on this, for sure.

My moving dilemma (or emplacement ennui) – No big answer has fallen out of the sky. This is unacceptable. Therefore I have made tentative plans to move south of Baltimore City, but north of the DC suburbs. No place has been nailed down yet.

My great big new job – This was very secret, so unless you were following me on twitter you wouldn’t have heard about it. My goal was to try on the social media coordinator mantle for a while with an origination that I really trust. It didn’t work out. There isn’t anyone to blame, it just wasn’t a good fit. Only two people actually knew the organization I was working with, that was my attempt to be subtle. Now, I’m very glad I did. I don’t want to say anything bad about them, if it isn’t a good fit – no one is really to blame. I wish the organization and its team members much success. I am already fielding new conversations on other positions.

My son – I get some comments that I don’t talk about my son enough. When you have a pubescent tween girl in the house, it can be hard to remember that someone else needs your attention. But not to worry, Trace is still my lovable baby boy. He’s wonderful, I don’t write much about him because, well, he’s just out there being 10.

My awesome summer- because my summer sucked. mmmk?

All caught up now?

 

Facebook Strikes Again

Last modified on 2011-08-01 02:45:20 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

This weekend was Otakon in Baltimore, and I was lucky enough to get a press pass for it. I’ll post links to my article on it soon, but there are a lot of people who were excited about it. There is a ton of ‘cosplay‘ that happens at Otakon. (Cosplay is short for costume play). Everyone dresses up, in fact, as one of the few people who didn’t dress up – I kind of felt out of place. Next year, I might dress up – latex could be involved.

Try to get that image out of your head.

Anyway, girls dress up as boy characters, boys dress up as girls, boy and girls dress up as anime monsters, machines, Tardis boxes, etc.

One word = Awesome.

Anyhoo, one of my friends posted a pic of one them dressed up in a great costume, with a comment that he had been ‘out-nerded’. We were all leaving comments on how we’re all nerds, how great the costume was, and so forth.  But, of course, there’s always ONE douchebag.

One – we’re still using ‘gay’ as slur? Cool move, there assbutt. And, two, you’re a douche.

Stop the Guilty Pleasure

Last modified on 2011-07-28 02:27:05 GMT. 6 comments. Top.

Mention a horrible show, any horrible show and at least one person in the room will admit to watching it. You’ll give them that shocked face and they will sheepishly say “It’s a guilty pleasure.”

BULLSHIT.

Shows like Jersey Shore, Teen Mom, and other crap are total and utter crap. (Did I mention that crap?) When did we become a society that rewards people for making a sex tape and accidentally ’leaking’ it? Oh yeah, the 90′s. BUT STILL.

And I don’t have really high expectation for TV – I don’t expect it to be intellectually stimulating. Look, I’m not a fan of Grey’s Anatomy but it is what TV is, and at least uses semi-talented people to play the angst-ridden doctors. But shows like Keeping up with Kardashians? Here’s the deal - advertisements rates are set according to how many people are watching, and the reality ‘stars’ get a cut of that rate, so every time you watch you are paying a talentless, amateur porn star to live a fake life on your TV. And teen mom? Yes, have a child while you are under 18, without an education and get rewarded for it.

I swear I am not one of the people who thinks every time you turn on the TV you should watch Nova. In fact, we are having a Dr. Who marathon here in the Phillips’ household.  So there’s that.

Yes, a lot of TV is guilty pleasure – but when your ‘guilty pleasure’ unleashes something like Snooki onto the world, I will find you.

I will hunt you down.

I will hurt you.

Bloggers for Bali (or I’m doing something good…no, really)

Last modified on 2011-11-20 21:37:08 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

I complain a lot, I rant a lot but I never – not for one second – forget that all my problems are classic “white girl first world problems.” I also never forget that that on my worst day, there are a billion people who would LOVE to change places with me. I like to keep this blog simple, so you know that if I’ve deviated from the norm, I think it’s important. And this is important.

There has been a lot of talk lately about charity contributions, blogger involvement in them, visits to third world countries, and the term ‘poverty tourism’ . If you’re not up on the latest drama, don’t bother. It goes without saying that when drama erupts over someone trying to help, it can make other people shy away from lending a hand. That is the one thing we should never do. We may differ on how we think a person or organization should help, but we should never forget that as humans we should always do just that – ‘help.’

To that end, I am joining in a project to bring a little hope to some girls who really need it. The project is called ‘Heart for Art’.  We will supporting a project called Foundation 18. A little bit more about Foundation 18;

Foundation 18: Is the group home where the kids live in Indonesia. Foundation 18 has 9 girls in the group home aged 3 – 13 and 24 more children in the education outreach program. They take a family into the program so if there are 3 kids, 2 school aged and one toddler, they provide for all of them. Foundation 18 pays for the cost of their education, gives them clothing and a monthly staple food donation (usually 10kg of rice, sugar, eggs, milk powder, formula for babies, water, oil etc). These children still live with a family member, usually an uncle or grandparent, but still get the benefits of the program. There’s a long culture in Bali of sending children to orphanages when there are living parents simply because the parents can’t afford to keep them. Foundation 18 refuses to take children who have families, if their home is safe.

Good news, we are not asking for money. Although, we certainly won’t turn it down. We are doing something a little different.

ME, you and I, are Heart For Art. We are starting an art exchange program with these girls. They don’t speak English so sending them letters wouldn’t be very useful. We will show them that people care, that the world is bigger than what they see right now, that there are many people they’ve never met who are cheering them on in their journey to become strong young women. We send them drawings from us, our children, or anyone that wants to be involved. We send them images from our world, our hearts and they send us what the world looks like to them. Making their world bigger and the big, bad world smaller, all at the same time. This is a great project for people who don’t have disposable income to give to still have a way to make a difference in these girls’ lives. There are still traditional means of donation and contribution which are very welcome and described below.

Here’s how to get involved..

To get involved with Heart For Art just make a piece of art for the girls. Send it to the address below, and Lerner will get it to the girls in Bali. That’s it. I think it’s pretty cool.  If you do make a piece of art please send it to; Lerner Farrington, Attn: Heart For Art, 18 Suffolk Rd, Lincoln, LN1 2UG, UK. Please attach a note letting them you heard of the project from this blog.

But if you’d like to throw cash at us, by all means we can do it that way. Here are several ways you can help in a monetary manner;

• Web Hosting Services: Wanna self-host, want discounted rates and know that the cash from your hosting service will go to an amazing cause? http://www.project18.org.au/blog-hosting/
•  Make a purchase from the Project 18 Inc. shop or Etsy shop.
• Buy a ‘brick’ of Fairtrade chocolate and help P18 build a ‘chocolate classroom’.
• Make a one off, or regular monthly contribution directly to Foundation 18, Indonesia
• Participate in Auctions for Education – pick up a bargain and know the money is going to Educate kids.

Still don’t feel like it? How about some more painless ways to show support?

• Grab a banner or button from the Project 18 website (or grab the code below) and add it to your blog or website.
• Follow Project 18 Inc  on Twitter and on Facebook

If you have any questions about this project, please email HeartForArt18@gmail.com.

Show your support and grab your button here;

<center><a href=”http http://www.project18.org.au/support/” target=”_blank”><img border=”0″ alt=”Foundation 18″ src=”http://www.project18.org.au/assets/Uploads/banners/pro18125anibanner2B.gif”/></a></center>or, if you prefer, a banner;

<center><a href=”http http://www.project18.org.au/support/” target=”_blank”><img border=”0″ alt=”Foundation 18″ src=”http://www.project18.org.au/assets/Uploads/banners/pro18468x60anibanner1.gif”/></a></center>Now go be awesome readers and make some art, my stick figure composition is almost complete.

It’s for you…

Last modified on 2011-07-14 02:50:07 GMT. 3 comments. Top.

The phone is sometimes the bane of my existence. But I don’t think I could actually live without it. I do EVERYTHING on it, except actually pick up on the phone. I mean, I can check the weather in CHINA for godsakes, but have an actaul conversation? NEVER. I would like my voicemail message to reflect this. You see, right now my greeting says this;

You have reached the phone of Amy Phillips. Please leave a message after the tone, and I will return your call as soon as possible.

Everything about that statement is a lie. It’s not a phone, it’s a gadget and I’m not returning your call – ever. My greeting should say this;

Hi, you’ve reached my phone. Chances are my phone is on silent sitting in my purse so I don’t actually know you called. Or maybe I saw the number and hit ignore. You can leave a message, but I don’t actually listen to them – so the choice is yours. If you know me, then text me, tweet me, facebook me – but for love of God DON’T send me an email. Really. I already get 2,000 -3,000 emails a month. I don’t need your sorry ass adding to it. If you’re family, I’m probably avoiding you. Let’s face it, when is that last time I saw you? Exactly. If you’re one of my kids, don’t worry I’ll call every five minutes anyway, so you’ll get a return phone call for sure. If your number starts with a 800, 866, 888, 877 or any variation thereof, you’re the scourge of the earth – please go die quietly.  There’s a beep coming up, I would hang up now if I were you, before you embarrass yourself. 

Well, I would do this – except it would piss off my mother.

Right over my head

Last modified on 2011-07-11 00:54:13 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

When you’ve been single as long as I have, some jokes tend to go right by you.

A friend and I were talking;

Me: I need to borrow your husband.

Friend: Oh yeah?

Me: Yeah, I have some ‘man jobs’ I need him to do.

Friend: Man jobs. I’m sure you do.

Me: Like screwing in some stuff

Friend: [Laughing Hysterically]

Me: What?

Clearly I was more worried about getting some pictures hung than the double entendre all over this conversation. Well, I do live to entertain.

Reddit

Last modified on 2011-06-27 02:01:13 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

I have a lot of love for Reddit. If you’ve never been on reddit – don’t. You’ll get your feelings hurt. You’re going to do it anyway aren’t you? You people never listen. Think of it as 4Chan without the pedophiles. Anyway, June 25 was Global Reddit Meetup Day. I decided to skip Baltimore’s event because I thought it would turn out like this. (In any event, the Baltimore event fell through anyway). So, I decided to go down to DC‘s event. There were a TON of people there. Everyone seemed really nice and I took a bunch of pictures. We even took a group photo. Except I’m so socially awkward, I had to tweet this;

 

I am so damn awesome. Also, spare me any advice, I know how to navigate a crowd – I just couldn’t yesterday. I say that with love, except to the guy who sent me a DM on twitter with some advice that I’m sure he got off a greeting card. Dude, unfollow.

I give up

Last modified on 2011-06-13 00:39:47 GMT. 7 comments. Top.

Totally, utterly, and absolutely.

It’s not often that I do it, sometimes I tend to fight long after the fight has any chance of being won. Not this time, however, oh no. This time, I threw my hands up and just said “Fuck it.”

I don’t do it lightly, especially since it involves my kids. The first is my daughter, and our saga at her school. This is how bad things have gotten at school- she comes hungry because she’s too afraid to go in the cafeteria, and I have to drive her to school so she can avoid some boys on the bus. It’s taken a toll on her grades, her temperament and her emotions. Look, I’m not down for slapping random people, but there are some people at this school that just need to be kicked in the head. (Why yes, I am a little angry, why do you ask?) This year has been a total and complete loss. A COMPLETE waste of time and we know how much I love THAT. A couple of weeks ago, I just gave up. I don’t bug her anymore about her homework, I accept that she is going to come angry and worked up, and that her grades are going to be absolute shit. Say it together boys and girls “AWWWWEEEESOOOMMMME.”

Then there was my son’s baseball season. Look, I want my kids to get out and play sports, but I have no illusions that they are headed for any major leagues. So I don’t make them play anything they don’t want to, and to make sure, I ALWAYS ask them if they want to play a particualr sport before I shell out money. This baseball season was no exception. I asked, Trace said “yes” and so started baseball. This wasn’t my son’s first season so I though, hey, this year could be a lot of fun. Except- no. He was scared of the ball, he only actually swung twice while in the batter’s box, was distracted on the field, and begged me before every game to “just skip this one.” Normally, I make them finish what they start, but, people, I was just done. When the tournament games rolled around, I sent an email to his coach letting him know that Trace was going to sit out the rest of the season. Part of me thinks that the only reason he wanted to play was because he thought his dad would be there for the games. It breaks my heart.

So, I’ve given up. I demand a re-do, a do-over, a reset button.

Fangirl Moment

Last modified on 2011-06-07 00:24:12 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

Excuse me while I have this totally age-inappropriate fangirl moment. 14 years is long time to love a a character, and now it’s time to say good-bye. I get one moment, don’t I. Oh, sue me.

I got my feelings hurt

Last modified on 2011-05-28 17:52:19 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

It’s not easy to do. Really, I’m pretty tough. But it happened, I got my feelings hurt. I recently took a new Social Media Director position. Initially, I was excited. But then something weird happened. I talked with one of the team members. She was really stand-offish and, just…..well, the whole conversation was strange. And it was followed with, wait for it….an unfriend on FaceBook. I tried not to let it get to me, but it did.

<tangent> Here’s where I pause for a second and talk about my time in school (elementary, middle and high). I don’t often talk about it, to be frank, the memories are painful for me.  But the short story is – I was ALWAYS one of (if not THE) most unpopular person in every school I went to. I was weird. And not a good kind of weird; nope, a really messed-up kind of weird. I know that for some people there is still some debate of whether a ADHD diagnosis is a valid diagnosis, but, for me, that conversation is long over. Having one of the most severe cases that a person can have makes for a very lonely childhood. It’s a childhood of bullying and sitting alone in every lunchroom, and sidelong looks as you walk down the hall. Every day you just want to make it to the next without crying or hitting someone or wishing to disappear. I don’t regret that sort of childhood, it made me who I am. And, not to toot my own horn, I’m one tough broad.  </tangent>

BUT….

I’m still that weird, awkward person today. I’ve learned to love and embrace the weirdness that is me. I know that you think my tagline is cute “Queen Of Inappropriate, Princess of Randomness, and the Duchess of the Non-Sequitur”, but I didn’t choose it for that reason. The things that come out of my mouth really are random and inappropriate. Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m going to say until nano-seconds before I say it. I’ll always be the girl sitting by herself at the unpopular kids table. I’m OK with it, really. But what I DON’T do is allow anyone to make me feel like I felt every damn day in school. I’m 38 damn years old, and an adult. If you have an issue with me- say it. Win or lose (and, oh yes, I do lose sometimes) I much prefer a head-to-head confronation as opposed to sidelong looks, hastily covered -up smirks, passive-aggressive bullshit or a thousand other things that make me feel like that 15-year-old in braces again.

Today, I had that feeling again; that feeling of not ‘fitting in’.  It was like a smack in the face. It came to head over something trivial, a discussion over FaceBook admins. The person I was talking to said “Oh, just leave it.” “No,” I said. “We don’t want them on there.” AND THERE IT WAS. The exchanged looks between women who don’t know/like me, the smirk. I lost my shit. I did it quietly, though. Aren’t you proud? I packed up my stuff, and walked the mile back to my hotel in effort to cool my anger. It worked.

By the time I entered the hotel lobby, I knew two things; one- those ladies didn’t like or respect me, two- they don’t believe I’m capable at the position.

Well, you know what? Screw them. I’m not being paid to do this, I came on because I believe in the organization and there was a lot to do. The twitter account was a mess (still is, there is still a LOT of work to do), no cohesive social media strategy, some clear content mistakes, etc. Also, one of those ladies was the person I have been sharing a room with, and feeling bad about keeping awake with my snoring. Now I’m all, ‘have fun being kept awake, ho!’

Anyway, like I was saying….

I think I’ll move on, without any drama or finger-pointing. I still believe in what they do, and they do it better than a lot of people out there. They will find someone new, who will be AWESOME. And me? I won’t have to worry about either crying in bathroom or going to jail for hitting someone.

The lesson? Some women never leave high school, some are always bullies, and some just don’t try. Me? I only have one part of my soul that is fragile, and you have walked all over it. But you haven’t diminished my talent, or the ability to do the job (better than you, in fact); I’ll just be doing it for someone else.

I’m away this week

Last modified on 2011-05-25 19:57:10 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

Actually, I’m in New York City. Mainly because I like to live the glamorous life. Heh. In truth, I’m at BlogWorld – New York. For those that don’t know, it’s awesome. But tiring. Also, my kids get a week off of school, so they are pretty psyched.

I’m here learning all the new stuff about blogging and new media, none of which I will apply here. I mean, you all are used to the crappy stuff – why change NOW?

Random Point: No matter how crazy you are, there is always someone who is crazier just across the street in New York. It could be the guy singing and swinging a baton/stick on the stoop of a mini mart (stick is not euphemism for anything, and the singing wasn’t good either – it was crazy person singing), or the guy with his pants around his ankles in Times Square getting tazed, or the ONE MILLION posters of Daniel Radcliffe around town. Yes, New York, I get it – he’s starring in a new Broadway musical, you can STOP WITH THE POSTERS ALREADY. OK, the last one isn’t so much an example of crazy, but more of an example of how to be driven crazy.

Another random point: I’m sharing a room with someone else from the BlogWorld staff. Pity her. Apparently, I snore like a beast. I don’t imagine she’s getting any sleep.

So that’s where I am, and what I’m doing.

Now you know.

My So-Called Career

Last modified on 2012-03-07 23:56:01 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

Recently, I was invited to come in to an interview for an leadership position at a hosting company. I get headhunters, feelers, inquiries all the time from various sources and I rarely turn down a chance to interview. Not because I am unhappy with my job – I’m not (and I write those words on a day when the stupid in my email box is at an all-time high), but because I like to see what’s out there. I never know what opportunity awaits me, so when someone taps me to come in and interview for a SharePoint or Social Media Position, I often go. It rarely goes beyond the interview stage, usually because their pay is so low (hello! 38-year-old mid-career don’t insult me with your awesome ‘compensation’) or because I am a jerk. Yep, sometimes I go into the interview and am a complete jerk. I don’t mean to be, but the other person across from me is so mind-blowingly stupid/douchey/ clueless that I can’t help it. They make it TOO EASY.

Such was my interview on Monday.

It didn’t start out that way. I had already been through 3 very nice, very productive phone interviews with the headhunters, sent in a resume that had a great cover letter (and I quote “should I tell you how awesome I am?”) and looked forward to having a productive conversation with the person running the company sometime in the future.

Then came the last phone call with the recruiter. He was unsure, cagey, and on edge about a process he had been confident about only two days before. I smelled trouble. EVERY instinct told me to cancel, to stop, to back out. But, damn, if I’m not stubborn. I went to that interview.

First let me set the scene for you. I don’t even get out my corporate clothes to wear, opting instead for regular office wear. And make-up? Not happening. I drive out to the MIDDLE OF FREAKING NOWHERE (which is kind of hard to do in Maryland, I admit) and get ready to make nice. The recruiter that I have been working with meets me at the door, and like our phone conversations he is nice, polite, and cordial. OK, maybe I was wrong, maybe things WILL go alright.

Then the interview.

First, let me say that I am interviewing with the guy who heads the company and he is from France. The recruiter in the course of conversation about the company touted a line from the man that I am about to interview with, some company philosophy that went “I have one Aston Martin I don’t need another.”

Douche siren is starting to blare.

I sit down with the CEO and he starts to go into how he’s sorry the office is the middle of nowhere, but his company rents ‘racks’ (servers) in downtown Baltimore. So let me get this straight, you have your ‘hub’ in some BFE office but your machines in the downtown? That’s, um, not right. The tech scene in Baltimore is centered around one or two locations and this sad one-story brick office park? Not one of those places.

Remember, I have been brought in to ‘social media’ this brand. Already, it’s looking like a tough job.

BUT HE KEEPS TALKING AND TALKING. Dude, STFU. We have an interview to do. Then I make a serious mistake. I ask a question about a recent event that effects his company services. Not only does he give the WRONG answer, he takes FIFTEEN MINUTES TO DO IT.

FINALLY. FINALLY! We start to talk about the job. Look, I know if you don’t work in Social Media you think it’s all fun and games. It’s not. You have to have the ability to process a TON of information, filter it, analyze it and do this all while engaging anyone and everyone in your purview. It’s a fire hose that NEVER SHUTS OFF. Nevertheless, I know what I’m doing. I’ve consulted and helped some pretty large companies in this arena, underestimating me would not be wise. (This is not to blow my own horn, but to set up what is about to happen).

I start in with his website. I’ve looked at it, it’s very pretty- just not very usable. Well, he wants to engage ‘the geeks’ (he says this like TEN TIMES!). I nod my head, but all I can think is ‘true geeks run their own racks, they don’t need yours.’ He doesn’t want to engage the ‘average’ user. OK, then. Good luck with that.

We move on twitter. I say “Twitter account is not very active.” That is a nice way of saying your engagement is shit. He says “Our English one, our French one and my personal one are VERY active.” WTF? No one, I repeat NO ONE cares about a twitter account in French, and your account? Less followers than me, less tweets than me, less Klout than me (and that’s my personal one) so tell me again how active they are? Yeah. That’s what I thought.

Finally on to my specialty- content. People, if you’re reading this, you know that I produce a TON of content, I consult on content, I live and breathe content. It’s what I do. I start with outlining my plan to bring on a content team to write content. He stops me and says the following statements “We don’t pay for advertising” and “I am looking for someone to be an entrepreneur” (Actually, he gives me this entrepreneur line like FIFTY times. And let me just say, a Frenchman saying ‘entrepreneur’? Douche or not, still VERY sexy. I’m all about finding the silver lining). I try to gently tell him good content isn’t about whether I am an ‘entrepreneur’ or not, it’s about engaging a customer base and developing a following. The worst company blogs? Written exclusively by CEO’s or marketing people. EVERY time. Also, paying people to write content is not ‘paying for advertising’. That is called ‘writing copy’ and completely different. The depth of his cluelessness is starting to hit home.

Me: “You’re telling me that I can’t bring in an editorial team? Then, no.”

Him: “That’s it, then. Thanks for coming out.”

FREEDOM! So happy to get out of that place, I couldn’t leave fast enough. But he had one parting gift for me and it was this line “Well, I’m sure we will see each other around since we will be out at the tech events in Baltimore.”

I want to say “Not bloody likely”; but I hold my tongue. This silly man will fit perfectly into the male-dominated, misogynist, douchelicpter scene that is Baltimore tech. DC will eat him up and spit him out.

The social media scene in the DMV is small in the sense that most people know (or at least know of) each other. By early evening the DMs were flying from one person to the other. Can I just say, my impression seemed to be the prevailing opinion?

But don’t fret for our French CEO. He will find his ‘entrepreneur’ and all will be well in his world. Hell, he might even buy another Aston-Martin.

Me? I’m going to have a stern talk with myself. I really need to start listening to my instinct.

 

Cleaning

Last modified on 2011-05-16 02:08:26 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

Me: Cheyenne I need an hour of your time to clean up a bit, please pick up your room so I can vacuum.

[Cue 5 minutes of grumbling]

[Cue 5 minutes of cleaning]

Me: Did you get it all?

Cheyenne: WHAT?! Don’t you trust me?

Me: Dude

Cheyenne: Yes, I got it all.

Me: Let’s go check.

[room is fairly clean, go to bed life up mattress]

Me: You have GOT to be kidding me. Clean this up!

Cheyenne: Why? You’re not going to vacuum under there.

Me: *heavy sigh*

Cheyenne: It’s not my fault.

Me: Of COURSE it isn’t. It’s that damn paper troll who puts all the papers with ONLY your name on it under your bed.

Cheyenne: Exactly.

Me: Duuuuuuuude.

The Single Life

Last modified on 2011-05-12 21:04:16 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

Not to be confused with the thug life, in any way. In case you’re talking about thugs that don’t shave their legs, then yes, just like that. Because I cannot remember the last time I actually looked at my razor and said “You know what? The 10 minutes it takes to shave my legs is totally worth it.”

I should probably work harder at ‘trying’ or whatever it is women do to get dates, but, honestly when I look at a guy and think about dating him the only thing that comes to mind is “Do I really want THAT guy farting on my sheets?” The answer is inevitably ’no’. Which sets the bar high, I admit. But, hey, a girl has to have standards.

Then there’s the whole ‘bitch’ thing. Which apparently I am, according to very close sources. Dating takes a lot of bullshit, and if you don’t know, I’m allergic. That’s kind of like saying I’m allergic to most men’s conversations and then you get to see the enormity of my problem. However, single life has its perks- besides the money I am saving on razors.

But then I have to mow my own lawn, and did you know that there are rules on how high your grass can get? Well, I do now. When a man from the HOA shows up on your front doorstep in a pith helmet telling you your grass is too high the correct response is not “How did you get past all the snakes in tall weeds?” The more you know, people, the more you know.

Also, oil changes. I would be a bad whore. You know why? Cause I would be on the street corner selling it for an oil change. I don’t know what ‘it’ is anymore but it seemed like the right thing to type there.

Who wants to spot me a $20 so I can hire someone to mow for me?

 

Ugly it up

Last modified on 2011-05-09 01:50:40 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

Two posts about my kids. I know, I know. But it’s mother’s day so I think I’m entitled. My daughter is beautiful, and I know I’m biased, but she is a real beauty. I thank my lucky stars she has no idea. Her ignorance is my bliss.

Unfortunately, I have to watch this transformation. And let me tell you, right now? I am sweating bullets. Beautiful face, clear eyes, Tammy Faye eyelashes, a figure to die for and legs up to her chin. It’s harrowing.

At the moment, I have little to worry about it. She is deep into her all-black-goth-not-emo-can-I-wear-black-eyeliner phase. It’s so awesome. She looks AWFUL.

I love it.

I know as a parent I should want her to look her best, but, the truth is, I don’t. This weekend I took her to Chez Targét to get a new swimsuit for the season. She picked out a tankini and seeing her in it almost made me want to reach for the nearest burka. It brought home a very clear message: I’m living on borrowed time, and I am borrowing all I can.

Soon, she will wise up or the guys/girls around her will wise up. Then the real battle will begin. At the moment, I am buying her all the black she wants, dying her hair whatever hideous color she needs,  and keeping her away from make-up at all costs. Don’t get me wrong, I am not wishing for a ugly child – just one who is ignorant of her beauty for….oh, I don’t know….another ten years?

 

Ten

Last modified on 2011-05-02 22:57:24 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

Tomorrow my son turns ten. Y’all do NOT know how excited I am not to have a kid in the single digits anymore. Seriously. In any case, he’s a pretty cool cat. In honor of my son (a resolute gamer) here are ten signs you know that you are living with a gamer;

1- When driving and you ask him to ‘keep and eye out’ for the road you’re looking for, he tells you he’s doing recon.

2- When helping him cook onions and few escape the frying pan he tells you “ENEMIES OUTSIDE THE PERIMETER”

3- You don’t have worry about him finding porn on youtube, he’s watching gaming videos.

4- He knows exactly what to do in case of the zombie apocalyspe.

5- You hear “KILL, KILL” from the basement and you aren’t worried.

6- The most precious currency is XBox points.

7- He knows more about guns (real and fake) then you do.

8- He’ll mod your controller buttons if you want him to. Also, when playing games with him, take longer than a second to move and he’ll lose his shit.

9- When he’s talking about an expansion pack, he is not talking about the size of your butt.

10- Everything he knows about WWII, he learned from video games.

My son has asked Call of Duty Expansion Pack for his birthday. Gifts you can’t wrap, that’s life with a gamer.

I love you, Trace.

Let’s sing kumbaya

Last modified on 2011-05-01 23:17:11 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

I know this will come as a shock to you but I read a lot of blogs. If you follow me on twitter you know that there are some great bloggers out there that I follow religiously. There are always waves of subjects that go around and then other blogs pick up on it. The current theme making the rounds is “Let’s all get along”. It’s not a new premise, and usually goes like this “We are all women, all different, let’s support each other, not tear each other down.”

Bitch, I am not your sister.

Let’s support each other? We’re adults. That ‘everyone gets a trophy’ crap is gone. Put on your big girl panties and realize sometimes you suck. And I don’t have the patience or ability to dissemble like most people, so I’m going to tell you that you suck. If you think that’s ‘tearing you down’, so be it. I am sick and tired of women who complain about other women ‘not supporting them’. If you’re not out there busting your ass every day, you don’t get a break.

I guess I must be wired differently. I don’t know. But I do know this, I do not have infinite amount of love (or like for that matter) and most of that love is used up on my children. That leaves a tiny amount for every day bullshit. I am certainly not using it up on your sudden desire to make peace with every women out there.

Last, I will cut a bitch. If you and I are competing, we are competing. You can bet I’m not running for Miss Congeniality, I competing to win, to get the job, to be noticed, to be heard – and I don’t play nice. Now, if I don’t have a dog in the fight I’m all for supporting the woman. Me? Never going to be Secretary of State so, hells yeah, give it to a woman. Men have screwed it up long enough. Competing for blogging space? Oh, it is on.

Want to join around the ‘campfire’ and sing kumbaya? Great, have fun. Want to be success? Then remember there are women like me, and bring your A game. You’re going to need it.

(Look, I TOLD you the bitchfest was resuming. And this isn’t in response to anything in particular that happened to me lately, I just HATE false sincerity. That’s what these ‘let’s get along’ posts are.)

 

Three-Moveteers

Last modified on 2011-04-25 18:47:16 GMT. 3 comments. Top.

OK, this has got to be the last post on my self-righteous whining about ‘life’. I know you all are getting tired of pretending to care. I hear ya. But, in case you missed it, here’s part one and part two. Also? I’m out of snappy titles.

Where were we? Oh yes, me. Heh. Imagine that. Anyhoo, me and moving. We have established I am nomadic and that I need to move on. Now the BIG question (and really the whole reason for this series of drivel) is where. Let’s run over my choices, shall we?

I immediately have to discard the big cities such as Chicago and New York, the kids won’t do well in that environment and I don’t have the money to establish myself in either. But I must mention them, out of sheer habit. OK, now that that is out of the way, here is my serious list;

Baltimore- I know you’re thinking, “Wait, don’t you already live in Baltimore?”. No, actually I don’t. I live about 20 miles north and the amount of time I spend driving back and forth between the city and home is getting silly. Plus, I understand Baltimore and she understands me. Lack of good public schools keep from moving into the urban environemnt.

DC- ahhh, my first city love. Still my favorite. Actually, I don’t want to live IN the city, but somewhere on the outskirts. This would be the easiest move. I wouldn’t have to change jobs and the move can be done in weekend. It does require a considerable uptick in housing expenses, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

Louisville- It’s home, so it gets an honorary place on the list. It’s not in serious contention.

California- I never thought I would say this, but this is a serious contender. I actually have a lot of contacts in various locations and, if needed, I could get a new job. But I never thought of myself as California person. Really.

Portland, OR- It’s close to my mom, and, unfourtunately close to my sister. It’s not that my sister and I don’t get along, it’s just that it’s better if there is a least a state’s distance between us. But one of my favorite bloggers does live there. So there’s that.

Vancouver, Canada- If I had my choice, the money, and a moving van in the driveway this would be the location. This is one of the places where 100 pieces would have to fall into place perfectly for it to happen. I think we all know the odds of THAT happening.

Of course, the answer may be….nowhere. Stay here. The mere mention is so foreign to my nature, I can’t even think about that. I’m an expert in forcing Fate’s hand on this. Not always to good results. Hard lesson to learn, but one learned well.

So I’m waiting, and listening. And for the moment? Staying put. I don’t know where I’m supposed to be, I don’t know what nagging feeling is eating away at me. In my typical ADHD way, I want an answer now. NOW, DAMMIT!

For two years, my readers and I have taken all my journeys together. This one will be no different.

This foray into the serious is over now, we will resume our normal bitching routine…posthaste.

Move Redeux

Last modified on 2011-04-21 04:44:11 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

If you didn’t read part one, it’s here.

For the rest of you, like I said I have a point. And the point is…..it’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to decide where I belong. But the time had come. Moving around to find my place is kind of what I do, and I like new places and people, but I can’t move my kids around every few years. While I am used to the nomadic life, it isn’t something I want to force on them. I think they have seen enough change.

When my divorce happened, my first thought was to make it as easy as possible on my kids. I chose a new townhouse that was close to our old house so they wouldn’t have to switch schools. Seriously, I moved less than a half a mile. Seems like a waste of a perfectly good move to me.

But lately….

Lately, I have this feeling, This sneaking suspicion that precludes every move, That itch to leave, to move on, to go somewhere else. Sometimes, anywhere else. I try to listen to those thoughts with a jaded ear. I, almost more than anyone, know that where ever you go -there you are. You can’t outrun your problems, you take them with you. A move to a new place is not about escaping your issues, but it IS about changing your life.

So I waited for that itch to go away.

Except it didn’t.

I know it’s time to move on – in many, many ways. I just don’t know the where or the what.

Is it time to move on from my job (something I’ve known was coming for quite a while) or Maryland or both? The universe is being slow to answer, and I’m kind of impatient….so, it needs to hurry it along. This move will likely be my last, forever or as long as my kids are in school. Choosing carefully is paramount.

(there’s a third part to this post. quit bitching, it’s my blog not yours)

Move, just move

Last modified on 2011-04-17 01:22:47 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

I had a friend when I was in high school. We both lived in small towns in Southern Indiana. Her family consisted of her and and older brother. Eventually, her older brother moved out…to a trailer on their property 25 yards away. I remember once listening to her mother talk about where my friend was going to live when she was an adult. She couldn’t decide if it would be on some of their property behind of the parent’s house, or maybe another house a little farther down the road. Even at 15, I was horrified. Why would she let her own parents trap her in this town, where the highest paid job was the 7-11 clerk. It was madness. Didn’t she want to see the world?? Experience things, and so forth. We stopped being friends when I moved to Louisville my senior year of high school.

More recently I had another friend who I met while on my first task at my current company. She worked for another contractor. But that wasn’t her life aspirations, her life aspiration was to work for the government. Not a bad goal, truly, I’m not knocking it. However, I was just really confused. She was smart, very smart and could have earned some serious money at any of the DC contractor’s. She would have moved up the career ladder in no time.  I reminded her of that fact, repeatedly. She reminded me that that is not what she wanted. She wanted the security and safety and predictability; a governemnt job would give that to her.

Last I heard, my friend from high school became a nurse and still lives in Southern Indiana. She married some guy who already had kids, and was rumored to beat up on her. My other friend got her dream job on the government team, and daily deals with life as a bureaucratic drone- although personally she is very happy and married to nice guy.

Both of these scenarios scare me death, I am not a ‘stay-in-one-place’ sort of person. My parents divorced when I was three- since then I lived with my mom for five years, then my dad for two more years, back to my mom’s for two years (this time in Illinois, instead of Southern Indiana) until, then back to my dad in Souther Indiana, then we moved to Louisville. About that time, I was graduating high school. After high school, I became an exchange student in Germany. After six months there I went to England for 18 months, then back to Louisville, back to Germany after I enlisted in the Army. That”s when I got married, and then the Army moved us from Germany to Ft. Lewis, WA, then to Aberdeen, MD, then to North Carolina, and finally back to Maryland. Wow, I’ve never written all that down before. (tl;dr I move A LOT)

For me moving is a way of life. The longest I’ve lived somewhere is 5 years, and I was EIGHT.

I have a point. I’ll get to it in the next post. I know you’re probably pissed, this post doesn’t really have a pay-off. Think of it as a cliff-hanger.

The Poll of Stupidity

Last modified on 2011-04-08 01:46:11 GMT. 7 comments. Top.

Polls are fun, polls are a science, polls are an art. Then sometimes there are polls that just make you want to bang your head on the wall.

Here is such a poll;

(source)

So your choices are money, half-truths, intimidation, and, oh..I don’t know…SATAN!

Where is the choice for “good fashion choices” or “toned and buff bodies”?! This is not what I call scientific, people.  But, hey, that’s just one narrow segment of the population. I’m sure that the bigger population as a whole is MUCH more accepting of differences than nut-job, right-wing conservatives, right? I said, RIGHT?!?!

(for reference this was taken in Mississippi, ONE MONTH AGO)

Doesn’t seeing this make you want to knock SOMEONE ELSE’S head against a wall. Like maybe, 60% of the population. Wait, maybe I have this wrong. Maybe they mean interracial, as in human and alien. Yeah, that must be it. Cause who knows where those alien bits should go…look, I’m just saying.

I’m sure we can find some scientific polls at Fox News.

 

Clearly, if you are getting help from system you are a lazy-ass freeloader who is eating up America’s tax money. Because, losing a job and navigating a bureaucratic nightmare to get a paycheck that is less than what you made before is the ticket to easy street. What a racket! Also, the word substantial is the disclaimer word (“We said substantial, we’re not talking about YOUR benefits”).

(I was going to stick another in here that Fox news did about the debt ceiling, and how you don’t get a choice on whether or not to raise it because the money is already spent, but I figured I would spare you my political nerd-ity this time. THIS time only. Next time, all bets are off.)

I think it’s time we take a poll among my readers.

Do you think polls are:

a) stupid

b) worthless

c) one-sided and unfair

Write your answer down on a piece of paper, then take that piece of paper and feed it to your cat. If you don’t have a cat, you can also register your result by flushing it down the toilet.

Results soon.

 

 

3 days

Last modified on 2011-04-02 02:46:58 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

3 days. That’s how long my daughter is suspended for, but that’s not where this story starts. It starts with Friday morning buzz. First story I hear about is the Bob Parsons killing an elephant. The internet is up in arms. Of course they are. However, while the video is in poor taste, there are valid reasons to have that elephant hunt. I know it’s going to be one of those kind of days, the STUPID SIREN is already going off. Get a grip, people.

Next up is crazy person. Some woman who’ve I NEVER met insists I’m trying to exact a date out of her husband over twitter. Of course I tweet about it,, then I get another note from crazy woman saying ‘it’s a private correspondence’ and I have no right. YOU SENT A STRANGER A DERANGED EMAIL. Obviously, this is not your first trip to crazy town lady. And for the record, if offering to have a beer with someone means I’m trying to exact (and I don’t like the usage of exact here, even though it had the requisite object -still strange usage. Yes, I know, foray into grammar…complete nerd) a date, then I must be the biggest whore in Baltimore. And if I’m the biggest whore in Baltimore I want a) a damn prize b) more sex, cause I’m pretty sure whores get more sex than I’m getting.

My day could get no worse. Except it did.

–Cue office phone–

“Can I talk to Mrs. Phillips?”

“This is Mrs. Phillips.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Phillips, this is Mr. X from the Middle School. I have your daughter here in the office with me. She was involved in an incident with another student. She…uhh…hit another girl. We are suspending her for 3 days.’

::headdesk:

Remember that post where I gave my daughter tacit permission to take down that bully. Yeah, well, this girl wasn’t the bully. It was a girl that ran with the bully. After they laughed at her when her pads feel out of her bag in gym class, de-pants’ed her and other stuff there was a very mature back and forth (apparently, remember I’m hearing this 3rd hand)

Daughter: Stop it

Girl: Why don’t you smack me?

Daughter: Think I’m going to smack with you the teachers around?

After gym class, my daughter (my beautiful daughter who I remember in pigtails and pink dresses) chased her down and smacked her upside the head. Girl cries, someone tells the vice-principal, mom gets called. End of story.

Then my day got AWESOME.

Why?

I charged to that school ready to make sure that they knew how I felt about the incident and the alleged ‘victim’. Except I didn’t have to, because everyone knew all about it. We had a reasonable conversation where I stated my side, how I felt about the incident, and about my conversation with my daughter about bullying. Mr. X had no censure for me or for my daughter. He didn’t agree or lift the suspension (I didn’t expect him to, he had a job to do and I respect him for that) but he understood my side. I left there feeling that the other girls would be taken care of appropriately.

3 days. Home with my daughter.

God save us all.

Blogger Body Calendar 2012

Last modified on 2012-07-08 23:29:57 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

No post today, just wanted to let you know that today we kicked off our second year of the Blogger Body Calendar. We have new bloggers and a new charity. I wrote a post about it. Go read!

What are you still doing here? GO!

Part 2 of “It’s not that I don’t care…”

Last modified on 2011-03-25 01:39:14 GMT. 5 comments. Top.

Remember that post I wrote where I said you shouldn’t give money to Japan? I totally stand by it, but I got two comments that I want to answer publicly, because they represent the opposite end of spectrum and are both wonderful.

First Andrea,

you know, I used to work for the Red Cross and you can earmark your donation so it will go to exactly what you want it to go to. BUT, that could be bad, because, like in Haiti, people donated tons to the relief and there was excess that now the RC can’t spend elsewhere. but I never think it’s a bad idea to donate funds to worthy organizations, like the RC, Amnesty, etc. I agree that we get all crazy wanting to help, but the thing is we’re one of the richest nations in the world and hopping on a plane is just a baaaaad idea. so people want to give ten bucks. is that so bad?

Nope, it isn’t a bad thing. In fact, I didn’t mean to imply you shouldn’t give to your charity of choice. You should, and if it makes you feel good…even better. Red Cross has some issues, but I believe they do more good than harm. Nor should you hop on plane. Unless it’s to the Bahamas and you take me with you. I’m just saying when you do give, be cognizant of where the money goes and where it doesn’t go. But you raise good points, and you know that I love you, so it’s a win-win.

From Lara,

Outstanding post. Americans, as a whole, do tend to toss money at disasters. Perhaps it’s because we feel helpless to do much else. Or maybe it’s become so ingrained in our collective psyche that what we must to is “give” and the least invasive what to do that is by writing a check. Growing up in California, in a very small town, where earthquakes are far more common than reported (we usually got “a 6.2 magnitude quake struck east of San Diego” or less) I know all too well that the need is often beyond a greenback. My dad is the leader of an SAR group as part of his duties being a Fire Chief. I called him as soon as I read this. He said most of the Urban SAR groups going to Japan are government funded but that groups like the Search Dog Foundation can use support. So -as much as people doing this on my blog annoys me- I’m leaving a link here for their sight so that you can give it a look and a healthy dose of due-diligence. http://www.searchdogfoundation…

Thank you Lara, and for the great link.

Bottom line- GIVE.

 

My New Hobby

Last modified on 2011-03-19 18:42:38 GMT. 8 comments. Top.

Someone once asked me if I sit around and think up new ways to be an asshole. The answer was, of course, No. Then I got to thinking. This seems like a hobby that I could really excel at, and why shouldn’t it be a perfectly acceptable hobby? No reason, that’s why.

So this week I HAVE been sitting around thinking of ways to be an asshole. Now it’s time to share. For you, my readers, I give you:

“Ways to be an asshole on the Internet”

1. Check into other people’s home on Foursquare. Anytime you bring up foursquare looking to check into your favorite liquor store, there will invariably be 10 or 12 personal residneces listed as well. Go ahead and check in- it’ll freak the people out and make them think someone is stalking them. Triple points if you steal the mayorship of a residence from someone you’ve never met, who lives in home you’ve never stepped foot in.

2. Complain about the price of gas on FaceBook, one week after you post pictures of your new SUV. You know which way gas prices are headed. This is no big surprise. Choices, people, choices.

3. Put spoilers out on twitter. Everyone seems to be on the same page when it comes to tweeting spoilers. Usually, there is about 24 hours before someone actually tweets who got voted off, packed their knives, or lost the race. Respect the DVR, people.

4. Randomly friend people on FaceBook, then delete them before they can ask you annoying questions like “Do I know you?” or “Will you harvest my farm?” Is this just me? OK, then

5. DON’T friend people on FaceBook, saying you only use it for “Family and Friends”. Just because FaceBook uses the word ‘friend’ doesn’t mean it’s some secret club. In fact, why don’t you just leave FaceBook altogether?? Save the bitching for the rest of us.

6. Complain about rich, white  people problems. Examples include: “I don’t know what to buy my nanny.”,  ”I decided to work from home so I can spend more time with my kids.”, “It’s taking TWO WEEKS longer to deliver my NEW furniture.”

7. Complain when I want to slap you for complaining about rich, white people problems.

8. Use Deck.ly (if you don’t know what it is, don’t ask, just know it’s if I see a deck.ly link I’m not clicking. You’re not special snowflake, you can use 140 characters like the rest of us.)

9. @ me on twitter and ask me to follow you. Know why I’m not following you? You have more cute symbols in your twitter profile than you do words, and one of the words you do use is Beiber, Bleiber, or other such shit. Obviously you’re a 15 year old girl. We have nothing in common. Go away.

10. Be a grammar nazi. I’m a grammar nazi, but I think we already know that I’m an asshole.

11. Fill up your Friday twitter feed with FollowFridays. I’m not following any of those people. Spare me.

12. Write a post on how to be asshole on the internet.

You’re welcome.

It’s not that I don’t care…

Last modified on 2011-03-15 17:52:21 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

I do. I really care. My mind cannot not even wrap itself around the amount of death and destruction that the Japanese people are facing. Their sorrow is felt the world over. I want to walk up to each person and hug them and tell them it will be OK. I want to comfort every grieving parent, adopt every parent-less child, take in every furry creature without home.

I want to, but I can’t and I won’t.

Know what else I won’t do? Give them money.

It’s our first response as Americans. GIVE THEM MONEY!! Give, give, give. Tasteless fame-addicted stars organize benefits to ‘help‘ the stricken, phone companies allow us to ‘donate‘ money through texting. It’s human nature to want to help, and purely American to think that our money will provide that help.

But it won’t. Let me say that again. MONEY WON’T HELP JAPAN. Money is not what they need. Seem callous? Let me list the ways it won’t help;

1) Japan has the money to help its citizens. Money, at the moment, is not the issue.

2) Japanese people need shelter, food, and basic care. To get those things to the people that need it most you need good logistics- the one thing missing after a disaster. Roads are gone or unusable, trucks missing, personnel to administer the help gone or caught in the midst of their own tragedy, airports shut down, electrical infrastructure gone or not working, communications nearly impossible. Money will not solve any of these problems. Know what will? Time. Time to figure how to get people on the trucks to drive an alternate route to clean the runways and repair the electrical lines. The Japanese are smart, it won’t take them long to clear their obstacles and solve their issues. Money will not speed up or slow down this process.

3) Even if you do give money, very (VERY) little of it will be used to help the Japanese. Remember the all the donations that the Red Cross got after 9/11? Remember what they spent it on? Telephones. Yep, a brand new multi-million dollar telephone system. I’ve heard reports that to anywhere from $0.12 to $0.60 goes to actual, ‘at the scene’ help. The rest disappears into overhead, advertising, and so on. And even if you give money to the Red Cross now, that 12 cents or 60 cents very likely won’t be used in Japan. And that’s just the Red Cross, this story is repeated with other charities as well. Don’t even get me started on the fraud charities that have started to pop up.

4) Money now seems to equal an “I did my part” or “I already gave” attitude later on, when Japan really needs help. In an era where headlines don’t last longer than one day, and at most, one week (Libya and Wisconsin anyone??) Japan faces a task that will take years. Right now, let those in charge help. Later on, check in to see where you might be able to help.

I know it’s tempting. You see a man on the news who has lost everything. You want to give him his life back. Your money won’t do that. I wish it would, I wish money would solve problems – but I think we all know that it doesn’t.

However, I do want to help. Like you do. Here is what I’m doing.

1) One thing Japan DOES need is very specialized help. And by specialized I mean things such as cadaver dogs, burial services, contracting help to rebuild, temporary workers to for schools and hospitals, and so on. I’m not able to do any of these things, so I am on the lookout for small groups of people who have been asked (or cleared) by the government to go and help in Japan for a time. When giving to these groups I check to make sure that they have a detailed plan, bios for their members, open and honest accounting practices, and contacts within the State Department or Japanese government (local or national) who they are working with to ensure that their help goes where it is most needed. Often these small bands of workers will collect money before and during their assignment. They get it all, they keep it all, they use it all – for Japan.

2) I’m waiting. Japan may not need money right now, but that could change. In 6 months I will re-evaluate my stance. By that time, international charities should have a clear and concise plan for how the money I’m going to donate will be used. If they are still murky in that area, I won’t be giving then either.

3) Hug my children. Because so many families in Japan will no longer have that option.

It’s not that I don’t care. I do. I just know that caring and donating are two separate things.

Seven

Last modified on 2011-03-15 17:54:04 GMT. 6 comments. Top.

Seven. That’s how many insults/ threats my ex hurled at me yesterday. What was the reason for this particular dust-up? I called to let him know that I had gotten a lawyer, finally. He berated me for waiting until the last minute and ruining all his ‘plans’ and when I reminded him that I have been busy raising children, well, then it got good. Let’s have a rundown, shall we?

1- On him having to produce financial documents to set child support; “You’ll get less, I’m already paying you more than I have to.“

2- On an uncontested divorce (read: he wants to get married posthaste so the Army will move them as a couple instead of separately); “If you drag this out and what I want goes away, then I’m going to make this miserable for all of us.” Already there, dude, already there.

3- Again, on the possibility of ‘dragging it out’; “All that being nice and talking to you, forget it. I’ll come up once a month and see the kids and that will be IT!“ Which would be more than he comes up now, sooooo that’s a win for me?

4- On using the divorce to get him to finally answer questions about who his living with (not because I find her so fascinating, but I want to know who my kids are spending time with; “Well, you’re crazy, how do I know what you would do. If the Army finds out, I could go to jail, and then you won’t get any money at all.” Let’s break this one down; a) No one goes to jail for adultery anymore in the Army b) if you DO get in trouble, you’re a big boy- you knew the risks c) I have no interest in telling anyone, who you’re banging isn’t of interest to me BUT who spends time with the kids…now, THAT is of interest to me. He usually counters this with “Don’t you trust me?” I’ve hemmed and hawed about answering this one outright. I do trust him with the kids, but I’m not relinquishing my rights to figure out who my kids are spending time with and, last, d) You will pay, whether you are in the Army or collecting trash.

5- On wanting to settle the custody issues DURING the divorce, instead of signing the divorce papers and let him have his way; “It doesn’t matter about the custody issues, I can sue you for custody at any time.“ Just you try it, buddy.

Other gems included;

6- “Good luck on getting anyone to stay with you.” This is a variation of the “You’re worthless” and “No one will love you but me” lines that abusers like to trot out. I am not accusing my ex in any way of being an abuser, I’m just pointing out the similarities.

7- “I’ll tell everyone how you are crazy and you used to call at the unit all the time because you thought I was cheating on you.” On this one, he may have a point. I don’t remember calling all the time, but I do remember when he came back from Germany (where he had been by himself for 3 months (I had come home early to have my son)) and stumbling over explicit emails. {{ Here’s a taste of those emails: “I had a dream last night, guess who it was about.” }} Yep, I accused him of cheating, he denies it. I say if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck….well, you get the idea. Picture it; me home with my 6 month old and 2 year old, reading emails like that, so, yeah, I may have been suspicious. HOWEVER, I think got it in his head that every time I called to see when he would be home meant I was calling to see if he was sleeping around. Anyway, it’s a stretch to say a) I called all the time and b) went crazy about it. I didn’t hear him mentioning any of that when he came home and begged me to stay with him after I found those emails. Ah, well, c’est la vie.

Seven insults.

Seven times I considered giving in and just letting it be over with.

Seven times I told myself not to be a fool.

Seven.

 

 

Twelve

Last modified on 2011-03-05 04:34:42 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

On Wednesday my oldest turned twelve. I could fill up a post on how puberty is making my life a living hell or remember all the times she was a cute little baby. But for twelve years she has filled up my life with joy and wonder, I wouldn’t change her for anything. For her brithday I am going to bore you with twelve facts about my daughter that you may not know;

1. She was born in an Army hospital Wurzburg Germany. Because of this she has the most beautiful consulate birth certificate that is the biggest birth certificate I have ever seen, seriously this thing is like 11 x 17. It really is a work of art.

2. When she was 2 weeks old she got to go on a tour of Cheimsee, Salzburg and Venice. My mom had come for the birth and we couldn’t travel while I was in my last trimester, so afterwards we got in the car and took a tour of the south part of Europe. In fact, on the ferry ride over to Venice a lot of Italian Grandma’s fussed at me for not making her warm enough. I think they were fussing, I don’t speak Italian.  Also, strollers don’t work when walking around Venice. Those bridges don’t have ramps, yo.

3. We didn’t have girls name. We already had a boy’s name (Trace) but that wouldn’t fit for a girl, plus we needed to save it for when we DID have a boy (26 months later). Her name was almost (bourgeois gasp!) Katlin. John and I both hated it, but we couldn’t come up with anything better. While reading a magazine I came across the name Cheyenne. BOOM! Name problem solved.

4. She LOVED Blue’s Clues as a kid, the one with the original Joe, not the one with his ‘brother’ or ‘cousin’ or whatever the new guy’s name was.

5. She was eating spaghetti once and sneezed so hard that spaghetti came out her nose. Good stuff.

6. She likes to fish with my mom’s partner (we call her Nana Kat). She can clean a fish better than I can, and by ‘better than I can’ I mean, I’m not touching that stuff.

7. She loves horror movies, which is proof that she was switched at birth. I HATE horror movies, but she’s all “Can I watch Saw?” and I’m all “Sure, when you move out and get your own TV.”

8. She LOVES animals and, of course, this means I have to too. We currently own 3 cats, one dog, and 4 hermit crabs. At the height of our petzaplooza we had 2 dogs, 4 cats, and a hamster. Even now, I can’t go to PetSmart with her. She wants to be a vet.

9. She loves to write and draw, and isn’t half bad at drawing Anime. She once drew a masterpiece on her brother’s face in marker, I have the picture to prove it. It was from her ‘lines on a face’ period.

10. I put her on a plane to go out West at the age of 9 (maybe it was 8). She’s a great flyer. She loves to go out there and visit my sister and my mom.

11. She can make me smile, feel stabby, proud, and frustrated all at the same time. Just so you know, that’s real talent.

12. No matter what she does or where she goes, she’ll be awesome, wonderful, independent, and successful.

This post was going to suck

Last modified on 2011-02-26 03:47:06 GMT. 6 comments. Top.

Actually, this post was going to tell you all the ways my week has sucked. Because it has. Here are a few ways;

• Remember at the end of the last school year when I begged the school administrators to hold both my children back and not move them on to the next grade. What, I didn’t tell you about that? Well, it was one of those times where I went before a board full of administrators, except they were all really nice and concerned for my kids. As for my kids, their grades were mediocre and it was clear that they were struggling socially and academically, both side effects of the ADHD. The school moved them on anyway. Well this school year is sucking BIG TIME for the kids. My only hope is to move, put them in a new school and have them repeat the grade.
• I can’t find a sponsor for SXSW. I can’t decide if I’m upset about that or not, but still…..
• It snowed again for another snow day, and now it’s raining so hard that I have decided to build ark.
• If I DO build that ark, cats are getting left behind. Not. Kidding. This might have something to do with the fact one of my cats peed on my duvet. Fortunately, I had already ordered a new one, but now I live in perpetual fear of that cat peeing on my new one. It’s nerve-wracking.

So a really sucky week, right? Except someone had a worse week than me. Here are some of my favorite quotes from this person;

“Clearly I have defeated this earthworm with my words – imagine what I would have done with my fire breathing fists.”

” ‘Don’t be special, be one of us.’ Newsflash: I am special, and I will never be one of you!”

“I have cleansed myself. I closed my eyes and in a nanosecond, I cured myself… It’s the work of sissies”

“She’s not there now and we are and I don’t know, winning, anyone? Rhymes with winning? Anyone? Yeah, that would be us. Sorry man, didn’t make the rules. Oops”

Are those not made of pure AWESOME?! OK, I may have thought the second quote, but I didn’t SAY it.

Charlie Sheen, thanks for making my week and for making me realize that my week didn’t suck as much as your life is going to suck when you come down off all those drugs.

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Thanks, Google Voice

Last modified on 2011-04-08 13:16:04 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

Google Voice makes me smile. If you don’t use Google Voice for your voicemail, you’re really missing out. Yes, it has the awesome things that Google products do, but what makes it REALLY shine is the voice translation. They make my day. Here are a couple of samples. Enjoy-

What Google Voice transcribed;

“Hood, morning, This is Gary Crane, South Africa any public schools for any public schools will be closed today, Tuesday February 22nd, Coco employees report at 10 AM. Again, Hartford County PublicSchools will be closed today. Copeland police report at 10 AM. This is Gary crane South African Republic schools.”

What the message actually said;

“Good, morning, This is Terri Cranefeld, Harford County public schools will be closed today, Tuesday February 22nd, Code Blue employees report at 10 AM. Again, Harford County Public Schools will be closed today. Code Blue employees report at 10 AM. This is Terri Cranefeld, Harford County public schools.”

What Google Voice transcribed on the message from my brother;

“Steve, hey you bottle baby want to call me back once in awhile. That’s what’s so hard, is it. Hey, alright. I love you. Talk to you soon. Bye.”

What he actually said;

“Hey, butthole, baby, why don’t you call me back once in a while. That’s not so hard is it? Alright. I love you. Talk to you soon. Bye.”

And this one, from my boss;

“Hi Honey, It’s, Elise. It’s 9:45 on Tuesday morning calling to check up on you. Well I’m at the few outstanding things I’ve seen, so if I need to be done before we pass along. Back to mail in the in the team. So, I want to make sure our meeting on a deadline so if you could give me a call back. We could discuss that’d be great. Thanks. Bye.”

What she said;

OK, I didn’t actually listen to this message, I’m sure it wasn’t very important. I’m also sure my boss didn’t call me ‘Honey’.Pfft.

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Happy Heart Day

Last modified on 2011-02-16 02:22:54 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

Today is Valentine’s Day. A lot of people like to pan this day as an overblown corporate holiday, I like to think it’s a overblown corporate holiday that celebrates love. As snarky, sarcastic, and jaded as I am somtimes – my kids teach me everyday about love. So a day filled with pink and red hearts, candy, and expressions of love is OK with me.

You might think because I’m single I would hate this day. Wrong. The year since my divorce I haven’t signed up for any dating service, asked anyone out, or even thought about what life might be like with someone new. I have been getting to know someone new – me. I kind of lost me in the marriage, child rearing, finishing my degree, starting a career, Army moves, and plain old general life. This year I have been trying to find out who I am without all those things around me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to stop working on my career or stop raising my kids, I just want to know who I am. Now. How have I changed in the last 10 years, what things do I like to buy when I don’t have to buy something that two people will agree on, what will I do without someone to censor my actions?

Turns out, I kind of rock.

There may be someone for me down the road…or not. But for today, I’ll be my own Valentine. Also? It’s OK to love me.

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I spend too much time on twitter

Last modified on 2011-02-10 02:31:16 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

Today as I was watching my twitter stream go by, I saw some store mention a sale and in an effort to save characters they shortened Valentine’s Day to VDay. Being single, I’m not even thinking about Valentine’s Day so in my (warped) head, I thought “There’s day to celebrate Vagina’s?!”

(Stop reading here, because, yes it’s going to be one of THOSE posts).

Seriously, it took me a full minute to realize they were talking about Valentine’s Day. And even when I did, I couldn’t get the idea of a Vagina Day out of my head.

And guess what I did? Oh, yes, I did.

Like it? I KNOW! Hallmark will be calling anytime now…

Tears of joy, right?

And now from our religious section…

I declare February 9th- Vagina Day! It may not be real holiday, but tell your significant other it is and make him get you stuff.

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Who Says?

Last modified on 2011-01-27 20:25:23 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

I’ve never been one to play by other people’s rules. In fact, I suck at following arbitrary rules that seemed to be based in no sense of logic. You know…the rules that indicate the rationale behind them is “because I said so” Yeah, those.

Why do I bring this up?

Funny you should ask.

There are actually two reasons, but I’m refraining from writing about them in detail to see if I get an apology from both people involved. But here is a rough sketch;

I have been increasingly involved in the Baltimore Tech scene. A scene dominated by twenty-something hipsters whose version of life experience is a pub crawl in the ‘bad’ part of Baltimore. Nonetheless, there are many great people who have their head down doing real work, making real progress. It will come as no surprise that I don’t get along with some of those people either, but I respect them and what they do, so we are professional to each other and work together. LIKE ADULTS DO. Anyway, I heard that organization was coming up from DC and I wanted to guage the reaction, so I posted in the FaceBook group about the date and event.

Then it got good.

I received an email from the founder’s that went something like this;

We saw your post on the {redacted} Community Facebook page – very confused about your message as 1) we gave you that info in confidence and 2) it was not very supportive – so it’s not clear why you want to work with us?

Oh my, oh my, oh MY GOD. Want to see my reply? Well, here’s a taste;

I just went back over the original email and didn’t see anything that indicated it was confidential. Maybe it was implied?

…I don’t have any illusions that stuff I post on the internet won’t ‘get around’ or ‘get back to someone’. And the post was a genuine effort to gauge feedback, which I got.

Your email almost makes it seem as if I owe an explanation to you or that I was being sneaky or underhanded. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, because I certainly want to work together, not against each other

Still waiting for her to get back to me on THAT score. Jesus, people. (Again, keeping names out for the time being).

The next happened in same group, but, again, I am waiting before I write about that. All I will say that in group that has 133 members only 17 are women. ONLY 17.

And of course, people dismiss me. They don’t know me personally, don’t know what I do, and who I know. Here’s some free advice: In the social media world, never dismiss person as unimportant until you know how far their reach goes. And if you don’t know what I mean by reach, well, you’re probably not in social media.

(I’m not saying “look at me, I’m so important”, in fact, if asked I would say the opposite. Success in the Baltimore Tech Community does not hinge on whether or not I’m placated, truly, I know that.)

I am beside myself. Of course, I have been labeled “The Bitch”, “Troublemaker” and other not so very nice words.

I shall try not to cry over how very upset I am. Wait….I think I’m over it….yep, I’m good now.

Bottom Line: Got some arbitrary rules you want me to follow? Yeah, good luck with that. Sincerely, The Bitch.

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The Internet just hates me

Last modified on 2011-01-20 01:57:14 GMT. 12 comments. Top.

As you know, I’m suffering from a wicked case of writer’s block. I have been looking for inspiration anywhere I can find it.  But the internet is clearly working against me. As I pursing my many sites, I came across this;

I don’t know if I am going to wedding or not, but if I step out of the house wearing anything resembling this monstrosity, feel free to hunt me down and slap me. I cannot write with this chick staring out into space, with what is obviously some left over Christmas ribbon on her hair.

Then sometimes, it the unfortunate headline that stops me.

What?! Cancer isn’t enough of a bitch, now the disease is playing freaking hide and seek? If you lost your lung cancer, Mom, don’t call me to help you find it. Guess I’m not writing about health issues. You’re an asshole, internet.

But, of course, if the picture is eye-catching, what does it matter about the headline?

You know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking she’s about to rip one. Hold on, here it comes….

And then from the ‘who proofread this?” category, I give you:

Well, I wasn’t before but ads like this might make reach for that glass of wine. She seems happy to be a “boozer’ so it’s got to be great. I am going to ‘like’ the shit of all the booze I can, thankyouverymuch.

As for something to write, I still got nothing.

What about y’all?

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Things I’m not going to talk about…

Last modified on 2011-01-13 03:35:02 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

There’s a lot of blog fodder on the the internet, and whenever I think I’m going to write about it someone else writes about it better.

Here’s what I won’t be writing about, someone already said all I was feeling;

The tragedy in Arizona. John Stewart said it for me.

Arizona Shootings Reaction

www.thedailyshow.com

The nuttiness that is Amy Chua. Someone else wrote it better.

Ravens making it to the playoffs? I might have Steelers fans in my readership, so I’ll just wait until the Ravens win before I rub it in.

CES. I LOVED CES, major love. But all my posts will be on the lenovo blogs site. Look for that coming up.

And those are all the things I’m NOT going to talk about.

Now what should I write about? Hmm…..

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Guest Post: Enter Crazy, Stage Left

Last modified on 2011-01-07 18:38:34 GMT. 11 comments. Top.

I asked Andy to guest blog for me a couple of days ago, and she sent off something right away. I didn’t read it, I was busy. But today I knew I had to post it. And post it I did. Then I read it…..and, it totally applies to the day I’m having. I may tell y’all more about it should the fallout get worse, but we’ll see. Let’s just say this- corporate world and bloggers sometimes mix poorly. Anyway, this post is great and apropos. Thanks, Andy. I owe you one….or ten.

It’s possible Amy is the slightest bit crazy for telling me I could write about whatever I want. Her blog is now in my hands mwahahaha! (that was my evil laugh)

But I also am a little ADD. It’s like she let me loose in the Chuck E Cheese and told me to pick one game. One game? But there are so many! There’s skee ball and air hockey and the ball pit (they they still have ball pits? or did they outlaw them for fear that people were hiding heroine in the balls?) and that bopp-em game! I loved the bopp-em game. Taking that big mallet and bonking the tiny plastic rodents. I may have anger issues. And hate rodents.

Anywayyyy, so I think maybe Amy is actually getting the better end of this deal because I had a blog idea swirling around in my head, but I never write my ideas down. I just hope they stay in my ADD-addled brain (which was never ADD before the Internets, bee tee double you) until Monday or Sunday when I can find coffee shop time and write everything down. And by write, I mean type. So she’s probably getting my best material which no one would have seen anyway.

I think that’s a win.

So I was discussing with the best friend crazy lady time. (That, friends, is called a brilliant segue.) Now, I know my nickname is “the crazy lady,” but I don’t mean regular crazy (like the quirky weirdo I clearly am on a daily basis); I mean the irrational crazy which comes out in frightening bursts.

See, I had a bad morning on Wednesday. Tuesday wasn’t great either. I’ve been sick with a monster sore throat and feeling all evil PMS-y and I had to get up at the asscrack of dawn on Wednesday to take my cat to the vet.

Also: I work at home. So I don’t ever get up early. Also also: I’m an eternal insomniac. So these early mornings kick my ass.

Where was I? Oh yeah, at the ass-crack of dawn. So I set my alarm to give me time to wake up, take some Dayquil, eat some breakfast, capture the cat (who now knows when these visits are coming and hides), and drive to downtown Portland before traffic starts. Except? Oh yes. The alarm didn’t go off. Of course it didn’t. Why would it? WHY?

I wake up (by some miracle of Odin) a half an hour before her appointment, threw on clothes, captured the cat, and ran out the door. No time for eating. No Dayquil. No caffeine. Nada.

So yeah, the day didn’t start well.

It just went down from there. Every stupid thing was making me insane. Every tiny thing. No one could drive of course. I couldn’t stop coughing. I got my sweatshirt dirty when taking out the trash. I bought this tuna salad that turned out to be nasty and just about had a meltdown. Because if I could eat that nasty tuna then maybe I wouldn’t starve. STARVE! And now I can’t get the bag of tortillas open. The Universe hates me. I’m going to DIE! Right. Calm down there, crazy pants. It’s just tortillas. Not worth killing anyone over.

And the worst is when you hear yourself acting crazy but just cannot stop yourself. You’re staring down the beast and you know you shouldn’t go there, because it will win, but you just keep going, running at full speed and yelling, “TOWANDA!” (If you get that reference, you are my new best friend.)

Could any of this crazy have to do with my cold? Or the insane stress I’ve been under? Or because I should start my period in, oh, what time is it? Now? Oh hell yes it does.

Hormones are a bitch.

Look, fellas. Boyos, I know you think you know what’s what. But let me tell you, you don’t. Women hold a lot of their shit together. Yes we do. We juggle it all and we keep going. With poise and class. We rock and we still look gorgeous. But until you are a woman and have felt the crazy-making boiling concoction of hormones that rules our kind, when the crazy turns on, you need to just back away slowly while handing us chocolate and pouring some wine.

So the bestie was telling me about the first time she first had a crazy lady meltdown and could hear herself being crazy but couldn’t stop it. I think we all have those stories. And they almost all include some man who thinks it’s funny or feels the need to ask if we’re getting our periods.

Poor stupid, stupid men.

Don’t anger the beast! Don’t say anything. Shh! We know we’re crazy. We hear ourselves. Do you think pointing it out helps your cause? No. No it doesn’t. I know it’s not fair. I know, punkin. I know. Do you think we want to feel this insane? We don’t. So just appease us and then go away. Quietly. I say this for your own good. I do.

Why don’t they ever listen? You’d think that men would have developed better listening skills as an evolutionary advantage, as a survival instinct. I know many a man who almost met his death when he failed to listen to a woman.

It’s no wonder men burned women as witches for centuries. They were terrified of the crazy time. I’d curse a man too if he looked at me wrong while I’m on my period, or tried to touch my boobs, or took my chocolate. It’s no wonder. They were afraid we’d murder them all and take over the world.

Here’s the secret, though, men: we don’t want to do that. Some of us actually like you. We just don’t want you saying stupid things, looking at us wrong, touching our sore boobs, or taking our chocolate.

Andy blogs at Crazy with a side of Awesome Sauce (www.crazywithasideofawesomesauce.blogspot.com) Or on Etsy Find her on the Twitter @anydygirl. To reach her by email awesomecrazylady@gmail.com.

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Playlist

Last modified on 2010-12-17 20:07:35 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

I’ve been asked on various forums for a playlist. It’s a common question. It can give you a idea of person’s age, experience, tastes, and likes. So for all of you that asked, here is my lifetime playlist:

1. Loretta Lynn “Coal Miner’s Duaghter“- cause I’m from Kentucky, yo.
2. Everclear “Santa Monica“- Swim out past the breakers and watch the world die. Yes.
3. Nirvana “Smells Like Teen Spirit“- because I graduated in 1990, and it’s still the best song of that decade.
4. U2 “Stuck in a Moment“- U2 played the soundtrack to my teen angst, but I chose this fairly newer song because it’s so true at so many places in my life.
5. Kenny Rogers “The Gambler“- everything I ever wanted to know about life I learned from this song.
6. Tears for Fears “Shout“- I was the biggest TFF fan EVER. I still turn up the radio when this song comes on.
7. “Willie McBride”- there is no artist on this one, every Irish bar singer has it on his/her repertoire. Still the best war song, and it’s almost 100 years old.
8. Beatles “Lady Madonna”- It the Beatles. The end.
9. Regina Spekter “Fidelity“- It’s Regina Spektor, voice that just melts all over you.
10. Don McLean  ”American Pie”- I included this song for its cultural significance and because it was released the year I was born.
11. Oasis “Wonderwall“- the band is full of jerks, but this song is one I can’t live without.

There’s a lot missing from this list; Madonna, Dylan, the Stones, Beastie Boys, Elvis, and one Ricky Martin song that I love (and a video that still makes me swoon), but will deny should someone actually ask.

And then there’s song, which you will now be humming all day. You’re welcome-

What’s on your playlist?

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The Perfect Sunday

Last modified on 2010-12-13 19:15:03 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

Recipe for Perfect Sunday

1- Stay in pajamas. This is crucial. Getting dressed leads to ‘doing stuff’ and before you know it, you’re out running errands.

2- Call for dreary weather. Nothing makes you feel more guilty for being lazy than a nice day where you could be out.

3- Have food ready. Pesky kids and their “I’m hungry” are a real bummer. Make sure to have leftovers.

4- Don’t brush your hair. People tend to stick around when you look all presentable and stuff (if you’re single, brushing your teeth is also optional).

5- Have written a blog post within the last week so you don’t have to get out content. (Um, oops).

Update on number 5: If you haven’t written a post in the last week, totally phone it in with some bogus list.

There you go. That is how it’s done. Happy Sunday!

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Can we all say OW?

Last modified on 2010-12-04 21:02:40 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

Since the divorce I find myself doing many things that maybe I wouldn’t have done while married and this week was no exception. I decided to pierce my nose. Yeah, it’s as painful as it sounds, but I endured. A win for ME! (Cause I’m all hard like that).

Alas, it was not to be. This morning I woke to look at my nose and not see the stud. It’s fallen out, I figured. No, it had pocketed. That’s a real piercing term, and, again, as bad as it sounds.

Off I went to the tattoo/ piercing parlor. I figured they would just screw the stud back up and all would be fine. I am such an optimist. Nope, he had to screw out the stud and then put in a new one, but I am a red head. Let me explain what that means.

As a red head, my body seems to work in really strange ways. There is no way to hide my embarrassment as my face will turn BRIGHT red. And when something on me swells up, it swells up in magnificent proportions. It really is spectacular. In fact, when I was giving birth and they had to put a catheter in, it didn’t go in right the first time. And….well, let’s stop there. I will never eat plums again. Also, doctors should not explain what is going wrong with your lady parts in term of food. Word for the wise, there.

Anyhoo, he pulled out the ‘pocketed’ stud. Then tried to put another one in, which wouldn’t go in. IT GETS BETTER. So he re-pierces it with a bigger needle. I literally am sitting there on the table with a huge needle going from my nose down to my lip. And tears, lots and lots of tears. Then he takes out the HUFE EFFING NEEDLE and tried to put in another stud. By this time, my body had decided too swell up to proportions only know to clown noses. It’s not going in, but not for lack of him trying. Again and again.

Where did it all end? With the piercer giving up and saying “Let it heal for two weeks and then we’ll try it again.” I’m too traumitized to think about two weeks from now.

How about a eyebrow piercing?

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Blogger Body Calendar

Last modified on 2012-07-08 23:29:19 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

The Blogger Body Calendar is in its last push for sales this month and today all the bloggers are talking about it. Why? Because it’s important. It’s important as a cause, it’s important as a  message to ourselves and our daughters, and it’s important to the blog-o-sphere. I really believe that. And so do 13 other people. And if we didn’t, we wouldn’t have signed on to do it*.

If you want to read about why the calendar happened go here.

If you want to read about what it was like to get naked in front of a camera, go here.

Want a sneak peek at the calendar? Go here.

Also, Ooph is doing a whole week of body image posts. And they’re awesome, so check them out.

And then? Buy one. You’ll love it. I promise.

* No bloggers were hurt in the making of this calendar. Not yet, anyway.

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The Hills are Alive….

Last modified on 2010-11-21 01:37:31 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

with the sound of a big WTF?! The universe is conspiring against me, I know it. Each day before I wake up, it takes a couple of seconds and says, “How can we make this day even more fun for Amy?” and then proceeds to screw with me- all day long. I get it universe. I owe you for something, now if you would just kindly tell me what my debt is, I’ll pay it and move on. Thankyouverymuch. Here are some of the the things that made me want to crawl back into bed, almost every day.

They canceled Medium. Seriously, I know I was the last one watching that show, but I really liked it. It’s not like I have to go anywhere on the weekends.

My children decided to tag-team me on the meltdowns. Although, for my daughter they are less meltdowns and more screaming matches. And due to these messy episodes, I had to miss an event I was looking forward to. Yay, single parenting!

Oh, and I even sent my husband an email to take the kids this weekend. Which he, of course, neglected to answer. I also demanded (yes, demanded) that before the kids go and see him again that I am allowed to meet the person he is living with currently. You can imagine how well that went over. So I’m thinking I might be doing this whole single parenting thing for a while. The kids have mentioned him less and less, so maybe their hurt is easing, but I now feel this need to find someone to fill this father role for them. Someone to take my son fishing (something he has always wanted to do, but my ex never found time for), someone to teach my daughter about guys (although that may not be necessary, more on that in a second). The ex choronicles continue to be predicatble and maddening.

My daughter announced she was bisexual and likes this girl from the 9th grade in our neighborhood. I don’t really care what her sexual orientation is, I just don’t want her thinking about it OR using the word ‘sexual’ for at least EIGHT MORE YEARS. She’s 11. True, I have tried to be open and honest about sex and all that, but I did NOT need to hear that. Upon more interrogation, I realized that no shenanigans have ensued. BUT STILL.

I have had a raging headache all week, and it isn’t going to get better any time soon.

This week can get off me now, I’m crying uncle.

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No, Thank You Martha

Last modified on 2010-11-12 21:06:50 GMT. 5 comments. Top.

(There is an update from BlogHer at the end of the post)

I don’t know how I ended up on Martha Stewart’s ‘list’. Maybe they googled “People who are the antithesis of Martha- effing- Stewart”. Cause that’s who I am. I mean, I want to cook the way Martha Stweart does, and then I realize that there are better things to do with my time (like rip my eyeballs out) and give up that brief and maddening thought. Nonetheless, I have been invited to another Martha ’shindig’.

What? You didn’t know that I have been to a previous Martha party? Well, I have- cause that’s how I roll. Actually, that’s how I fall- but I’ll explain that in a second. The reason I was invited to a Martha Stewart Omnimedia-queen of all Ltd party was because I attended BlogHer. One of the ways that the BlogHer women make money is to sell the lists of bloggers attending the conference. And sell it they do- to anyone. People get invites from everyone from Ralph Lauren to Martha Stewart to Nikon to no-name wine companies. The invites then become a popularity contest among participants- ’cause it’s high school, and also because the onsite parties are so ungodly lame. This is all said in retrospect. At the time I was flattered to be invited.

I dressed up, put on make-up, spent my last actual cash on a cab ride, and went down to the OmniMedia building studio. The first thing I did was fall, right as I was going in. I am sooooo graceful. Then I got to stand in line as employees herded us up to the ‘rooftop’ location for the shindig. Yep, herded. You were made to feel like an intrusion. Classy, right? We were then ushered through spacious hallways and office areas to our ‘party location’; which, of course, was the smallest area they could find. Then the fun REALLY began. Here are some other tidbits from that party:

• Small area, many, many, many bloggers. No room to mingle, talk, network, anything.
• Crappy food. Seriously, The. Worst.
• Crappy Products, with strange people talking about them. What am I? Your avon lady? I’m not selling your stuff. Why do I care what you are selling. Seriously.
• Really awful drinks. and weak. I would say thank God they were free, but I often look a gift horse in the mouth. This time I looked that horse in the mouth with a “You cannot be serious face.”
• Loud.
• That roof-top venue turned out to be a top floor warehouse office area. With windows. In August. Sun, glass, summer heat? Let’s just say it was a little warm.
• Did mention crowded? Did the sideways dance the entire time. You know the one, where you can only move sideways, while saying “Excuse me” “Pardon me” “Get the hell out of my way, please” and “If you block my way to the bar again, I’ll punch you.” Pretty standard for packed clubs, but this was supposed to be a cocktail party.

All in all, an awful party. Also the party had no focus? Why were they there? To see products that I can see in my local Target? I don’t put on make-up to look at Martha Stewart stuff at Target, people.

Even with all that mess, I still am somehow on her email ‘list’. This week Martha would like to invite me to preview some cabinets at an online get together.

No, thank you Martha. You throw the WORST parties.

---

UPDATE: I received this very nice email from Elisa, and I feel I must print it:

Hi Amy:

re: “One of the ways that the BlogHer women make money is to sell the lists of bloggers attending the conference. And sell it they do- to anyone.”

I can personally assure you that BlogHer does not provide the email list of attendees to anyone. Not sponsors or anyone else. We are strict (and unusual) in that regard. This is not to say that sponsors and their PR firms don’t do their own mining of all the people talking and tweeting about BlogHer and send emails all the time. They also use the email addresses from business cards people drop. Or from when people register for their events. If Martha used Eventbrite or pingg or one of those services, and you signed up: They equate that with the right to use your, according to basic CANSPAM guidelines.

But BlogHer, the company, does not provide these email addresses.

Please let me know if you have any questions, and I really appreciate the opportunity to clear that up!

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I’m boring

Last modified on 2010-11-30 16:52:04 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

Life is busy, and I’m easily distracted by bright shiny objects. Remember that dog from Up, who couldn’t complete a sentence with sensing a squirrel. That’s me, trying to write ANYTHING. And, of course, everything stops while I chase said squirrel.

(I just answered four tweets during the line break).

I have been trying to expand my writing by doing some ACTUAL writing. For respected publications and stuff. (Note: editors do not like it when you end a sentence with ‘and stuff’). I expected it to be a piece of cake. I mean you all come and read and I don’t hear any complaints from you. And not just because you know I would slap the taste out of your mouth if you actually tried to complain. Nope, it’s love. I can feeeeeeeell it.

(I just watched an episode of Burn Notice during that line break).

Turns out, I am not a good writer. Apparently there is a difference between writing a blog and writing for a publication. Even for the web portion of the publication. And on top of that, they have the NERVE to demand deadlines. I KNOW, who ARE these people, right? Don’t even get me started on the ‘you have to write in AP style’ crap. Nightmare, utter nightmare.

What am I doing wrong? I have no earthly idea. That’s not true, they are being super nice and trying to ‘develop’ my writing style. Mildly related: Develop has an alternate meaning- Putting up with your shit until you get it together.

Who knew I was such a bad writer? And so boring?

Stay tuned. Now to distract from my awful writing, here’s a picture of my kitten.

SQUIRREL!

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Go. Away.

Last modified on 2010-10-25 17:08:20 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

If you don’t know, I was at BlogWorld a couple of weeks ago (you may have missed my 1,000 other mentions). I stayed at the Social Media Club’s Clubhouse 4. Read my posts for them here, here and here, see my flickr stream here. You may think the house was a party house, and you’d be right. Not the frat party kind of party house, but the ‘let’s chill, find the hot tub, and talk about twitter’ kind of party house. We know we’re nerds, you can save it. Super nice people, both stayed at the house and came by to say hi. However, there IS always an exception the rule. And one night, I got to hear and see that exception.

Around one a.m. I knew I was done. It was time to go to bed. I wanted to make sure I was able to get up and go the next morning, so off I went to bed. One problem: my bedroom is right by the bar. Yeeeaaahhhh. People for the most part aren’t loud, but it was this conversation/ event that just made me think “Someone is going to get slapped.”

A couple of people come by the bar and I hear:

“Where’s the vodka?” This is said in one of those high pitched whiny voices that can only come from some vapid blonde.

“I think they’re out.” Jerk #1

Vapid Blonde: “But I want vodka!”

Vapid Blonde: “What’s in here?”

I know what’s coming next. Not familiar with the layout of the house, she has spotted the door to my bedroom and is going to ‘peek’ in. Because she has no manners. Also? The lock didn’t work. Sure enough, the door opens, I mutter “Someone is in here” she “Oops!” and closes the door. The best part comes next.

Vapid Blonde (in whisper so I won’t hear, but, of course, I do): “Someone’s in there.”

Jerk #1: “What, where, in there?”

Vapid Blonde: “Yes, don’t go in there!”

But, too late, he does. He just has to see for himself. He opens the door, looks in my dark room and quickly closes the door.

Vapid Blonde: “I CAN’T believe you did that.”

Jerk #1: “I have to see things for myself”

A huffy sigh indicates that she is NOT pleased. Whatever, lady.

Vapid Blonde: “I want some vodka.”

Jerk #2: “They’re out, have some Jim Beam. Have some of that.”

Vapid Blonde: “No, I don’t like it.”

And this conversation goes on for another 20 minutes about the lack of vodka, Jim Beam and its taste. I can hear that this guy is just trying to get her drunk enough to get her in bed. I wanted to tell him to quit trying so hard because I’m pretty sure that her standards are low enough that he doesn’t have to work too hard.

The whole time all I can think is “Go away, go away, go away.”

I finally dozed off to sleep and was up early enough the next morning to make it to the early keynote. I just can’t help but think- who DOES that? Who says, oh yeah, someone is in there, let me see.

Social media does attract some very douche-y people. I know, show me your shocked face.

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Guest Post: The Gambler

Last modified on 2010-10-19 01:02:36 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

My mom has the best stories of our family. I have begged her for a while to start writing them down, and now she is under the guise of  ’guest posting’. I know, how funny is that? Like anyone reads this blog. Anyway, here is one of her stories on her Dad, my grandpa. I’ll be back tomorrow with a Daily Rant and Daily Picture.

One of my favorite sayings that pops in my head is “you don’t know what you don’t know.” The same can be said of  life.  I just found out in the last few years about the man, the real man, that I called my father all of my life. He was called a lot of thing Calloway (his given name), Cal, grandpa, old man- but to his only daughter, to the day he died, he was always Daddy.

He was a hard working, multi-talented person (he could fix anything) who always thanked my mother for the meal she fixed, who loved his children unconditionally and was there for me whenever I needed him. Like the one time a kitten got in the garage and on my way to work at four in the morning I (gasp) ran over it!  Who came and cleaned it up?  My daddy.

The things I’ve learned about him in the last few years have been amazing.  Calloway was forced to stop his “formal” education at the age of ten, and stay home and help on the farm. Think about that.  The girls could go to school but the boys in the family could only go till the age of ten at the directive of their father.  They were needed at home or as they say in Hazard, Kentucky- “down on the farm”  I learned this from researching census records.

Daddy was raised in the hills of Kentucky, where coal is king. It was common then (and sadly, still somewhat common now) that once boys were old enough – about 14 or so- they were to go into the coal mines. Calloway decided he was going to follow a different path, a path that did not include dark pits, company stores, and black lung. He father walked out of those hills at the age of 14 and joined the army.  This was in the 1930′s.

Daddy once told me that he saw a moonshiner kill another moonshiner ‘down thar in them thar hills’.  I ask him what he did.  ”Nothing” he replied, “if I had done something, I would have been killed.”

My grandfather was married five times.  He outlived all of the wives except the last one.  My father was married once. It was a marriage to last a lifetime.

My older brother in recent years has told me stories about dad’s days after returning home from World War II.  Apparently, he made a LOT of money gambling when he was in the Army.  One of the stories I heard was that guys that were playing cards and losing would come and get him to sit in for them and win the money back.  Dad played on the US Navy ships; everyone knew what a card-shark he was but, of course, they all wanted to take him on.

The best story about Dad’s gambling happens after he came back from the war. My brother told me that when Calloway returned from the war (my brother had already been born and I was born in the mid-40′s)’; he continued his card playing, drinking ways.  He was so good that one night in our home town of Louisville, KY, someone pulled a knife on him.  Guess they weren’t happy about losing their money.  But that knife made an impression. That was the last time my father played cards (well, at least with drinking and gambling involved- he still played a mean game of pinochle at the Thanksgiving family gatherings).  Dad apparently said that he realized that he had a new baby girl at home and he had to take care of her.

And that’s how I came to be spoiled rotten.

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Guest Post: I’m Different than You

Last modified on 2010-10-14 18:51:46 GMT. 5 comments. Top.

My Mom is guest posting for me this week (yes, my mom. Why? cause she’s awesome) while I am at BlogWorld. Here is her post on the movement close to my heart “It’s OK to be gay”:

Let’s see, we have street gangs that shoot to kill other people.

Then we have churches and politicians vocally calling homosexuality an aberration of nature.  That gay people CAN change.  And through speeches and sermons and actions that is drummed into a child’s’ head from a very early age.

It is painful to realize that you’re different.  That you’ll never get your family’s acceptance if you tell them the truth.  And most gays know from a very early age, 10.11, 12 or earlier that they are different than what is being taught at home, on the playgrounds, in the churches and schools.

It is so much easier to some people to end the pain, the rejection, the ridicule.

As far as I’m concerned the churches and politicians are the biggest bullys of all.  They lead the pack.  They teach their minions that’s it’s okay to make fun of, beat to death (remember Matthew Shepherd?), hurt other people simply because the bullys perceive them to be gay.  When will decent people say enough?

Stop passing laws that says people are inferior and can’t live  the same as you (talking to you, military) because they are different than you.

It’s time for YOU to discuss this issue with your children.  Bullying and hating are not acceptable.  Because I’m different than you.

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My Intern

Last modified on 2012-07-08 23:25:56 GMT. 6 comments. Top.

I don’t know where she came from, really, I don’t. I meet a ton of people all the time, I can’t keep track of them all. It’s not uncommon for me to get an @ on twitter that says

Hey @amydpp great to meet you at xxxxx! Let’s talk soon!

Look, I don’t want to dampen their enthusium so I always say-

You too! Let’s def talk!

Which invariably is the end of the transaction. So when I got this tweet one day, I didn’t think anything of it:

Hey, I want to be your intern

I laughed, hard. All I could think is “Oh man, does she have me mixed up with someone one else.” I mean, I don’t own a company or anything. It’s not like I have some star she could hitch to, honestly. I tweeted something back non-committal and vague. She would come to her senses soon and realize this is a case of mistaken identiy, and, boy, would she be embarrassed.

But she didn’t. She REALLY wanted to be my intern. I felt so bad for her. I tried to nicely tell her that I wasn’t who she thought I was. I wasn’t some internet superstar, startup founder, or even social media maven. I’m just a blogger and social media junkie. But she didn’t GET IT. This was getting weird, y’all.

And that’s when it got good.

Clearly, she had too much time on her hands. So, I thought, what the hell? Let’s see how long before she catches on. About that time, I was approaching 1,000 followers. A milestone for me (Why, you ask? Because I almost never follow people first, they always follow me first. Reaching 1,000 meant I had attracted 1,000 people.) Anyhoo, this ‘intern’ was going to help me. And SHE DID! Here’s her tweet:

Good morning! Pls follow @amydpp  today so we can get her to 1000 followers & she’ll make me her intern! I promise she’s funny.

The winking emoticon at the end made me think she had finally cottoned on to my non-superstar status, but hey, I reached my 1,000. A win for me. Plus, I knew  this delusion couldn’t last forever. How wrong I was. When I was lamenting about money, she offered to dress to up in a Domo costume and sing karaoke for money. Cause that’s what interns do. I pretty sure she was joking about that one, but the offer was touching.

Well, now it was GAME ON. Want to be an intern? Fine. Know what interns do? They watch my dog while I’m gone. That’s what they do. And she did. Really. She rearranged her schedule and life so she could be home when I showed up with my lovable black lab. The first time we ever met, and I was rushed, sweaty, and emotional from dropping my kids off to their father for the first time. I dumped him, his cage, bed, dog food off and ran home to pack for two weeks of traveling. I was hoping against hope that this woman would love my Oreo like I do. And she did. She kept me updated on his antics, walked him, spoiled him, and even asked to keep him (jokingly, I’m sure).

Let’s imagine this for a moment. A woman who you’ve never met, drives up, gives you a sweaty hug, and gives you her dog. Can we say awkward?? I didn’t have time to care about its awkwardness. I was on A SCHEDULE, people.

Then came the time to pick up the dog. I picked up my kids at the same time, and my ex was being an ass. I was texting her to let her know what kind of situation she was walking into, and what did she do? Did she say “I’ll wait until he leaves.” or “We’ll just drop Oreo off and leave.” Nope, she offered to fart on him (my ex, not the dog). True story. Also? True love.

Sara and I are kind of opposites. She is that young, childless, hip professional that makes DC a place of incredible energy. I am stressed out single parent rapidly approaching 40. Also, she has a cross on her wall in her apartment. I was lucky my skin didn’t start burning when I saw that. Nonetheless, we will make it work.

So, I have an intern. And it just so happens that I actually NEED one now. With my business up and running and, this project and this project, and two more in the pipeline. I REALLY need someone to work for free an intern. She may have meant this as a joke,  or a fun tweet adventure, or even possibly a real case of mistaken identity. Too damn bad.  Consider yourself hired, Sara.

Now for your next task…how are you with babysitting?

Also? Thank you.

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2010 Social Pollen, LLC

Rain, rain go away

Last modified on 2010-10-02 03:31:25 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

I LOVE to do stuff. LOVE to be in the middle of things I am passionate about, but  sometimes I forget that I need to have some time to do REAL work (the stuff someone actually pays me for) or laundry or sleep.  There have been some nights when my computer is open and work awaits. But I am on the couch, unable to move. The wall has hit me.

Everyday has so many multiple phone calls, meetings, and tasks to accomplish that I don’t have time to stop for something. I REALLY don’t. And then it rains. Not metaphorically. No, it really rained here yesterday. I was totally expecting to see Noah floating down the highway yelling “Suck it BITCHES!!”. And, apparently, so was the school because they dismissed kids THREE HOURS EARLY. For rain, y’all, for RAIN.

Normally, no big deal because she has her key; but she couldn’t find it yesterday morning. I sent her off to school without it, assuring her I would be home when she got there at 2:30. But she didn’t get home then, did she? She got home at 12:25. And where was I at 12:25? In the middle of make-up application (yesterday I took photos for my blogger body calendar shoot). I was waiting for a phone call from her to say “Hey I’m out in the rain, come home.” But I never got it (I figured she found her key or was staying with a friend), so I just went on with my stuff. Then I got home, and there stood my children, on the front steps, soaking wet. Such a proud moment.

There I am in full hair and make-up (which I just want to scrub off, it’s so itchy) the photographer waiting for me, two wet kids on the front step, and I have to get in some sexy bustier/underwear combo and look great.

I need an intern, oh wait, I have one. I think I have one, she may be imaginary. But that’s another post.

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Hook-Ups and Break-Ups

Last modified on 2010-09-23 03:03:37 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

Every once in a while it’s time to evaluate your relationships in life. Fall is that time for me. Here is where I hook-up and break-up, create meaningful relationships while I let others go:

Break-Up: Dunkin’ Donuts. I love me some iced coffee, truly, but summer is over.
Hook-Up: Starbuck’s Pumpkin Spiced Latte. Not to sweet, not too earthy, just perfect.

Break-Up: Most new shows this season. Why, why do you they this drivel on TV?! Really.
Hook-Up: There are some exceptions: I am liking “The Event” and “Outsourced” looks great.
On life support: “House”- Hugh Laurie and I go way back. Back to the days when I lived in England and knew him as the half of Fry & Laurie. I have every Jeeves and Wooster on DVD, I admit it- I’m a fan. But the season opener? Crap. You got one, maybe two, more episodes until we are THROUGH.

Break-Up: Catholic Church- I think we can all guess why. I mean the new pope is creepy, and they have some serious issues.
Hook Up:- Sleeping in on Sundays. I mean I’m still Catholic, and both my kids have had their first communion, so I think I’m good for a while.

Break-Up: DVDs
Hook-Up: Streaming Videos. Seriously. I keep Netflix videos FOREVER. I never get around to watching them. I am giving this one up. Streaming is the way to go.

Break-Up: My Inbox. She is a cheating whore. She just lets anyone come on in and sit in my inbox, couple of smooth keywords and they bypass that spam filter an sit right there among REAL emails that I actually need to answer or at least read. OK, scan, I definitely scan them.
Hook-Up: An assistant who will tame my email. Including my work email, I am up to like 4 accounts. Yes, they all go to the same place, BUT STILL. So I need an assistant. Who will work for free.

And finally-

Break-Up: Summer. It was hot, it was long, and it sucked. I am not sorry to see it go.
Hook-Up: Fall. Enough Said.

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I am an AWESOME parent

Last modified on 2010-09-10 23:22:04 GMT. 7 comments. Top.

I am writing this post so you will be jealous. First let’s just say a given: It sucks to be me. Agreed? Awesome, let’s move on.

So here I am, new to this area, very few IRL friends, and tomorrow…TOMORROW I am supposed to be a very important event. WordCamp Mid-Atlantic. I snagged tickets 6 months ago, and the conference itself has been sold out for a while. But I have tickets. Except I can’t go. Cause I don’t have a sitter. No one that can take the kids to soccer or check in on them. When it comes down to choices: my burgenoing career as a WordPress Developer or my kids amateur soccer career- there’s no contest. Kids win every time.

But I am a hopeful person- so being the good parent I am I went about the finding the most qualified and safe person I could to watch my kids. On twitter. I mean I have 1,100+ followers. One of them wants to help me out, right? Wrong. Well, it sucks to be them, cause I am going to start tweeting Barry Mannilow lyrics. Suck on that TWITTER.

So tomorrow? Tomorrow I will be at soccer matches for the Killer Limes and the Ninjas. I am not bitter, at all, not even a little bit. Why am I not bitter? So unlike me, I know. Cause I don’t know if you noticed but I can be a little bit bitchy when things don’t go my way. It’s true. I keep it well hidden.

Nonetheless, no bitterness here. Because these are moments with my kids. Moments my ex declines to have. He doesn’t come up to see the kids, discarding that they have lives up here, instead hiding behind the matra “The kids can come down here ANY time to see me.” (He lives in Virginia.) Think he will come up here to see a soccer game? Take them out to a movie? Hell, even when HE is up here he doesn’t see them. The following is an actual conversation:

The Ex picks the kids up at camp at my request, it’s 3 hours round trip. It’s his last weekend in MD and he will in town until the following morning. The kids walk in with their stuff and head for the computers and I ask:

Me: You going to spend the time with the kids, take them to a movie or something (it’s only noon).

Him: I just spent 2 hours with them in the car, bought them McDonald’s, what more do you want?!

(Let me tell you the story of what my dad did once. I was living with my Mom 6 hours away in Illinois and wanted my cat to live with me. He drove 6 hours ONE WAY on a weekend to drop off the cat. When my cat didn’t get along with my sister’s cat and I started to freak out the only way a 12-year-old can, he drove up the NEXT weekend (again six hours ONE WAY) to pick up said cat and care for it. That cat was still with my dad two years later when I moved back in with him. He isn’t the awesome dad ever, and has some serious issues, but I have never forgotten that).

That was mid-August. He hasn’t seen them since. Talked to them once or twice.

I want to ease the kids ache, their sorrow at the disappearance of their father from their life, so I put aside an important conference and show up. I show up at the games, I cheer them on, make their snacks.

I am an AWESOME parent. Stressed out, broke, busy, overweight, tired, perpetually behind, but I am here.

However, if you still would like to babysit, and can drive- you just let me know.

Save the squirrel, but not the nuts

Last modified on 2010-09-06 18:16:37 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

A gunman walked into the Silver Spring HQ of Discovery and took hostages. This piece is about his manifesto, which is too good to pass up. Don’t take my satire and sarcasm to mean that I in ANYWAY believe that he was justified or even sane. For the mere act of pointing a gun at innocent people, and for terrorizing them he should be held down and let every person he affected kicked in the gonads and then spend some intense years in jail. I just want to say that. But since he’s dead, I think we can figure he got what he deserved.

The Discovery Channel and it’s affiliate channels MUST have daily television programs at prime time slots based on Daniel Quinn’s “My Ishmael” pages 207-212 where solutions to save the planet…A game show format contest would be in order. MAKE IT INTERESTING SO PEOPLE WATCH AND APPLY SOLUTIONS!!!!

Look, dude I’ve watched some of that TV TLC puts out on the air too. I get it makes you crazy, but, trust me, we don’t need another game show. And no amount of ammo you got is making me watch Kate plus 8.

All programs on Discovery Health-TLC must stop encouraging the birth….In those programs’ places, programs encouraging human sterilization and infertility must be pushed.

This seems a little extreme to most of you, but I get his point. I mean Heidi Montag is still fertile! What if she reproduces?! Clearly he didn’t mean the rest of us. My children are awesome.

All programs promoting War and the technology behind those must cease.

True dat. I can only watch Band of Brothers, three, four more times- tops.

Civilization must be exposed for the filth it is.

This guy is WORKING on it, watch his commercial. Give him some time to work his magic. Helllooo ladies.

Immigration: Programs must be developed to find solutions to stopping ALL immigration pollution and the anchor baby filth that follows that. Find solutions to stopping it.

The native americans have been saying this for YEARS. Holy hell, it’s about time all these white people got the hell outta here.

Find solutions for Global Warming, Automotive pollution, International Trade, factory pollution, and the whole blasted human economy.

Yeah, cause let’s move to a bear-based economy. Um….can someone tell me how that works? Do we pay each other in salmon?

Develop shows that will correct and dismantle the dangerous US world economy.

Develop shows that will dismantle the US economy? Are you not watching Jersey Shore?!

For every human born, ACRES of wildlife forests must be turned into farmland in order to feed that new addition over the course of 60 to 100 YEARS of that new human’s lifespan! THIS IS AT THE EXPENSE OF THE FOREST CREATURES!!!!

Anyone else get the feeling that this guy was REALLY upset that Bambi’s mother got shot?

NO MORE BABIES!

I think I speak for everyone when I say we are more than happy that you won’t be breeding.

Saving the environment and the remaning species diversity of the planet is now your mindset. Nothing is more important than saving them. The Lions, Tigers, Giraffes, Elephants, Froggies, Turtles, Apes, Raccoons, Beetles, Ants, Sharks, Bears, and, of course, the Squirrels.

Save the squirrels! Now THAT is a rallying cry.

The humans? The planet does not need humans.

Well, it doesn’t need certain KIND of humans. Maybe ones that walk into workplaces with guns?? Hmmmm?

These are the demands and sayings of Lee.

Fuck you, asshole.

Keep Calm and Carry On

Last modified on 2010-08-25 19:35:02 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

People, we have a government in CRISIS. It has come to my attention that a key cabinet position has gone unfulfilled. This position is of the utmost importance,  and the weightiest of roles- to keep vermin out of the halls of power. Fourtunately, for those of us in the United States we are not effected by the egregious oversight. But our neighbors accross the pond, are IN CRSIS and need us in their time of need. I am going to tell you how I am going to help them in a moment, but, first more about this important government seat of power.

Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office.

Yes, you read that right. You may think I am making this up, but I don’t make stuff up. On Tuesdays. This exalted position was first held by a cat named Treasury Bill. Unfortunate moniker aside, he did his job so well, that he was replaced by Peter. And Peter was replaced by…well, you can look at the list yourself.

Sybil, the last cat left 10 Downing Street in 2009, reportedly to live out his retirement in the lap of luxury. But, now….NOW? There’s no one! How does this country function each and every day? I get that whole British ‘stiff upper lip’ thing and all, but this goes beyond the pale. And it is a situation that MUST be rectified.

In case you didn’t know, the Prime Minister is off cooing over his new baby. What kind of man goes off to celebrate the addition of his houseold when he knows his country is on the brink. Listen, Mr. Brown, even now as we speak the  mice are planning and plotting. It could be ANY DAY NOW. I implore you to ACT NOW!

Rumor has it that the Queen is not pleased, but sources could not confirm that before press time.

My good readers, keep the UK and its shoddy, broken government in your thoughts. They need all the support they can get.

P.S. I have a killer cat that would be perfect for job, and she might even overlook your funny accents.

P.P.S. – I have outfitted a box for the cat with plenty of airholes (don’t need PETA after me, y’all) now, just tell where to send it to?

P.P.P.S- I’m a giver.

P.P.P.P.S.- Hurry up with the address, she’s biting through the box.

How much to Eat, Pray, and Love?

Last modified on 2010-08-16 23:17:37 GMT. 44 comments. Top.

I won’t be going to see the new Julia Robert’s movie Eat, Pray, Love. In fact, every time a trailer comes on for it on the TV, it’s all I can do not to run screaming from the house.

If you don’t know the story, the movie is based on a book which is based on a trip that overindulged white woman had to take to find herself. Read that sentence again, because I mean EVERY WORD.

I get it. A middle aged woman has lost her ‘gusto’ for life. She was going through a nasty divorce, and perhaps even lost her country home. Believe me, I know how traumatizing losing a country home can be. So she decides to…wait for it…take a year off. Wow, why didn’t I think of that?! Yes, she takes a year off and goes to Italy, India and Bali. She is going to how to learn how to eat, pray, and love. And then- THEN- she is going to come back to the US and write a book about it, so that we can all experience her self-indulged year-long temper tantrum. Seriously.

First, let’s be practical. This trip cost her well over $100,000. AT LEAST. That doesn’t include the lost wages and opportunities. Do you have that kind of money? Neither do I. And if I did, I wouldn’t waste it on a trip to commune with elephants for a year. My kids need to go to college, yo.

But never fear, she is going to get her money back. And then some. Who’s going to give it to her? All of us who fawn over her and soak up her bits of wisdom as if she is the second coming of Ghandi. We are going to buy her book (cha-ching), her perfume (cha-ching), buy her trip-inspired merchandise on HSN (CHA-CHING, BABY!). We will be the poorer, she the richer and will you have learned something profound from it all?

No.

I mean it, you won’t.

Let’s imagine for a moment that you could take this wonderful trip- that you could pause your home, career, kids (don’t forget this woman does not have kids. And she needs to get away from stress? That lady does not know stress.) and go to where ever you need to go to ‘find’ yourself.

A couple of things will become apparent:

1) Ms. Gilbert’s realizations will not be your realizations. Yours would be different. Therefore to read about hers are meaningless.

2) The world will move on without you. Your friends will go away, you job will go away, and all will be unforgiving about your need for discovery.

3) Your book will suck and no one will buy it.

4) You will not look like Julia Roberts or meet someone like Javier Bardem.

Save your money and your time. You don’t need to go to India or Bali or Italy to find your zest for life. You don’t need to buy the book, the perfume, the clothes to get in touch with your inner self. Trust me.

I wasn’t going to write this post

Last modified on 2010-08-09 22:10:58 GMT. 25 comments. Top.

Really…

I wasn’t.

It’s no secret that I hated BlogHer, that I left early, that I didn’t….fit in.

It’s true. I didn’t want to admit that, I didn’t want to be upset by it. I want to move on. But I can’t write anything until I write this post. Nothing else will come to mind.

So I vowed to change, to be more likable, to be less me. Smile more, chat more, pretend to be interested more.

And then I know if I do that, I would never write again. Not. A. Single. Word.

To realize that I was a NOT- not ‘part’ of the group, not invited when other bloggers I knew got together, not in the right place- cut me to the core.

Where does that leave me? The same place I have always been. On the outside looking in, on the periphery.

There are people that I finally got to meet in NY that I loved, and will go out of my way to meet again. Others I had been dying to meet, but a few seconds with them was more than I needed to realize that they were not for me.

I couldn’t find my mojo, my verve, my awesomeness.

This is the part where I vow never to set foot in BlogHer again. Except I can’t. Cause I might.

I’m hardcore like that.

A Shipwreck

Last modified on 2010-08-07 14:49:23 GMT. 16 comments. Top.

I laugh when people say “I was overwhelmed, too.” Not at their kindness, for that is what it is. And I am grateful that they extend it to me. But I laugh nonetheless.

These people forget what I do for a living.

I work for people who are mentioned on the news, a company with billions in revenue. When I walk into rooms, and the company that I work for is printed on my name tag- people come to me.

I am not overwhelmed, nothing about this experience can overwhelm me more than the work I do on a daily basis.

But I am in distress nonetheless. A distress and sadness that is pushed down and put into nice little boxes and set on a shelf. Until the shelf is full, and I have no more boxes.

The waves of sadness come in, and threaten to overwhelm. One wave after another…

I am divorced.

I am single.

I am broke.

I am busy.

There are too many emails to return, calls to make, appointments to keep.

To go under is inevitable for women in my family. We always do. Sometimes for moments, sometime for years, sometimes more.

We are shipwrecked and marooned on our island with only our depression to keep us company. Until we tire of the sadness, the loneliness, the emptiness.

Then we wade into the water and head for shore. We take a piece of depression with us, but we are grateful for those who who extend their hand to help pull us up.

The new friends.

The old friends.

Family.

We know that we will be overwhelmed and sad again, and we get out our boxes and start to fill them up. Until we end up on the island again.

But I have hope. Because even though every woman in my family knows depression inside and out, even though we have sat on that island and contemplated the depths of our despair. We always swim back.

We always come back,

Always.

It a SEKKRIT!

Last modified on 2010-08-02 03:44:17 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

I can be a clicking fool…I click on links and end up on some site that has NO resemblance of my initial click. Often, these clicking sprees end up on forums or message boards. I say it ends here, because once I read a couple of messages from society’s best and brightest, I have to turn off the computer for fear of scarring my mind FOREVER.

Here is some gem that I simply couldn’t pass up:

This works in ANY WAL-MART IN THE UNITED STATES or ASDA in the U.K…. .The SECRET CODE that most wifes look for looking for action is A MAN WEARING A RED BALL-CAP or A RED RAG or SCARF IN BACK POCKET. Most wifes are on the PROWL between 9 am and 11 am when kids in school and hubby at work or after 8PM when kids in bed. Hang around the toilet, womens department or Dressing rooms…. do NOT go into the change rooms unless INVITED by a wife,this occurs often….The RED COLOR signals you are READY ,WILLING AND ABLE.Just a nod and a wink and your ready to hook up! Do it every day for a week and YOU WILL GET LUCKY! WORKS in ALL WAL-MARTS.MOST lonely wifes around the U.S. and U.K know the red ball-cap signal or red scarf secret signal.

Wowsa…All this time I DIDN’T KNOW! But, dammit, now I’m all single and stuff. IF ONLY I’D KNOWN!!!

So let me get this straight, they will give you a secret signal, (and, of course, you must pay careful attention), then the wives will remove all their clothing and fling themselves at you? Naturally, this is a special secret signal, and you must watch for it very carefully.

Wal-Mart will never be the same for me.

But really.

There is SO MUCH wrong with this. First of all, an ASDA? ASDA’s are tiny. You can’t get anything done there. On the prowl, seriously? When my kids aren’t around, I’m not ON THE PROWL. Check that, I AM on the prowl- for a Cosmo and a pedicure. And let’s just say that I was hard up- why would I do it in a toilet?  The imagery alone makes me want to take a vow of chastity.

A nod and a wink? Woo, THAT’S original. Also? The warning NOT TO GO into the dressing room unless invited? I say try it. See where it gets you. I mean you’re ALREADY trolling for sex at the Wal-Mart. Life isn’t going much lower for you. Why not tack on an arrest?

But the real question that I want to know is, if a man wears a read ball cap and there is not Wal-Mart (or ASDA) around- does the ‘lonely’ wife feel a desire? A desire to shop for polyester shirts?

What if…?

Last modified on 2010-07-27 02:40:50 GMT. 6 comments. Top.

I hate the “What if…?” game, but I can’t help playing it. Especially this week. On Wednesday, for the first time since the divorce, I will hand over my children to my ex-husband. They will stay with him for a week and a half. I need this break desperately, they need time with their dad, plus I am traveling. But that hand over will cause me to have a full scale meltdown.

What if they like being with him better?

What if he says bad things about me (he won’t, he’s a good person, but the What if game isn’t about logic)?

What if they don’t want to come back?

How would I live without my children?

What if he’s a better parent?

What if they think that the person he’s living with is better mom?

What if she’s a better cook (not a stretch considering I hate to cook)?

What if….?

What if…?

Dear God, this is going be hard.

Meet My New Blog Mascot

Last modified on 2010-07-24 02:01:03 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

In honor of ComicCon I think it’s time to honor the superhero in my life: Captain Obvious. He is the man that makes sure he says annoying things about stuff we already know, spouts wisdom on topics which we are already well versed, lets no cliche go unsaid, and, in general, just points out the the things right in front of our face. His talents are boundless.

Captain Obvious is everywhere. Take for instance this baking heat. One of the apps that I have on my Android is Weather Bug. Weather Bug has sent me so many heat advisory alerts that I feel that Captain Obvious must be working overtime. I KNOW IT’S HOT. Stop telling me it’s hot. I KNNOOOWWW. You do not need to tell me to stay inside and avoid staying outside too long. I KNNNOOWWWW. And if I didn’t know, the fact that my car tires are in danger of melting would TELL ME.

The ones who really need all the awesomeness that is Captain Obvious are the DUMBASSES that go out an run in this heat. He should swoop down in a cape (yes, of  course, the cape is a superhero cliche…he’s Captain Obvious! DUH!) and inform said stupid jogger that it is INDEED hot and he should not be running. And that he looks stupid jogging in lycra in 100 degree weather. Both OBVIOUS to everyone else.

One of Captain Obvious’ alter ego is the mild mannered office worker. A cubicle dweller who stops by your office/cubicle to carry out his superhero duties even in disguise. Here are few instances of Captain Obvious at work:

Me (busy, with 20 internet tabs open, email, IM)

Captain Obvious (CO): Hey, you look busy.

(Really, Captain Obvious, REALLY?! No, this is just an act. I got up early, came to this place, and set up all this sham ‘work’ JUST TO FOOL YOU).

Another gem:

(To understand this one you have to know that I rarely turn on the light in the coffee room. There is more than enough light coming in from the hallway and from the light over the sink.)

CO: It’s dark in here. (Flips on light.)

(Really, CO, REALLY? You HAVE to waste the energy of those 10 florescent lights to make ONE cup of coffee. What are you? BLIND?!)

So Captain Obvious, this post is for you. And since I have had so much fun writing about you, I think you will be a regular guest here on my blog. In fact, I’ll draw a picture of you and make you my little mascot.

Hey y’all Amy has a new mascot for her blog- CAPTAIN OBVIOUS! OK, I need ideas on what he should look like, c’mon you got to come through for me. I know you can do it.

But I leave you with Captain Obvious’ best line ever, heard just today at a restaurant:

“Do you want to start off with a drink?”

What clued you in? The funnel I brought in?!

Summer of Suck

Last modified on 2010-07-18 22:33:45 GMT. 11 comments. Top.

This summer was going to be AWESOME! It was going to RULE! I had everything in place months beforehand. Even with the divorce in April, I still felt I had it TOGETHER. My mom had rented a house out west for us three kids and we were all going to get together for the first time in AT LEAST 12 years. BlogHer in August. I had even found a babysitter for the kids, which is usually the hardest part of the having the kids out of the school. I. WAS. SET.

MY. LIFE. IS. SHIT.

First, my ex screwed me over on the bills. So when I was moving I had to pay two fulls months of bills for TWO places. His thought was “I haven’t lived there in two weeks, I shouldn’t have to pay.” It put me behind in the worst time, right when I was trying to get stuff on track. Maybe ‘screwed me over’ isn’t the right word, our divorce has been nothing if not civil. Perhaps, unhelpful is a better word. It was a small bump in the road, a small bump that was magnified by all of the other financial duties of divorce. (And, in case you can’t tell, I am TERRIBLE with financial stuff, awful, terrible, just crap.)

Next, my daughter was in a swimming class that went terribly wrong. I have been debating for a while whether or not to write about it. And in case I decide to, I will let you know that it will be post filled with lots of four letter words and hate. Essentailly one of the coaches was AN ASS to my daughter. I still smolder over that.

Then I lost the babysitter. She had a very close friend die, and there were no hard feelings when she said she could no longer babysit. But what we didn’t know was that she had mono, and because my daughter STILL picks up random cups and drinks out of them, she now has mono. She sleeps 12-16 hours a day. It’s freaking AWFUL.

Next, I had to give up on the idea of going out west to see my mom and siblings. No money.

I may have to give up my idea of going to BlogHer. Same reason.

I am having trouble getting my company off the ground, because, you guessed it, same reason.

There have been some bright spots- my trip to The Daily Show, a momzshare event coming up, a successful event for the Baltimore Social Media Club.

But, for all intents and purposes, I am calling this season THE SUMMER OF SUCK.

My Friend Ezra

Last modified on 2010-07-11 02:18:58 GMT. 3 comments. Top.

Hello
My name is Ezra i saw your profile today at(xxxxx.me)and became interested in you,i will also like to know you the more,and i want you to send an email to my email address so i can give you my picture for you to know whom i am.

Here is my email address(xxxxx@yahoo.com)

I believe we can move from here!

I am waiting for your mail to my email address above.

(Remember the distance or colour does not matter but love matters a lot in life). NB!! please mail me in my private box not in the site ok
(xxxxx@yahoo.com)
———————————————————————————————————————
Dearest Ezra-

Thanks so much for contacting me. I considered contacting you, because as you state distance and color doesn’t matter, but then I realized that you spelled color with a u like some pretentious British prick, and knew that things would not work out for us. But I really hope that you do find love, since you seem so agreeable, and, let’s be honest here, have such low standards. In the interest of friendship, I would like to help you out.  You see, it occurs to me that you have made some critical mistakes in this letter, ones that should not be repeated, and, now that we’re friends, I’m going to help you out.

First you neglect to capatialize your i’s in the first sentence. This is obviously a sign that you have low self esteem issues. Don’t be so down on yourself, Ezra! You are obviously outgoing, since you sent this note without so much as a ‘are you single’. Use that to your advantage.

Next, you move right to the “asking for an email” mistake. Oh no! You need to compliment my looks first. I know I don’t have a picture on the site, but don’t let that stop you. Go ahead and tell me I’m beautiful. I will confirm this when I send the picture that you ask for, in fact, here’s one now.

The Life of A Shut-In

Last modified on 2010-07-09 02:52:04 GMT. 9 comments. Top.

I don’t know if you’ve heard but it’s summer. And it’s hot, so hot, in fact, that when people break out the lame heat cliches I cannot even muster the energy to slap them. I think we all lose in that situation.

Going outside takes more energy than I seem to have these days. And the CAR. Screw the environment, I’m leaving that shit running ALL THE DAMN TIME, just in case I have to go somewhere.

I should be out doing things. I mean it’s summer, I should be out taking walks with my dog, frolicking in a field of wildflowers, boating, you know all the stuff I NEVER do, and never want to do. Ever. So I stay inside, all the time. This is bad for a couple of reasons. One, we need food. Otherwise, we will be having celery sandwiches with a side of mustard for dinner tomorrow. (The upside of that? Don’t have to turn on the stove. Booyah!)

Another reason? I’m going to need to mow the lawn soon. Otherwise, the HOA will come looking for me, and you know how I feel about THOSE PEOPLE. (On another note: Today, I had to go outside to take out some trash. Among the few blades that have survived the heat wave and no rain, I found a dead mouse and rabbit leg. Proof that my cat’s killing spree continues.)

But last night, I DID have to go out. For a party, and parties mean dressing up and dressing up means spanx, and bustiers, and make-up. All the things that make being hot all the more miserable.

So today, I did not go out at all. Think meals on wheels will deliver?

The Last Airbender

Last modified on 2010-07-03 00:46:06 GMT. 3 comments. Top.

If you follow me on twitter or facebook, then you know I have been in a perpetual state of anticipation for a movie that came out this week. The Last Airbender. I was SO excited it was going to be my next entry in The Bucket of Awesome. But then, the reviews came out. And ouch. It looked bad, really bad. And suddenly I was scared. I didn’t WANT to see it, I didn’t want to ruin a story that had become one of my favorites. But my kids have reached that age where they KNOW things, and they knew that the movie had been released and I had promised to take them to see it. I had to stick by my promise. So I took a deep breath, pushed all those reviews aside, and went to see it. (In 2D, I am SO over 3D, and this is not a 3D movie, take my advice, SKIP the 3D.)

And?

I liked it. I ALMOST loved it, but I definitely liked it. Here’s why.

First, the story. The movie is based on a fictional earth…wait, excuse me a minute (Mr. Ebert, could you come here a sec? Yeah, just need to tell you something. So you know that review you did of the The Last Airbender? The one where you were all It’s really bad? Remember that? Good. Here’s the thing- next time you review a movie MAKE SURE YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S ABOUT. This isn’t based in some ‘future’ time, after some apocalypse. Holy cow! How did you EVEN come up with that shit? It’s a fantasy world, like, say Tatooine or Middle Earth. Duuude, retire. Retire now.)

Ok, back to the movie. Ficitonal earth. In this earth some people can bend elements, but only one, the Avatar, can master all four. After he dies he is reincarnated, so Avatars have been around forever. At the start of the movie, Katara and Sakka find Aang who has been frozen in ice for over hundred years, and who is now The Last Airbender, and also, the Avatar.

You can’t talk about this movie without talking about the elephant in the room. The white actors. M. Night Shyamalan is now universally reviled for being racist for casting white actors in roles, that (some say) are clearly Asian in the cartoon series. I say, it was a gamble. It didn’t pay off, but in this fictional earth as in the real earth there are many races, and he tried to portray those. The worst cast, by far, is Katara, But the others work, and Dev Patel does a good job as Prince Zuko, and will bring the depth the character needs in later chapters. Some say the Aang is the worst, and I can see why. His delivery of lines is cringe worthy. But he gets a pass. Why? He does the avatar part well, and he’ll get better. (Anyone watched the first Harry Potter movie again, lately. Dude, Radcliffe is embarrassing.)

But how did Shyamalan treat the material? For the fans, this is the most important questions. And the answer is, in some cases, very well, in others, he did the best he could. Here is what I miss: Aang is a child, we miss that playfulness of him as you rush through the scenes, and Sakka is Mr. Sarcasm- and the comic relief. That needs to come back next time. Seriously. And a warning: I see that you are playing with idea of Zuko and Katara being together. DO. NOT. DO. IT. You have been warned.

Should you go see it? If you liked the series, and can get past the fact that it won’t look like a cartoon¹, then yes. Some moments are to die for (all within the last half hour, sadly). And you will like the changes the director has made. If you have never seen the cartoon, then maybe read up about it on a wiki, and go see it, I give you a 50/50 chance at liking it.

And Aapa and MoMo are cute.

There are three books in the series: Water, Earth, and Fire. And, hopefully, three movies. So please hire a writer, next time. This is mandatory. And build on what you did here, Mr. Shyalaman. It wasn’t your best work, but neither did you ‘ruin’ the franchise. It does needs some improvement. But not Iroh, Iroh is perfect. Just needs to drink more tea next time.

What you need to know

Last modified on 2012-03-07 23:56:56 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

A couple of months ago, I was surfing twitter profiles (I do that sometimes, when people do follow Fridays or having conversations with people I don’t know. I like to see who it is and if I want to follow them.) I came across a profile with a bio that stopped me in my tracks. Here is what it said: “My reputation is impeccable, you do not fuck with me.”  ((yes, I know it’s a line from Jay-Z’s song ‘Success’, but I didn’t know that when I first saw it)) I rolled my eyes and thought- Classy.

But I couldn’t get it out of my head. And the other day I figured out why- THAT is the impression I try to give people. Before you roll your eyes and think “Classy”, stick with me for a second.

I’m going to assume you have never met me before. This is how it is going to go down. For the most part we will meet in a group, we will shake hands, make small talk for a second or two. I’ll answer in small short sentence to discourage follow-up questions and real conversation, cause I want to get to the next stage quickly. Observation.

I love to observe. What does your accent, dictation, and vocabulary tell me about your upbringing and education level? How quickly do you move to controversial topics like religion or politics? (If you do it during a first meeting, even if I am with someone you know, it’s a sign you’re a blowhard). What do you talk about? I will forget your name (don’t take it personally, my brain has some damn malfunction in that area) but I won’t forget where you’re from, how many children you have, that one of them takes ballet and that you wear a pair of shoes I covet. Next, how do you treat the people around you? Wait staff, friends, significant other.

Sometime, in the conversation, you’ll turn to me and say “you’re quiet.” No, no I’m not. I’m just gathering information. I’ll engage with you on any subject if you so choose, but, more often than not, I will wait until I know you better to let my true personality come out.

What is my true personality? I am caring, but will not allow self pity; I am giving, but don’t read minds, tell me what you need; I am respectful and polite, but direct; I am vivacious and loud; but hopefully share the spotlight with everyone around me; I love to talk, but enjoy quiet just as much; I don’t sugarcoat the truth; I will argue with you, and love you for not being afraid to argue with friends; I will cross the line, and then I will apologize- repeatedly; in anger, I am mean, foul-mouthed, and emotional, but I get over it; and should we not get along I can be vicious, but more often than not, I will simply walk away.

I decided a long time ago that life was too short to be scared of it.

My reputation is impeccable, you do not fuck with me.

It’s always the quiet one…..

Daily Show, baby

Last modified on 2011-05-05 15:41:30 GMT. 15 comments. Top.

Nic from My Bottle’s Up , Mary from Pajamas and Coffee , and I went to New York yesterday to see the Daily Show. We met up with Jason from Outnumbered who works in NYC. To say we had fun would be a woefully inadequate description. People, it was a BLAST. We are all going to post about it, but I am going to take just one part, the best part, mainly cause I’m in it.²

(Nic’s post is here, and Mary’s post is here.)

(To understand this story you have to know that the only person Mary wants have babies with MORE than Bob (her husband) or Matt Lauer is Jon Stewart. Perfectly reasonable. So she tried to arrange for an interview with Jon as part of her role as writer for Suite101. There was a moment there we thought it was going to happen, but he has decided not to do interviews until he starts press for his new book- titled Earth (available on Amazon September 21) )

We have waited in line for 2 hours, gotten to our seats, sat through the warm-up stand-up comedian guy, and Jon is on stage and taking questions. Of course, the FIRST question he take is from size 2, blond hair Scandinavian beauty. I might be a little resentful, but I’ll never tell. But while he is answering her question, he is scanning the crowd for the next question. OF COURSE, my hand is up, we briefly make eye contact, and I know he is going to call on me. I’m all SWEET! Then it dawns on me that I need something to actually ASK. I put something together in my head, and what follows is my conversation with Jon Stewart, a magical 20 seconds, I shall never ever forget.

Me (standing up): Hi, I’m Amy (I don’t know why I told him my name like we are in some support group or shit, but whatever).

Jon: Hi Amy (He says this with a look of “why did this girl just tell me her name? weeeirdoooo”)

Me: I’m here with four other bloggers and we are going to write about our experience at the Daily Show. What would you like us to write about?

Jon: How about how short I am? (he really is y’all)

Me: No, we already got that. Anything else?

Jon: You mean something like: (he lowers his voice) “ The lights dimmed, he appeared out of the shadows, with his bulging biceps….” Something like that?

Me: Sure (witty response there, Amy)

Jon: Do you find it exhausting to post every day?

(I’m not prepared for any questions! Who does he think he is?! I decide I am NOT going down alone, and a plan is hatched.)

Me: Well, not really, I mean, I only post a couple of times a week, but Mary, our most popular blogger among us³, posts EVERY DAY.

(Jon turns his attention to Mary, who won’t even stand up, but that’s OK, because my plan HAS WORKED!)

Jon: Oh yeah? Mary, what do you write about?

Mary: How hot you are (I cannot make this shit up).

Jon: Ohhhh (he turns around lifts up the tail of his coat to better show his ass to his adoring fan) So that’s very interesting (he says some other things that are lost in audience laughter but his ass is still clearly on display, pants though it is.)

At this point he moves on⁴, and Mary turns to us, with a huge smile on her face and says:

“He talked to me through his ASS!”⁵

Dad’s Day!

Last modified on 2010-06-20 23:31:11 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

Yep, it’s Dad’s day and if you read this blog, you know I mention my mom quit a bit and my dad only a little bit. This isn’t a slight, it’s more of a courtesy. My dad doesn’t read my blog (and I am so totally OK with that, really. Cause I can just hear him now…“do you really have to use the f word”- right after he has a five minute tirade against liberals that include swear words I don’t even know yet) so I don’t feel right writing about him. But in honor of Father’s Day, I would like to list the things I learned from my Dad:

1- Never stop working- This guy never stopped working. When his 18 year career at the railroad ended due to an injury, he worked as a truck driver, and when his back hurt from doing that (from the aforementioned injury), he went back to school to sharpen his machinists skills. He finally retired from a machinist shop in Louisville earlier this year, but to be honest, I never thought he would retire. I learned this lesson well.

2- Be quiet until you can’t anymore- My dad’s pretty easy going, but he has a temper, and even at 37, I don’t mess around with that.

3- If you start something, go down swinging- If you start it, finish it- you may not win, but make sure the other guy looks just as bad.

4- Kids don’t live here after the age of 18- Honestly. I think I was 12 or 13 when I first heard the words “When you’re 18, you’re gone.” He said it in a joking manner, but over the intervening years, I knew, at 18 I would be responsible for myself. And I have been. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t gone back home, I moved back in with him twice in my twenties, but I KNEW beyond any shadow of a doubt, that it would be temporary. He never said that, but it was understood. I have started the same cycle with my children, recently breaking out the “When you’re 18….”

5- If its over, walk away- My dad has been married 5 times (Count ‘em- F-I-V-E). Something to be said for when it’s over, it’s over.

6- Be nice to your mom- When I lived with my dad, we would make the 1/2 hour trek from our home to his mom’s home to see her. We did this 2-4 times a week. We would take her out to eat (she wasn’t a very good cook, and neither was he). He was always there for her (his dad died of prostrate cancer when my dad was 15) and took her death hard. Is it any wonder that I’m a fan of my own mother?

7- Being an asshole gets you your way- Look not everything I learned from him is fit for a Hallmark moment.

8- No need to talk about it, just be mad until you aren’t and get along til you can’t- Wait, that’s for the list of things that piss me off about my dad.

So for all that, I guess I can forgive him for the things I inherited from him that I DON’T like. For instance, gritting my teeth (it’s horrible, I have woken myself up from the noise and grinding), addiction to news (well, I get this from BOTH sides, so screw you both on that one), the ability to argue loudly (CAUSE SHOUTING GETS YOUR POINT ACROSS, DOESN’T IT? I SAID DOESN’T IT?), and there is no other Hollywood star beside Clint Eastwood.

What about you?

Can I scrub my brain memories now?

Last modified on 2010-06-14 00:47:28 GMT. 12 comments. Top.

This is a story about how puberty just comes up to you and goes BAM right in your face. So if that makes you feel icky, well…good- cause this whole MEMORY feels icky for me.

It all starts out innocently enough, my daughter was on the front steps with a friend and they are snickering over a book called “What is happening to my body?” Now, if you are not familiar with this classic, it is the de rigeur in puberty books. I was watching my son ride his bike, so I casually looked over to see what they were reading, read the cover, said ‘meh’ and went back to watching my son. I hear my daughter whisper to her friend, “See, I told you she wouldn’t care!”

She’s not saying this because she actually thinks I DON’T care, but because she knows (I hope) that I am all for frank and open discussion.

Being the true daughter o’mine that is (which means she now feels she has to one up her friend), she goes skipping off to our house to get the book I bought her. “It’s Perfectly Natural” brings open and honest to new level. And she wants to show her friend. Fine.

But then, after shower, she comes down to ask me some pretty innocuous puberty questions, and I think to myself, this is a GOOD time to get in one of those good parenting lines. (Cause I really need those extra parenting points y’all). So I go “Don’t let boys pressure you into sex or anything, even oral sex.”

And she’s all “What’s oral sex?”

WHAT?!?! I spent money on a perfectly good book that was supposed to explain this to you? Did you SKIP that chapter?!

I stutter. Sigh. Hem and haw, desperately try to buy time. I even try the “That’s not important right now…what I’m trying to tell you…”

Nope, she would not be diverted.

So I take a big deep breath, and as succintly as possible, say, “It’s when a woman takes a man’s penis in her mouth and sucks until he ejactulates.”

And then I pray, pray that this is the end of the conversation.

She thinks it over for a second and looks at me and says- “What’s ejaculates?”

I WANT MY GODDMAN MONEY BACK AMAZON!

Mea Culpa

Last modified on 2010-05-31 02:19:52 GMT. 15 comments. Top.

Man, sometimes you think you know a blog. You got all the plug-ins working, and you are rolling along, until BAM! shit falls apart. Welcome to my day.

I try to respond to every comment, in fact, I don’t know one comment that I haven’t responded to. At first I used to do this once or twice a week, and then I realized that was too long, and then I tried to do it within 48 hours of a comment. And I was getting good at it, too.

A couple of months ago, I switched to a comment plug-in called Disqus, and for the most part I cannot recommend it enough. Except I made a mistake. When I was replying to comments, I wasn’t doing it within the Disqus interface. So they didn’t show up, so NOW people think I’m too good to comment to them. Which makes a bitch. No wait, I think that happened some time ago. OK, it makes me a snob, or at least SEEM like a snob. Which I’m not. I promise.

Sooo to Alison, Elly, Jennifer, Brahm, Holly, GuiltySquid, Nic, Life Without Pink, Sena, Jen Breedlove, Mara, Elle, Sunday, Stefanie, Bumby, Jennifer (at the Blue Barn), Megan, the prez, Mary from Tuscan Home, and ESPECIALLY Marymac- I’m REALLY sorry. I wasn’t ignoring you, and from now own, I think I got this blogging thing down.

Not a Shoplifter

Last modified on 2010-05-29 22:11:40 GMT. 5 comments. Top.

To all my girls out there: watch what size purse you buy.

Here’s what happened to me. I bought a purse yesterday at Ross. A really big white one. It may classify as luggage in some states, I’ll check into that. And I love it. I can fit EVERYTHING in there, and a bottle of wine- cause I’m all about the important stuff.

Now today I’m off to PetSmart to get one of those no shed combs for the pets. Those things aren’t cheap. In fact, they start at about 30 bucks. In an aisle full of products promising to get the same results for about 20 bucks less, it’s hard to reach for one of those bad boys. But I have been through many a pet comb, and I know that this one is the only one that will get ALL that undercoat off. I pick one up (yep, you guessed it, the cheap of the expensive brand- so, again, around 30 bucks) and head towards the front. But as I walk up to the front, one of the end caps  has a display of “As Seen On TV” stuff. And you know it’s good because THEY PUT IT ON FUCKING TV y’all. And there was this two pack of pet hairbrushes for about 10 bucks cheaper than what I was getting ready to spend. I must have spent 5-10 minutes there debating which one to get. I decide to go with the expensive one, again, it comes highly recommended and I know it works. I head to the checkout counter.

While I am in my contemplative state, out of the corner of my eye I notice a bug burly manager take up position by the front door. And he’s looking at me. I think, Hey- I’m still single, lemme give him a smile. But he’s not smiling. I can only assume he’s gay. Anyhoo, I go to the furthest checkout, no one is there, and put my stuff on the belt. This guy comes over to the the belt to make sure I have put all TWO of my items on the belt. Like I’m some damn shoplifter. So I do what I know best, act oblivious. But inside, I am all WHAT THE HELL, DUDE?

I paid for my things and left. I know why he thought I was shoplifting, it was my big purse. I am OFFENDED. Did he not see that my purse was stylish, in a completely non-threatening way.  Now I would totally call up the management and complain, but I lost my phone. In my purse.

Shut up.

Pac-Man Forever

Last modified on 2010-05-25 00:28:17 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

Recently, Google placed a playable Pac-Man on its homepage to celebrate the 30th anniversary of Pac-Man. Everyone was all atwitter about it. Me, I was all ‘meh’. Do you know how many hours of Pac-Man I have played and watched being played. So damn many.

When I was about 11 or 12 I moved to north central Illinois to live with my mom and new step-dad. In a VERY small town called Metamora. (Now, I know that I say I am from Louisville, but I actually lived most of the time in a small town on the Indiana side of Kentucky called Georgetown. So when I say that this town in Illinois made Georgetown look like a metropolis, you can be assured that I have not resorted to hyperbole.) Metamora’s one claim to fame is that Lincoln once practiced law there. They even had a historic courthouse that was preserved from that era and everything. That’s it y’all. And don’t let the fact that it is in the top half of Illinois fool you, in the summer it was hot. Corn, pavement, and that damn historic court house was all that I had to look forward in the summer. So I spent a lot of time watching MTV and at the ice cream parlor. Watching my mom play Ms. Pac Man.

You don’t how much I wish I was kidding.

She played for hours upon hours, she was obsessed. I got an ice cream out of it, but I didn’t even bother asking to play Ms. Pac Man. And it was one of those cool table ones too! I think there was another video game there, but I only remember the Mrs. Pac Man. When I brought this up recently, my mother mentioned that she held the high score on that machine for a while. The geek in me was so damn proud.

So go ahead and play your Google Pac-Man, I think I’ve had enough.

Once again…totally unprepared

Last modified on 2010-05-19 16:19:16 GMT. 3 comments. Top.

I spend my entire life unprepared. Unprepared for the next day, unprepared to write my next post, unprepared to give a damn. You name it, I am winging it.  Hey, it keeps everyone on their toes. This is a totally normal conversation for me:

“What?! We have a meeting today? WHY DIDN”T YOU TELL ME?”

“You did? When?”

“That long ago…huh.”

“Oh look, here it is on my calendar.”

“Of course I’m prepared, I am INSULTED and HURT that you would think otherwise.”

And then my co-worker decides that she needs a drink, and I assure that her that, yes, there is a bar open at 10:30 a.m.

But today was even worse than usual. I have this BIG project going on, something that started off small and then just blew up.  And a big name blogger was supposed to come by my blog to have a look at the project info. UNPREPARED!!!

I hadn’t blogged in days, at least not here. I have actually pushed out seven posts since this weekend, but all for other projects. I was having serious writer’s block for my baby. I GOT NOTHIN’ y’all.

So in its place I put this disclaimer: THIS IS TOTALLY A MCGYVER POST PULLED OUT OF MY ASS TO PROVE THAT I DO BLOG…..sometimes.

I swear this is true!

Last modified on 2010-05-10 01:04:49 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

Do you know how I gauge how odd a person’s life is? By how many times they have to avow it truthiness during its telling. On this scale, my life is off the odd Richter scale.

And here is an example. I have a deathly fear of spiders. Why? And no, it’s not just because I’m A GIRL! When I was 5 or 6 I was wearing this blue dress (I don’t remember why, my mom wasn’t the put-my-girls-in-dresses type). A spider crawled up my leg and bit me. And don’t give me that “It’s more scared of you then you are of it” crap. Don’t tell me that spider doesn’t look around at all us bipedals, and think- I have EIGHT LEGS, I TOTALLY RULE! Now, let me crawl a little towards you and see how fast those two legs move. You know how people emmigrate ‘casue they want jobs and freedom and trivial stuff like that? Screw that- if I was born in the middle east I would leave just because of the camel sweats. (SEE?! I’m too chicken to even Google it for you so I can show how nasty these little arachnids are). Anyhoo, I have a point and here it is.

Are you ready?

My dad decided that good pet to have while I was growing up was a tarantula. SHIT. YOU. NOT. It’s name was Clyde (Yes, my dad’s hero was Clint Eastwood, but more about that later). And no, I don’t remember WHY he decided to get this nasty looking dude. But I DO know that he sat on top of our console TV for, like, 8 years. Cartoons just don’t have the same feel when a hairy spider is sitting on top of you TV.

I do owe a little bit of a debt to Clyde, however. In the eighth grade I brought him for science class. Perhaps, my only moment of coolness in my tortured teen years. Although, sitting with his octagonal cage on my lap on the bus made me VERY nervous. BUT! BUT! No teasing that day! Back off, or I will loose this SPIDER on you!

I swear this is all true. See how odd my life is?

Who Googles That?

Last modified on 2010-05-03 14:54:44 GMT. 6 comments. Top.

I mean seriously, who Googles that shit. Here’s a tip: the key to your life and happiness is not found on Google. I promise. Wonder what I’m talking about? Well, let me end the suspense.

Google Analytics is the program I use to keep track of the the hits for this blog. It reminds what how many people are not reading each day. I think that every time I open it up, there will be a message for me that says: ‘Are you kidding me? Nobody reads your shit, go away.’ However, until it actually does say that, I like to check it to see what keywords drive traffic to this site.

(Keywords are the words that you put in your search engine’s box.) Here are the keywords that stopped me in my tracks today: “A little honesty from a woman.” Some jackass googled that- and got my site. Not only does it suck to be him ’cause (apparently) his lady is a lying ho’, but he then gets to read my inane ramblings as a reward for his searching.

But the bigger question is- who Googles that? What man looks for the truth from the internet? The same internet that is SURE cats speak their own language, the same internet that tells me twice a day I have won money, the same internet that has a FAN PAGE FOR DAVID HASSELHOFF. Those three things alone should be a sign that perhaps the interwebs isn’t where you should be looking for you truth.

Totally my opinion.

Now the person who Googled “spoon because it hurts more” and got to my site- you are my kind of dude, and did I mention I’m single?

My soul for a bowl

Last modified on 2010-04-29 01:40:00 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

I had to stop by Target tonight. Target is religion. A cult, if you will, and I happily belong. I could spend all day picking out everything from jewelry to batteries to home accessories. (And on a side note, when you see a commercial on TV don’t you INSTANTLY know when it’s a Target one? They all have that same look and feel- just sayin’). But tonight, I had to stop by for some toothpaste and goodies for the kids (and not those wussy whole-food-esque goodies….nope these are packed to the gills with fake sugar and other fake ingredients, you may start feeling better about what you feed your kids, now). And as I always do, I take a stroll by the home decoration aisle. I know I don’t need any stuff, hell, YOU probably know I don’t need any stuff, but I have been in my town home for a little over a month now, and I have been busy hanging things. But the things I have been hanging  have been things that I acquired during my marriage. And you know how it is when you’re married- you want one thing, he wants another, and very often you meet in the middle. You do this so often that you stop buying things that you looovvvvveeee, because you know that the other person will HATE it. So now I wanted something that was all mine, was definitely my taste, something that if I had bought it during my marriage I would have had an argument over how much HE hated it and the money spent on it. People, I was looking for my SOUL IN TARGET. God, you don’t know how much I wish I was lying. There I was going up and down the aisles, looking for one item that would represent ME. I knew where I was going to put it, on my new (tiny) IKEA kitchen table.  There it was down an aisle, silver and ALL MINE.

When my kids ask how I made it through my divorce, I will tell them I found my soul in Target, and after that, everything was OK. It’s not spectacular (hell, it’s kind of boring), but I know HE would have hated it. I give you the ‘Soul Bowl’:

Where you’re glad your name ISN’T Gray Powell

Last modified on 2012-03-07 23:54:13 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

Don’t know who is Gray Powell is? Where have you been?! Gray Powell is the talented engineer who landed his dream job at Apple. Even better he was given a prototype next generation iPhone to test ‘in the wild’ as techies call it. He stopped at a bar for his 27th birthday and left that super secret phone on the bar stool. It took a couple of days for the owners at the bar to figure out that the guy wasn’t coming back for it, and a couple of more days for them to figure out that it wasn’t a regular iPhone (despite it’s clever, custom made case designed to make it look like a regular iPhone 3G). They did what any regular red-blooded person would do. They called a techie blogger and offered to sell it.

Which is how Gizmondo got it. And wrote about it.

All of this makes me gleefully happy. Not for Gray, of course, who apparently sounds ‘broken’ when reached by phone. No, Gray is about two twitter days from becoming a techie joke. Something PR people will say when they don’t want to tell you too much about their upcoming product- “Don’t want to pull a Gray Powell” they’ll say. Dear Gray, there is no other way to say this, it sucks to be you, dude. Sorry.

No, I am happy because no company represents what is wrong with ”big company” tech more than Apple*. From their CEO, who is a jerk, and can buy a black market kidney in Tennessee, while other sicker people wait on the list. To their software platform, which is increasingly becoming more and more developer unfriendly. (UNLIKE EVERY OTHER ITEM ELSE ENTERING THE MARKET). To their over-zealous, devoted fan base, which will tear you apart in a second if you dare hate on Apple. (NOTICE TO FANBOYS: You DO REALIZE that Steve Jobs makes you pay TOP DOLLAR to be beta testers for his products, RIGHT? The rest of us wait while you tear through the 1G stuff, then we come in and by the next gen stuff which is BETTER and CHEAPER. So, really, I should THANK YOU for being guillable, right?).

Apple won’t change. They will continue to treat their employees, the press, AND their customers as beneath their contempt. And me? Yep, I got an iPod, but I have an Android phone, something even I CAN HACK (and it was made to be that way, it’s called an open platform. Hear that Apple? You should learn that word. Embrace it, it’s not scary.), and run my Windows computer. Not because non-Apple items are better but because, partly, Apple makes it ridiculously expensive to be a hipster.

So this little scenario has taken them down a peg or two, I for one am giggling in delight.

Uh oh…here comes Karma, apparently it wants to have a word with me. I wonder what about?

*yes, apple products are game-changers, but so are other products

Where the writer stands in line FOREVER

Last modified on 2010-04-19 00:27:32 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

I guess everyone has a problem but you. That is what I’m thinking as I stand in lime, here at Comcast. I’m here to turn in my dvr box, cause when you cancel service there isn’t anyway they’re coming to pick it up for you. A final ‘screw you’ from comcast. Aren’t they sweet? Anyway the lady in front of me reminds me so much of everything I hate about getting older, my ex, and life when not well-medicated. She has complained about the loud guy (even though she is just as loud), how looonnnggg the line is (here’s your award Captain Obvious), if someone was took too long at the window (BUT YOU BETTER BELIEVE SHE WANTED THE BEST SERVICE EVER), or whatever else.

I really have better things to do, but if I didn’t turn it in, Comcast was going to charge me around $500.00 for the box. So there I sat in in line right behind this woman, thinking IS THIS WHAT I SOUND LIKE?

Don’t answer that.

Breakin’ All the Rules

Last modified on 2010-04-12 00:27:58 GMT. 3 comments. Top.

So there are these rules in blogging. And bloggers love to write about them and why they are ‘good’ rules to follow. Of course, they aren’t hard and fast rules, the bloggy police don’t come out and hunt you down if break the rules, but nonetheless, they are out there. And I hate EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. Not because I am trying to b e obnoxious, but because who needs that kind of pressure?! Here are some of those that really annoy me:

Try to post everyday- OK, I can do that, as long as, I don’t know, have to FEED MY CHILDREN or GO TO WORK. Who has the time for that? I know some people who post every day or mostly every day, but the turth is, I don’t read them all. Even my most favorite bloggers. It’s not that I don’t WANT to, I do (ok, I really don’t) but I don’t have enough patience to read all the posts they put out every damn day. I really admire their dedication and, for some, the ability to being the funny to every post- I just realize that I don’t have that kind of talent. I know that I have two regular categories that post to called “Daily Picture” and “Daily Rant” but if you followed this blog for more than a day than you know that it is rarely, if ever, Daily. And I don’t feel bad about that. (Mainly because renaming to it Whenever-the-hell-I-get-around-to-it-Photo is a pain in the ass).

Next rule, stick to one subject. Yeah….not gonna happen. I like to say that I know just enough to be dangerous. Plus like I say in my About page, I believe you should be blessed with my writings on whatever comes to my mind. Sticking to one subject  is constraining and boring for me. I know some AWESOME SharePoint bloggers, I’ll be happy to direct you to them. I know some badass Mommy Bloggers, just don’t call me a Mommy Blogger. I have links for some GREAT Geek blogs and stores, but I can’t post all my geeky stuff all the time. You get the picture. My tagline proclaims me to be “princess of randomness” and I aim to live up to that title.

Last rule, I like to break- Don’t discuss politics or religion. Why not? Just like  TV, if you don’t like my views you can bounce outta here anytime. But I’d rather discuss, argue even, with you. Why not? Why are we afraid to defend or stick up for our ‘values’ or ‘beliefs’? The best discussions are not with people who think like you, the best discussions are with people who DISAGREE with you.

I’ve seen two blogs alone this week fold. ‘Too time consuming’ is that main reason they cite (both were mothers of children smaller than mine, and I wish them both well). I would like this blog to continue for long time so I have only two rules that I stick to: Post whatever I want, whenever I feel like it.

Keep your religion off my money

Last modified on 2010-04-12 00:10:55 GMT. 5 comments. Top.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I’m a liberal. Some people ask why, and I think this is as a good time as any to tell you why-

I’m a liberal because I don’t believe I have the right to tell anyone how to live their life.

I’m a liberal because I’m not smart enough to figure out your spirituality for you, or tell you how to go about practicing said spirituality.

I’m a liberal because I don’t believe that religion (ANY religion) should be involved in politics. Looking at you “The Family“.

I’m a liberal because I believe it is long past time for rich, old, white men to stop acting like they know what’s best for everyone else.

I’m a liberal because I believe in logic and rationality, not faith in the ‘unseen’ or a poorly translated book that supposedly has ‘all the answers’.

That being said, I try to be tolerant of those who live their lives according the patriarchal, medieval rules set down by most religions. Except when I’m not. The other day I was passing a gym and out there in front of the gym was this big sign that proclaimed: CHRISTIAN OWNED. Well, shit. Does this mean I can’t bring devil music in there? I mean that sign is a deal-breaker for me. Honestly. Not because I HATE Christians (though I do think it is one of two religions that foster hate, xenophobia, homophobia, suppressed sexual rules, and hate fueled speech and acts). I know a lot of people who assure me they are ‘saved’ and do you know why I like them? They don’t tell me about it, or preach about it, or even really talk about it with me. I don’t even mind giving my money to Christian (or Muslim or Hindu) owned businesses, but when you hang out a sign out there, it’s like saying- ‘We don’t want you agnostic crap here, lady so just move it along.’ So, you won’t be getting my money. ‘K?

Along the same lines is putting a stamp of politics on your business. I ran across this story today about a doctor who didn’t want Obama supporters. Wow, dude, way to have a thoughtful debate. Guess we all got our deal-breakers, huh?

(Note to tea party people: THE CENSUS IS AN EVIL TRICK, DO NOT FILL OUT YOUR FORM OR THE GOVERNMENT WILL TAKE YOUR PROPERTY)

I’m quite a badass

Last modified on 2010-03-31 00:58:48 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

It’s not just me saying this, either (although I do think I’m pretty cool). Nope, I have a piece a paper to back up this claim. As part of the renting process, a real estate company did a background check on me and according to this piece of paper, someone with my name has been on crime spree across four states. Here are some highlights:

An assault charge in New Jersey. I can only guess that this happened because I saw one too many pictures of Snooki (aka Sluuti) from Jersey Shore, snapped and drove up there slap the oomp-loompa tan off her.

12 evictions in North Carolina. Now, I did live in North Carolina, but nowhere near this particular town, and some dates I wasn’t even there. There are two things wrong with this. Why would anyone be STUPID enough to rent to the same person  8 TIMES and keep evicting her?! It’s like you hung up a sign saying “Come live here, but don’t bother paying us rent, after we evict you- we’ll let you move back in. Mainly because we’re high all the time.” The second thing is, not even my alter ego would spend that long IN NORTH CAROLINA!

There are quite a few charges for UTTERING A FORGED INSTRUMENT. Look if you don’t like my blog just click your way outta here, you don’t have to press charges, man. It’s cool, it’s cool.

Also on the list are some IMPROPER DRIVING and RECKLESS DRIVING. Not my fault the make-up mirror blocks the view of small animals and curbs, seriously.

And last, my favorite, FALSE PERSONEL INFO WITH INTENT TO BE ANOTHER. Damn right, you spend time with my kids, you would run and want to be someone else too.

Told ya, I’m a badass. No, you don’t need to see the report. Just because the middle initial is wrong or it happened it cities or states I didn’t live at time means nothing. Besides, I already got the tattoo.

Try a little honesty

Last modified on 2010-03-20 01:45:49 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

I’m one of those people who prides herself on being able to take the truth right square in between the eyes. Yes, Jack, I CAN handle the truth. So it an be so damn infuriating to me when I catch someone in a lie. I often get a a little niggling sense when someone is lying to me, and when I do I will go to any lengths to catch them in that lie. Twice, this week I found out someone was lying to me- made for a VERY bad week.

The first was actually a small matter: I am trying to rent a new home in my area and right off the bat found a home that I liked and wanted to look at. The agent was nice enough to show me the place one afternoon. I decided on the spot that I wanted it and started the process. When I checked in a couple of days later, I was  informed me that there had been an offer on the house and, of course, the owners would rather sell it than rent it. When a couple of days later I noticed that the property was still on the MLS, I became suspicious. Now, by that time I was working with a new agent and the new agent told me that the property had not sold but that the owners had accepted another renter. The owner, OF COURSE, can rent to whomever they like, but it is obvious that the first agent did NOT process my application and did NOT present me as a possible tenant to the owner. If I had been turned down, that is fine, but to be lied to is unacceptable.

So what did I do? Tweet of course. And now, I am writing a blog post about. At the moment I am refraining from naming the company or the agent since I was contacted by VP about my tweet. I hope he is able to sort this out for me, cause if not- I AM NAMING NAMES PEOPLE!

The second was a little more complicated. When, living with someone for 12 years, you know what mood they are in when they get ‘some.’ My husband has been in that kind of move since he moved out. Plus, the first thing he did when he moved out was move his cell phone to his own account. Pretty odd for someone who said that this separation was about MONEY! Dude, your bill was 10 bucks now it’s 30 bucks? It’s about money my ass. Didn’t take long for him to mess up and leave his phone with in my reach. And what did I find? Sexting, of course. (And trust me, not good sexting either- there was one about ‘I got a goose egg” hee hee, and another one that was a little more R rated, but trust  me, NOT INSPIRED). I was really angry. I gave him lots of opportunity to tell me that he was seeing someone but he didn’t.

Here is where I always take a time out for a little perspective: Even if he was seeing this woman before we split up, she is not the reason we are not together. We made our own marriage hell on our own, we needed no outside help. Thank you very much.

Now, back to the story. At first I was really angry. And I still am, not because he is seeing someone but because he wasn’t HONEST with me. Yes, it hurts that he has found someone so soon after me, I have an ego too. But then, I remembered that this man is the father of my two children, and has done more for me then a couple of lame texts can erase. So in the end, I’m all ‘good for him’. As long as he gives the kids time to adjust I am OK with that (which means he doesn’t get to introduce them to the kids UNTIL the divorce is final).

So there you have it. Two instances of dishonesty, two similar reactions. So go ahead, lie to me- I dare ya.

Footnote: don’t leave me any nasty comments on how I invaded his privacy, cause as my dad says “That dog don’t hunt here, son.”

Are you writing or are you selling?

Last modified on 2010-03-15 17:20:00 GMT. 9 comments. Top.

Mommy bloggers everywhere are angry (GRR!). And no, this time, it’s not about ME. Since this is a post that I will be posting both on my company blog and my personal blog, I will lay out some details. If you already heard it then skip to the next paragraph. Mommy blogging is the ‘in’ thing to do at the moment, and lots of women have taken to the internet to post on their take on parenting, mommy issues, moral dilemmas, days without showers, and so on. I also blog, but I vehemently eschew the mommy blogger moniker for various reasons. A couple of weeks ago a blogging community PR company held an event called ‘Bloggy Bootcamp’  (YES, someone did make up that AWFUL name) in Baltimore. I signed up to go, and though (in the end) it wasn’t my cup of tea, I enjoyed meeting many women who I have interacted with online, either through blog comment sections or on twitter.

At the conference there were some things said that just struck me as all wrong. One- being a mom is hip and trendy right now. Yeah, cause that’s why I have kids- to be trendy. Two- Know your worth. If you are a Stay at home mom, your worth to your family is truly immeasurable, but to companies, mommy bloggers are a dime a dozen. And so on. Again, not my cup of tea, but hey, I get what they are trying to say.

The other portion of this story is that there was a freelance writer doing a piece on mommy blogging for the New York Times. The conference organizer and speakers were understandably excited, press is a good thing, especially at an event costing anywhere between 80-100 bucks per person.The writer spent the day at the conference interviewing bloggers and taking pictures. Then the article came out. The tone of the piece was snarky and condescending, and while a good portion of the ire online is aimed at the writer, women online are in a Battle Royale over the meaning of this article.

I tend to side with the article writer (DESPITE HER AWFUL SHOES) for one reason and one reason only, the amount of giveaways that companies sponsor on the blogs. When you take money for a company to blog about their product, don’t come and complain when you have lost credibility with your readers or your fellow bloggers. One commenter said it was fashionable to beat up on mommy bloggers; maybe it is, and maybe some of it is deserved.

I write four blogs, but the one that I represent when I go to gatherings like these, is my personal blog. And while the talk on the SEO optimization was great, advice on how to get money and promotions out of company made me feel like I was in a gathering of Tupperware reps. I don’t engage with these companies for several reasons 1) As a government contractor, you never know what is a conflict of interest, so it’s best just steer clear altogether, 2) I won’t have my opinion held hostage by a contractual obligation. Example, say I take product to give away but later find that the company I took money from is polluting a river in a small town in Indiana. I want to be able to write really terrible things about that company without having to worry about what it will do to a ‘business’ relationship, and 3) I want to be taken serious as a blogger, having a blog full of giveaways doesn’t allow this (serious BITCH, that is).

So it’s at this point that I would like to put in my requisite disclaimer. I have met some wonderful writers, who just happen to be moms, through these events. I have even met some great mommy bloggers who run event services on the side. Make no mistake that these women are rock stars, and I enjoy being in their group. This is not about them, per se. It’s about all bloggers, and at what point do you stop being a sincere writer and start being a unpaid corporate shill?

One last caveat, I know a couple of bloggers that run review sites. They take products from companies and then post reviews about those products. What makes this different, that is the intent of the blog, to write reviews about products (similar to one of my favorite blogs- Engadget), so again not really in this category.

I am not trying to say that mommy blogging is not credible or that you shouldn’t have sponsors (SHOULD FERRARI WANT TO SPONSOR ME, I AM AVAILABLE). One of my favorite bloggers has a sponsor and does hilarious posts about their products (looking at you marymac). All I am saying, is that you should call a spade a spade, and whether you are trying to sell me Tupperware or Pampered Chef or whether you are blogging about a product for Kraft foods, you are a salesman- not a blogger.

Where I Get in Trouble (Again)

Last modified on 2012-07-08 23:24:37 GMT. 1 comment. Top.

I went to my first blog conference on Saturday. It was sponsored by an organization called SITS, which stands for the “Secret is in the Sauce.” It is blog community that encourages other bloggers to turn out and support other bloggers by leaving comments, providing links, and all around support for blog writers. The ladies who run it are enthusiastic and will often put on conferences to teach tips and tricks to bloggers, provide networking opportunities, and an all around good time. I chose this smallish conference as my first event as a blogger. It was in Baltimore and many of the bloggers going were ladies I was already interacting with on twitter or on our blogs.

The first sign of trouble came Friday night. Some of the ladies (about 20-25) had gotten together to have dinner, and I went off to join them. Let me say right off the bat, that every person I met was gracious and nice and truly welcoming. But I knew as we went around the table, that I may be the odd duck (ahhh, a feeling I know well). Every lady there stood up to tell the name of their blog and who they were, and as they went around each woman also said how many children they had. Except me. My kids aren’t the reason I blog, and I didn’t bring them up when I introduced myself. The conversation around the table was also centered on children, and I was bored to tears. I figured Saturday would be better, but not so much.

Nonetheless, it was a good time and I got to meet a few great bloggers (who just happen to be mommies). I spent the day as I do most days, on twitter- in this case live twittering the conference and it wasn’t long before we had a ‘hater’ on our feed. What happened next is best captured by the so-called hater himself: http://bit.ly/9Hhyco

I enjoyed tweeting with him, and will take up any chance to poke fun- EVEN IF I AM PART OF THE GROUP. We may have differnt points of view of what belongs on line and what doesn’t, and we also disagree on whether ’fat’ is an appropriate tweet at any time (c’mon that just mean). But you should NEVER EVER take yourself so seriously that you cannot make fun of who you are or what you are doing. This to  me is the biggest pitfall of being a mommyblogger. You are naturally sensative and protective of what you are writing about, so any nose-tweaking will set you off.

I can feel the disapproving looks from here. I shall do my best to get over it.

So lesson learned, some ladies can’t take a joke. And appartently my penchant for causing trouble has not waned in my later 30′s. Heh.

Enter Stage Right

Last modified on 2010-03-06 13:27:35 GMT. 5 comments. Top.

If you follow me on twitter or facebook then you know that my husband and I are divorcing. And if you don’t follow me, then I just told you. It’s about money. Or least we are telling ourselves about money, when really each day I look at him I want to call the police and shout- THERE IS A STRANGER HERE, AND HE IS WEIRD, TAKE HIM AWAY! After nearly 13 years together, we are such different people, I’m not sure if his real name is still John. Not that I use his name. I have so many little pet names for him, that I make sure to change it up. My current favorite is ASSHAT, which is a variation of ASSHOLE. Of course, there are the standards that never go out of style- like JERK and BASTARD. Sometimes we go international with WANKER, but that is only on REALLY special occasions. He has a special list for me to, but he likes to keep it simple, with the tried and true- BITCH.

Actually, we are not really fighting. Everything is so damn civil. When I tell the story of him asking for divorce, I will place us at the dinner table with him saying somthing like “The soup is great, and I want a divorce” and I will reply (in my retelling) with “It’s a new recipe, and I thought you would never ask!” Doesn’t that sound much better than the way it really happened? Text message. I KID. YOU. NOT. He divorced me over text message! And the best part? I was totally cool with it. Like I said, we have been ready for a while.

We haven’t told the kids yet. At the moment we are just telling them that daddy will be moving to Virginia with the Army on his own and we are going to stay in Maryland so that they don’t have to switch schools. I’m not sure if they’re really buying it or just pretending to buy it to help me get through the sheer logistics of dissolving a 12 year union.

So at the moment, we are all actors. Saying our lines at the right time with the right inflection. Today was my daughter’s birthday and we went to a restaurant of her choosing. The weirdness of it struck me when my (soon to be ex) sat down. Soon our meals will be only for 3. I think I’m ready, I hope everyone else is, because I’m not much of a performer.

Cue ASSHAT.

A Week of Fail

Last modified on 2012-03-07 23:56:14 GMT. 5 comments. Top.

Don’t you just love fail? You know true fail never comes in drops and bits, oh no no no, it comes in big ol’ bucketfuls and dowses you. Twice. It’s like some asshat that puts a bucket above on top of the door so when you walk under it, you stand there with the fail all over you. Everyone else delights in it, cause let’s face it, it’s funny when it’s not you. Have a painted the picture for you now? Good, because that has been my week.

It started off fairly innocuous in of one my many meetings I had scheduled this week. I was trying to explain why something needed to be changed, but I lacked specificity- and it took about two seconds for my task lead to do that smack down. She was all get back to me when you get more details. Whatever. I know she was right, but looking back, I just should have known that it was an indication to go back home, get under the covers and try again next week. But I was never one to listen to common sense. And the fail just kept coming, here are the highlights-

For those that don’t know I am a SharePoint Developer. SharePoint is great platform to work with if you use the full suite of tools that come with it- like Visual Basic, SharePoint Designer, and some of the advanced web parts (don’t worry if you don’t know what any of those are, just trust me when I say that to get the most out of SharePoint you need all those things). At the moment I am trying to develop an advanced solution for our clients- WITHOUT THOSE TOOLS. You see, the military in their zeal for security turns off the ability for custom code, and in doing so, turn off the ability to do half of the things they want done. Genius. So I will end this week telling my clients I can’t do what they are asking. And being the pentagon bureaucrats they are, they won’t understand it’s their fault- it will be mine. Fantastic.

Next, I had a huge fight with my daughter on Wednesday morning. Not only did I tell her to SHUT UP! I told her to STFU. Right before I dropped her off for school. I know she had a terrible day because of that, and even though she was in trouble, she did not deserve the F bomb at 7:45 in the morning.

My son has developed a nasty habit of lying and deceit. You see, he hates homework. So at first he tried the I don’t have any homework line when he came home from school, even when all the the work was right there in his bag. Since that didn’t work, he moved on to deliberately ‘forgetting’ or bringing home the wrong books to get out of doing homework. Last night, I had had enough, I drove him back to school got his correct books, grounded him, and made him write lines. Nothing major, but my son is my favorite person in the world at the moment, and I take his deceit personally.

On a different note, I also applied for a volunteer-ship to the BlogHer 2010 conference (it’s where you volunteer and they pay your conference fee) and OF COURSE I got turned down. The woman who decides that is from Texas, it explains so much. So now I have to pay full price, which isn’t that much but it’s just the principle of the thing.

My daughter’s flute teacher called and said that she didn’t want to teach my daughter anymore (she said she doesn’t practice enough, can’t get her to play during lessons, etc.). I was livid. Look I pay you to be there for a half an hour, just do what you can. My daughter’s self-esteem is low enough. My heart breaks for my daughter.

And, of course, my husband and I continue on our path to implosion. Out of respect for him I won’t detail our issues, and we may move past them, we have before, but when you reach critical mass nothing is ever the same.

My shoulders are locked up, and jaw hurts from gritting my teeth, and perhaps my only release is the ability to kvetch about it here.

It’s times like these that I just want to put my head on my desk and cry. But I can’t do that, because too often I am on two different phones, on two different conference calls, while answering emails, and working on stuff for my client.

And to top it all off, my best friend lives in Montana, and won’t rearrange her life and move out here for me. SO DAMN SELFISH. I need her here, not in Montana, dammit.

A week of fail. There a bottle of wine out there with my name on it. Don’t worry, lovey, come Friday I’m all yours.

I’m sorry have we met?

Last modified on 2010-02-20 02:43:40 GMT. 6 comments. Top.

No, I don’t think we have. You may know who I am, you follow me on twitter, and sometimes you even leave comments on my blog. Thank you for that. Oh, you blog too? I think I remember looking at your blog. Seemed like a good job, not my kind of thing, but I’m here to encourage all the people I can. What was wrong with it? Nothing. It’s like every other mommy blog I’ve read. Yes, your kids are cute and yes, kids are funny- but nothing earthshaking. Now, some of my regular readers are kick-ass mommy bloggers. I highly recommend you read their blog to see how it’s done. What’s that you said? Your children are angels, and you home-school, and make crafts for the needy in your spare time? Yeah? Well, in my spare time I check out which mental hospital / old folks home will take a thirty something mother of three…oops make that two kids and a husband who seems very young sometimes.

You what now? You unfollowed me on twitter? Well, it happens. No, I don’t want to know why. OK…tell me anyway. Offensive? Me? Hell, yeah, I’m offensive. How long did it take you to figure that out? I see that you thought I was a peer, another mommy blogger. To tell you the truth, I HATE that term. Yep, I have kids and, yes, I will exploit them mercilessly for material for this blog, but I don’t want to be mommy blogger. Why? Well, kids grow up and the material will get less interesting. Also, I am a little less inclined to pick on my children then I am say…you. One more reason, I have opinions on just about everything, so why not write about everything.

Apparently, you have a bone to pick with me, so let’s hear it. No, wait…let me guess, you didn’t like my Jesus comment. Technically, Elton John said it first. People were ganging up on him, and I thought that the comment deserved some support. Maybe Jesus WAS gay, who knows? No one- that’s who. I am TOTALLY sure that offends every conservative, religious bone in your body, and that brings me joy. No, no I am not trying to insult you, that is just a pleasant by-product. I think all religions are around to be made fun of, and yours DOES NOT GET A FREE PASS. Did you read that recent study that said that the more religious a person was, the more brain damage they had. Hey, I can’t make this stuff up.

So, maybe Jesus was gay, and maybe Elton John is douche, but more importantly, I think that almost everything is open to ridicule and that is where my true skill is. So now you know, so do the unfollow or the unfriend or whatever, and let me get on with what I was doing. For the rest of you, I don’t know you either, but you seem pretty cool…let’s go get a margarita.

Porn for Women

Last modified on 2010-02-16 01:08:39 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

Have you seen those books in the bookstore called Porn for Women? Inside this book are some images that women truly find sexy…(hunky) men in aprons vacuuming, cleaning windows, scrubbing toilets, agreeing to see a chick flick- all the things I can’t get my husband to do in real life. Except one. Vacuum. Let  me tell you a story about the first time we talked about housecleaning. It was the first months of our marriage and I came home from work (I was still in the Army then) and my (new) husband proudly announced:

 I swept the floors for you!

Me: Do what now?

Him: I swept the floors for you.

Me: You swept the floors for whom?

Him (starting to catch on that this conversation was going horribly wrong): uh….you?

Me: No. You swept the floors because YOU LIVE IN THIS HOUSE and I AM NOT YOUR DAMN MAID.

I don’t think he meant anything by the comment, and to his credit he has always done 50% (or more) of the chores around here. The only time I vacuum is when he is deployed or TDY, and, even then, not as often as he would do it were he home. Nonetheless when he is home, the agreement has always been, if I don’t like the way he does it, then I am welcome to do it myself. An offer I usually decline ever so graciously. But there are some chores, that no matter how easy a machine makes it, I will not do. I will spend my last dollar paying someone ELSE to do it for me. My hubby, bless his cheap ass soul, won’t pay this money, and seeing that I won’t do it, does it himself. A great example of this is rug cleaning. Am I not a supporter of the great American worker if I pay someone else to do it? And if those fine America workers don’t do it, don’t the terrorists win? So you see, by paying someone else to do it, I am really supporting the global war on terror. Hubby disagrees with this fine American notion and so every so often I get my own version of Porn for Women:

 

Yes, that is my husband in his Mom Jeans, on the floor with the rug cleaner. Why is he on his hands and knees? Because he has to guide the cleaner just right so it will get all the dirt up. Uh huh. Sure. Whatever you call it, it’s the sexiest picture I ever saw.

The Army Lied (GASP!)

Last modified on 2010-02-10 01:54:45 GMT. 2 comments. Top.

Army officers get on my last stinking nerve. It’s not that they aren’t effective in battle or good leaders, it’s just that every so often you come across that one asshole who just drives you up a wall. We have encountered one here Aberdeen. It’s not the first time, and this latest one is as annoying as all the others.

It starts like it always does, with something small. I know I have mentioned the impending move at least 1 or 2 (maybe 100) times. But first I have to explain a little bit of Army policy. Moving’s expensive. The Army shells out a lot of money to move soldiers- I would say it runs over $10,000 per move, if not more (that includes man hours, contractors, movers, reimbursements, claims, etc., etc.). So understandably the Army doesn’t want to do this every 6 months. It doesn’t WANT to, but it will- for special cases, like schools that last a long time, family emergencies, that sort of thing. But barring that, when you move somewhere within the US you are locked in there for at least 12 months before they will even think of moving you again. Are you all with me? I know this part is boring, but trust me, it’s vital to understanding the whole story. OK, the next part to understand is the BRAC. Don’t worry, I am not going to go down that rabbit hole, all you need to know is that it is a congressional mandate to move a unit from Point A to Point B, lock, stock and barrel. Now, the BRAC for my husbands unit occurs in June, and because we got here in August, according to policy, we can’t move until August. But his unit moves in June. Does the problem become clear?

Now let me explain about DA Form 4187. This is a personnel action form. You can use this form to request schools, duty stations, sex changes, and exceptions to policy. (OK, I might be kidding about the sex change, but in today’s Army, who knows). It’s the exception to policy we care about for this story. In November, being the smart people we are and seeing the discrepancy in timelines between our move and the unit’s move,  my husband put in a 4187 for an exception to policy to that 12 month rule. This change would allow us to move in June WITH the unit instead of August. WHY does it matter? Because my husband’s job moves in June, and just because it’s moving and we’re not doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to BE THERE to do his job. And to be there, he has to go TDY (Temporary Duty)- which costs A LOT OF MONEY. Think about it: meals, hotels, mileage, per diem, etc. etc. In a sense we are trying to SAVE the Army money by moving early. I mean, they are going to spend the money to move us ANYWAY, so why not do it June and save all that TDY money. BECAUSE THAT WOULD MAKE SENSE.

My husband did the right thing and submitted the 4187, where it was approved by everyone up the chain of command but the Brigade commander. In fact, it just sat on his desk- for THREE months. Finally, John had had enough. He called IG (inspectors general) and said “Hey I have an issue, can you help.” They must have helped because soon after he went to talk to said commander about the 4187. According to  my husband, they had a nice long talk, with said commander agreeing that moving early was best for everyone’s interest, and he would approve the 4187 and move it up to the HRC (Human Resources Command) for final approval.

Not two fucking days go by, and John is informed that INDEED the HRC received said 4187 with a DENIAL from the Brigade commander. The SAME one that sat there, and told my husband, TO HIS FACE, that he would approve it. First, he’s a liar- straight up. Second, according to regulations, he doesn’t have the authority to approve or disapprove it ( he can only send it up to HRC with a recommendation to approve or disapprove- it’s a fine line in regulation, nonetheless, it is there)

Third- he only did it because my husband called IG, which he wouldn’t have had to do, if the man could run his office correctly and get paperwork in and out of his office in A TIMELY MANNER. Last, because he has has got his panties in a twist, he will end up costing the Army (and the government, and hence the taxpayers- YOU) more money.

Dude, it’s only February but you already the front runner for my ASSHAT of the year awards. Wear the honor proudly.

What is UP with all these changes?

Last modified on 2010-02-07 15:50:32 GMT. 8 comments. Top.

Hey, I know you getting tired of all the changes and the back and forth. TOUGH. When I started this blog I used the domain I already owned, installed wordpress and set up shop. In the last 5 month I have had a crash course on branding, graphics, and crashes in general. Once I acquired the accidental musings domain I quickly formed in my mind how I wanted to things to look, and the first two big steps were to move my blog to the new domain and get branding set. Those two things are now done, so the logo you see now is THE logo, no more changes (thanks Adrienne! (@solarpowerspork)), and the blog is moved (thanks Hosting24!). So update your feed, please!

But more changes are on the way! All are cosmetic- need to get the blog background in, update the splash page (amydphillips.com), get all my analytics and claim tokens moved over. Feedback is always welcome. Ignored usually, but welcome nonetheless.

What is all this leading to? If you must know, it leads to a complete social media branding package and allow me to submit a trademark claim (anyone want to help with that?), and for the readers of this blog, that means squat, but you asked so I answered. But what you may like, is that this will also lead to blog store where you can pick up some branded merch, some of it will even be free (i.e. laptop stickers and magnets), cause working the street corner for extra money is getting old, people.

Ok, now you know, so quit your bitchin’. That’s my job, and that’s why I have this blog.

This Conversation Must Have Taken Place

Last modified on 2010-02-03 14:35:46 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

In the job that I have it is common to move from task to task as the current contract wraps up and a new one begins. This means that every time I move to a new task, I essentially get a new ‘boss’ or in consultant-speak a new ‘task lead’. This is the person that will give me my tasks. This means that I will touch base with my real supervisor (called a Front Line Leader or FLL) from time to time. My FLL is a great person and I have worked with her for a while now, so she has a good idea of how I think and how I work. Lucky her.

Even though our company is 20,000 plus, we tend know all the same people. So it never fails, that when my FLL and I discuss my new task and I say I’ll be working with XX, she says ‘Oh, I know XX.” Then in my brain I imagine that as these two will get together and will eventually talk about me. (There is no reason for me NOT to believe that all conversations eventually come to me. So there.) This is how I imagine that conversation must have went:

XX: So I’m working with Amy, isn’t she on your team?

FL: Yeah. She’s nice.

{pause}

XX: What?

FLL: Nothing.

XX: Really, what?

FLL: Well, it’s just that Amy can be a bit different to work with.

XX: Different, how?

FLL; She lacks editing software

XX: What?!

FLL: You know, editing software, she just says whatever on her mind.

XX: Really?

FLL: Really. DEAR GOD KEEP HER AWAY FROM THE CLIENTS!

I do truly seem to lack the editing software. Tact is totally foreign to me. I don’t grasp the concept that you shouldn’t talk to everyone the same. Dude, I don’t care if you CEO or client, talk like a dumbass and I will tell you that you are being a DUMBASS.

Here is the best conversation I ever had with a client-

Client: Are you sure we should do it this way?

Amy: Yes, it will make the whole process easier.

Client: Would you lie to me?

Amy: Of course I would.

Client:: ….

Amy: But I am telling the truth about this being the best way to do this.

He thought it was the funniest thing I ever said. But he realized the truth of it. Of course, I am going to lie to you, but I tend to smile while I’m doing it, so that makes me a bad liar. It’s just easier for me if I be upfront with you. AT ALL TIMES. So if you think you  might like to recommend this blog to someone, you might want to have that conversation with them. Editing software NOT INCLUDED.

Dear Retailer

Last modified on 2010-02-07 15:23:23 GMT. 6 comments. Top.

Dear Retailer-

Yes, I am the mother of a tween girl, and I appreciate that you want to market stuff to her, in the hopes that she will influence me to buy her the product that you are marketing. You are partly right, but in the end I have my own criteria for opening my wallet. So if that is the way you want to play the game please let me lay some ground rules.

First, Chris Rock said it best when talking about his responsibilities as a parent to his daughter. Actually, he narrowed it down to one responsibility: “Keep Her Off the Pole”. I think that’s a good motto, so that’s a good place to start. My daughter at no time in her life will ever aspire to be a hooker. That being said, any clothes that show more skin than the average, oh let’s say, Catholic School Uniform, are verboten. Yes, miniskirts are allowed, but I shouldn’t cringe EVERY TIME there is a stiff wind. And NO ONE, and I DO MEAN NO ONE, needs to see her belly button. Why are trying to dress my daughter as if she is ready for something she is YEARS away from thinking about. Every piece of clothing MUST pass the touch your toes and raise your arms test. If you can touch your toes and raise your arms above your head and I DON’T see any skin I don’t want to see, then you are good to go. Remember my job is to keep her off that stripper pole, and that begins by not DRESSING her like she belongs on that pole.

Let’s talk fabrics. Look, I’m a child of the 80′s so that gives you a LOT of leeway. I get the ripped fabrics, leather, and distressed looks. But vinyl? Never. Suede with fringe? So not happening. See through? See, uh…no. Lace? Wait til her wedding. OK, let’s move on.

Labels- they come and go. There are few that I trust and will spend money on. I do that because of their reputation for quality, not their ability to help market the latest pop star. And dear pop star, I know that you think that you need to share your creativity with the fashion world, but, trust me, you don’t. You can barely sing, and you sure as hell can’t design clothes to make me part with my somewhat hard earned cash.

Size- I will NOT let her squeeze a size 8 ass into your version of an 8, which is actually a 4 to everyone else. So stop with the magical shrinking clothes. It’s a near impossible task these days to make a young girl feel good about her body, and I don’t need you adding fuel to the fire. So if you start slimming down your sizes I will size down the amount of money I spend on your clothes, K?

Price. I know you want to make my daughter want your item, and you think that if you price it high enough, she will HAVE TO HAVE IT. Guess what else she has to have? A college education. Between your overpriced (oh yeah, I went there) and her 529, guess which one is winning.

And then there are those retailers out there, that will never ever ever ever ever ever get my business. Let’s name names.  Hollister and all associated companies, reasons here, here, or any of these lawsuits. And Victoria’s Secret, if she needs fancy lingerie, she can get a job and buy it herself. And I won’t make her wear clothes from Wal-Mart.

So those are rules. I don’t think they’re too stringent. I make the money, not her. Market like you want, but, if you want me to buy, you will make clothes that I will actually let her wear.

Sincerely,

Mother of a tween clothes horse

Where Karma and I call it even

Last modified on 2012-07-08 23:22:36 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

This story actually starts with my dog, my precious lovable Oreo. You see Oreo, as you may have heard, is a dog, and according to this book (one of my children’s faves) everybody poops. Hence, we can assume safely that my dog poops. I have it on good authority that he actually does this quite often. Now when we had a yard just under an acre (yes, in North Carolina and it still did not make up for the 20 mile commute to the nearest Starbucks) the poop was not so much a problem. But now we have a yard the size of a postage stamp, and regular clean-ups become necessary. My fearless husband does this task at least once a week. He scoops up the deposits with a shovel and puts them in an old cat litter container (not the cardboard ones but the big sturdy plastic ones, the ones that need a crowbar to open). Once it is full we place it in the trashcan for collection. The trash man dumpeth and the poop goeths away. Except last Monday we had a storm. And what happens in storms? trash-cans fall over (and people around here drive like the aforementioned poo, but that’s another post). However, as we left Monday morning we were blissfully unaware that our dog’s ‘business’ was about to become such a hot topic.

Here is what we gathered happened- the trashcan that was holding the ‘business’ fell over, thereby knocking open the poo bucket and creating a mess. Now, if we had seen that this had happened we would have cleaned it up right away, but we were at work. So, it stands to reason that we WOULD have taken care of it when we had gotten home. Except we found this note on our door-

Classic, right? It’s not like we planned it…but if we had we would have definitely made sure to inconvenience this woman. She is the bane of our neighborhood, even going so far as to once calling my daughter a loud-mouth (which may be true, but as an adult you should NEVER insult someone else’s child. NEVER EVER EVER). Anyhoo, we looked at the note, took a deep breath, and reminded ourselves that we were moving in less than 5 months. She could be someone else’s problem then. Besides we are renters, her threat to call the HOA carried about as much weight as a threat to call the Mounties. Pfft, whatever. Lady, if poop-picking-up, note writing is your thing, all I can say is- YOU NEED A JOB (and possible a life, but let’s start small). But karma came through for us, because tonight we were greeted with this sight:

Yes, that is her chimney on fire. And why do chimneys catch on fire? Because they’re not cleaned, which I’m pretty sure is a violation of the HOA agreement (for this VERY REASON- because when they finally do catch on fire, they burn your house AND your neighbor’s house!) Now, everyone is fine, no one was hurt, and I certainly wouldn’t and didn’t wish for something bad to happen to her. But it’s got to happen to someone, right? And HAD Karma been taking nominations, I just might have put her name in. Not for something awful like injury or death or job/ home loss, but maybe something inconvenient. Just. like. this.

For the moment, universe- you and I can call it square.

Click here, to go to Flickr and see more photos of the action.

P.S. Let me stress, AGAIN, no one was hurt and property damage was minimal (except for the smoke)

Call me anything but that…

Last modified on 2010-01-21 13:52:50 GMT. 10 comments. Top.

My husband is in the Army, so apparently that gives people the cajones right to call me an Army wife. Let me assure you that this is not the case. Want to piss me off in 2 seconds flat, come up to my and thank me for my husband’s service. What a joke.

First, let’s start with the whole ‘Army wife’ thing. That description is two words that depends on my husband to describe me. See the problem? Do you describe him as a ‘Consultant’s Husband’. No? Then don’t describe me in terms of my husbands career. And while we are on the subject, let me assure you, that I can provide for myself, I am successful in my own right, and even make more money than him, thank you very much. I especially don’t want my daughter to go around thinking “That’s my mom, the army wife”. Nope. I want her to think “That’s my mom- a strong, independent, successful career woman who loves her family very much. And my Dad served in the Army for blah-blah years.”

Now I have known many Army wives over the years that are all about their husbands career. Oh, they can’t possible have a job, because of the deployments. Know what? I get myself a babysitter, and trot my ass of to my job. Or maybe you see them crying as their husband leaves and returns. You know what my husbands gets? A “Don’t get shot, see you in blah-blah months” and “You’re home? Please take out the trash.” Think my husband is resentful? Think again. Do you know how many soldiers he has coddle whose wives are home going crazy, going wild, or just plain going? When he is out on mission his mind is on the mission, not what is wife doing.

This isn’t to say that the Army doesn’t rule our lives. It does. It determines where we go, where we live, how we live, separations, promotions, etc. etc. But a lot of people go through that, and they aren’t in the Army. I don’t need a Family Support Group (FSG) to get me through deployments, I just need someone to down a couple of bottles of wine with or mow my grass. If your husband is in the military and you are ALL about that, get on with your bad self. It’s just not for me.

I remember once, when my husband was promoted to Sergeant or Staff Sergeant, I don’t remember, they had me come up to the front during the ceremony and gave me a certificate thanking me for my service as an Army wife. I was LIVID. I graciously accepted the award, but told my husband later- never again. I want an award for something I DO, not for something I happen to be. It harkens back to the day when a woman was congratulated for making a ‘good match’ or being a ‘good wife’. Sheesh.

And thanking me for our service? WHY? First, I didn’t do anything, and second, my husband sure as hell couldn’t give a rats ass about ‘service’. He was an 18 year old farm boy, who barely passed high school. With a mother as crazy as a loon, a dad in prison, and the only good jobs involved factory work, he saw his chance to get out. And boy did he. In the Army he has found success that he may not have found in Northern Ohio.

(Let me digress here to say that my husband will tell you that he is not a success, and I always beg to differ. He says he hates crowds, but volunteered to be part of an organization built on team work and units and people. He says he isn’t good with people or with public speaking, but he has managed to pass every promotion board with flying colors, even Soldier of the month boards. He has worked hard, and along the way, picked up enough promotions to now be a Sergeant First Class, he has earned a Bronze Star, Army Achievement Medals, NATO medals and medal after medal. He was even picked up by a special unit, HE IS THAT GOOD. If he isn’t a success now, when the rest of his family is still barely making it in Ohio, I don’t know what is. The Army has turned him into a intelligent, articulate, capable man who gets things done. Period.)

Back to whole service thing. His thanks is that you pay your taxes, so he gets paid, and his kids go to a good public school. This isn’t to say he won’t be respectful if you see him in uniform and go up to him and thank him, we’ll just make fun of you later. And those yellow ribbon stickers on the back of your car. WHAT IS THE POINT?! You aren’t supporting the military by putting some tacky sticker on you car, you’re supporting the chinese factory worker who made it, and the big box store that sold it to you.

You probably think I am being a bitch, and, yeah, I am. (As Tina Fey said “Bitch is the new black”). But my husband and I are successful each in our own right, neither one of us is a success because the other is succeeding.

So please, don’t call me an Army wife, it’s not who I am. Unless there a discount for it. Then let me show you my military id.

A Temporary Life

Last modified on 2010-02-09 15:43:42 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

At the moment it feels like I am just kind of passing through. As mentioned in my post here, we are only here for a few months for the Army moves us on again. THANK YOU ARMY!

I was so excited when I  found out that we were coming back here to Maryland. We have been stationed here before, a couple of years ago, before we went to Ft. Bragg. I love Maryland and Baltimore. The Baltimore area has everything that North Carolina lacks, and I could go on forever about that- but I am trying to stay on task here. I knew that John would have to move on to Ft. Lee but for a while I was under the impression that I could forgo moving my kids again. In my head I had the perfect plan (note: appartently ‘in my head’ is the place where all those plans work) my husband would go to Ft. Lee and then could come home on weekends. John was dead set against it (and FOR THE RECORD this was solution that he was all for when we lived in North Carolina).  I, being me, scoffed at his opinion and decided that this is what we would do. However, my husband then started to speak my language. His exact words were “We can’t afford two places AND allow you to shop, you will have to choose.” I offered to start packing right then.

All this means that we will only be back in this area for a couple of months. That makes everything temporary. Can’t put the kids in sports cause they finish the season. Kids don’t want to make friends cause that makes leaving more painful. Can’t join any clubs, do any meaningful longterm volunteering, no buying furniture, etc., etc. Essentially a temporary life. It can be so depressing. For me and my children.

John isn’t here anymore, not mentally, he is already thinking about the next duty station; where we are going to live, schools, how to set up his office in the new building. I can only sigh and ‘whatever’ (intelligent comebacks, I’m your gal!).

I’ll miss this area. I love Baltimore. It’s like quirky and kitschy and unique. It has both elegance and white trash, both refinement and coarsness, and some of the best food around. It’s the tacky tschotke of the America. Hopefully, someday I’ll get to come back.

But now to turn my attention to Virignia! Oh, it’s gonna be fun just to mistype that, you know what’s coming don’t you?

Where the Heroine Breaks her blog….

Last modified on 2010-01-12 01:03:33 GMT. 8 comments. Top.

If you were around on Saturday you might have noticed that my site was down. I know that this was devastating for all 3 of you that read my blog, but for me it was even more frustrating because I had caused the problem that took my blog down. Yep, that’s right…me. One wrong line of code in my files and BAM everything was gone. Of course, the first thing that I did was the most logical- PANIC. You see I am not the best at backing up things. For Pete’s sake it took my husband losing ALL my digital photos, not once but THREE times for me to move them onto a separate back-up hard drive. (Because surely lighting didn’t strike TWICE did it? Nope, it doesn’t. It comes in threes. Dammit)

This all happened because WordPress let me get all cocky. You see, I know that when you come here you don’t want to wait forever for the page to load up. It’s annoying, and there’s wine to drink. I had read an article on how to make your blog faster. One of the recommendations is to use a plug-in called wp super cache. This clears out all the cache that the blog builds up through posting and admin functions and other small things. The plug-in was supposed to clear the cache and therefore speed up loading time for the site. Only, it wasn’t one of those simple plug-ins that you download and activate, You have to go in to you and change some code, make some stiff writable, so on and so forth. And wouldn’t you know, that I screwed it up. Down it went. No admin area, no files, nothin’.

A word about WordPress. Millions use it because it is so flexible. You can make it as easy to use or hard as you want. The more customization you want the harder it is to code and make things click together. My blog is somewhere in the medium range, which means I go into the root files on a regular basis to change things on my blog and customize my branding. I was doing sssooo good too! Nonetheless, there was no backing out of this mistake. I would have to do a restore or start from scratch. And by start from scratch I mean give up completely.

A big shout-out to Hosting 24 who hosts this blog for me. I did have a back up that I had done on the 4th of January (yea, me!) and the fine technicians would restore it for me. Unfortunately, something was corrupted in that file and it couldn’t be restored. Eventually they restored a server back-up. I was only missing a few days worth of stuff that I quickly restored and all was right in my little blog world again.

However, this still doesn’t solve my problem. Because I use pictures on a regular basis, this can make pages slow to load and contribute to lag. No solution as yet, but stay tuned for some small changes so things don’t get bogged down.

What’s the moral of the story? WordPress is lovely and wonderful, but a fickle little bitch.

My Caring Meter is on the Empty Side

Last modified on 2010-01-10 02:38:13 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

A couple of  years ago, long after my kids stopped being babies, I found myself in an odd minority. It is inevitable at the office or gathering someone will have a baby there, usually a child under 12 months. Obviously this child is the light of their life and the MOST BEAUTIFUL BABY ever, according to the gaggle (yea, I said it- gaggle…shoot me) of women. And all I can think is ‘meh’. It’s not like I have NEVER like cute little babies. I have had two children and as babies I was so in to them that I didn’t even go back to work until my son was 3 years old. But they’re not babies anymore, and I have found myself not liking babies all that much anymore. For a while, I was terrified that I had made a serious life mistake in having children, what if, deep down, I didn’t really like kids? What then?

(My deepest fear has always been that I would turn out like the woman that Cloris Leachman played in the awful movie ‘Hanging Up’. To summarize she left the family while her daughters were still young and during the movie one of the daughters goes to see her. She tries to reconnect over talk of roses, but before they get very far the mother stops her and says “I can’t do this. Be a mother. It just didn’t take.”  I have never forgotten those words. What if I was THAT woman? DEAR GOD, what had I done? Then I realized that I truly, madly, deeply loved my offspring and panic attack over!)

But the problem was soon diagnosed…I simply didn’t care. Now before you start leaving mean comments, it’s not that I don’t care about ANYTHING it’s just that I discovered that I only have a certain amount of caring and most of it was used up on other things (like chocolate). It’s not that I don’t WANT to care but I just can’t, and to force myself to do so would be emotionally exhausting. I think that I have always subconsciously known this. For example, I know many people who are moved by those sponsor-a-child commercials, but not me. I couldn’t bring myself to get worked up. In fact, I would get kind of mad. There are kids in my city that could use money and to me I didn’t know why we send money for kids overseas when kids in our neighborhoods and cities needed money. Perhaps that is another post.

In short, I do not possess an endless amount of caring that some people do. (There is no shame in it, well perhaps there is, but…SURPRISE…I couldn’t care less.) In fact, it’s quite liberating. I can seem callous and unfeeling, but when I tell you that I care about something, you can know I REALLY care about it.

Sometimes, I have to force myself to remember to ask people how their day was if they ask me first. I don’t really want to know how their day was, and I KNOW that they don’t give a shit about mine. Man, small talk is such a waste of time. (This from the person who spends hours typing in 140 characters or less…told ya I was a hypocrite). The point is, forgive me if I forget to ask about your friend’s baby or coo over your new puppy.  But if I ask you how you are doing, you can bet I really want to know.

Bottom line: I don’t like babies and puppies and it’s simply too much work to fake it. Sue me.

Resolutions…not so much, actually

Last modified on 2010-01-05 16:09:14 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

Why do people make resolutions, there is honestly no point to it. I fully expect twitter to fill up with things people say they will or want to do, and then ultimately tell us why they couldn’t do it.

As I see more and more people take to twitter and facebook with their resolution failures, my first thought is SUCKERS! Cause I am never one to pass up some schadenfreude. But my second thought is why? Why do you make resolutions? I know that you have the best of intentions but some things are incredibly hard to fight and they are especially hard to fight when you take the most stressful time of the year and try to change something drastic about yourself. That’s usually what you are trying to do isn’t it? Change something you don’t like about yourself? Why can’t you and yourself just get along….but I digress.

I, of course, am no exception (Another warning: I am big hypocrite). Though the official line is that I don’t make resolutions, secretly I do. I rarely try to change something starting on New Year’s Day, I wait until I am good and pissed off at a bad habit before I get rid of it. Instead I just start my year with a “This is the last year I will…” or “2009 was the last year I will (or won’t)…”.  For instance, 2009 is that last year I will let my fear of flying keep me grounded. Or this is the last year I will drive my car…cause I so WANT a new one. There aren’t many of those phrases to start out with but as the year wears on more and more I will find myself uttering that phrase. ESPECIALLY at work. Often I will hear myself saying “That is the LAST TIME I work on his project.”

In the end, I try not make January 1^stthe day I decide to change my life. There seems to be no purpose and certainly no drive behind the promises other than stupid tradition. Do as I do, wait for something to make you so fucking mad you never want to do, or see, or hear or be near it again, then change it. Works like a charm. But let me save you one moment of pisstivity: Nicolas Cage movies now suck, so don’t bother. Thank me later.

On another note: I have put out a request for guest bloggers so from time to time you will see some guests here. Don’t worry they are all properly vetted after many glasses of wine. And if you interested send me a message through the contact form.

Why I’ll Miss 2009…

Last modified on 2010-02-09 15:43:40 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

As promised in my last post (seen here) there are some things I did like about 2009. I don’t know that I can come up with 10 of them, but I will list the ones that stick out.

I left North Carolina. While I hate moving, I couldn’t get out of NC fast enough. Just not my scence. I know lots of people that love it, want to move there, or want to visit there. More power to ya. I love the mid-atlantic coast from it’s IKEAs and public transport, to its excellent school and cultural offerings. I hope never to be south of Virginia again.

I started blogging. It turns out to be fun, and there are a tons of bloggers out there who are supportive, welcoming, funny and intelligent. And most of them are women. If you aren’t reading a blog written by a woman, you are missing out. There is a perception that all women bloggers are mommybloggers, and that is simply isn’t true. Yes, I may write about my children on my blog but that is in no way that will be my main focus in writing this blog (of course, I love the mommybloggers and read them all the time. WORD).

One word: Twitter. There are two groups when it comes to twitter; it’s a life-changing way to communicate or a waste of time. I am in the former group. I have met an amazing group of people on twitter (and, yes, the requisite amount of creeps too, but that is what the unfollow button is for). These people will laugh at my jokes, read my blog, encourage me on a bad day, and always have an answer to any question that I have. Thank you twitterverse!

My job. I have been at my job for over 5 years and I still love what I do and the people I work for. Not many people get to say that, but I do, and I am thankful.

My mom came to see me. With her living on the west coast, I don’t get to see her very often, but she flew out here this year. I do truly love it when family visits.

My best friend came out to see me before I left NC. She lives in Montana, and seeing her again gave me joy beyond words. I keep trying to get her to move to the East Coast, but so far, no luck.

And, the usual blessings, which I NEVER take for granted: our health, our family, our careers, and so much more.

Stay tuned, 2010 may turn out to be one HELL of a year!

10 Things I Hate About You (2009)

Last modified on 2012-07-08 23:27:22 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

Update:  the idea for this post ‘may’ have come from this tweet.

I LOVE the movie 10 Things I Hate About You. In fact, they are soon going to release a tenth anniversary edition, and I am so all over that. And since I love lists (YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED) I thought I would take a moment to say “#%@! you 2009″. Here are the reasons why:

10. I was still living in North Carolina in January. (North Carolina and I don’t get along, kind of a personal thing so please don’t ask)

9. My husband was still deployed during one of biggest snowstorms North Carolina had ever seen. (I don’t ‘do’ shoveling. Period.)

8. My husband left his unit. This meant it was time for a new unit and that meant time for a move. As anxious as I was to get out of NC, I was NOT anxious to start packing boxes.

7. And my husband decided to a ditty move. This meant we moved ourselves instead of the Army doing it all. Great way to make money and to break up a marriage all in one go.

6. And the Army jerked us around. You are going to Ft. Lee, no wait Aberdeen Proving Grounds, no Ft. Lee, no…it’s DEFINITELY Aberdeen. We get to Aberdeen and his unit is all “Why are you here, you should go to Ft. Lee” at which point we considered murder. (For the reason for this boondoggle, read here.)

5. We got to stay at Aberdeen, but will have to move in less than a year to Ft. Lee. Whoopee!

4. My daughter finally discovered the Twilight saga. My life has as I knew it has ended.

3. My son discovered zombies. Do you know how many zombie games are out there? And how much EACH and EVERY one of them cost?! Yeah, well, I do.

2. I turned 37.

1. I’m still overweight.

2009, you can suck it!

Stay tuned for the 10 things I DID love about 2009.

(BTW- Click the link in the first sentence for the best part of the movie)

BUT…We are healthy, employed, and somewhat happy…so that’s something, right?

Cookie Contest!

Last modified on 2010-02-09 15:43:04 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

My work was holding a cookie contest and I always love to enter. First, there are cookies. Second, it’s a fun time. Third, did I mention the cookies? The first thing I had to decide, however, was what to bake. So I put out a call on twitter, and that call was answered by one of my favorite twitteres chefashbabe. She runs a great blog called “Memoirs from My Kitchen” and she recommended that I make these awesome Chocolate Caramel Bars. The name alone had me hooked, so I though I would share this great recipe with you. Ready?

First the ingredients:

• 1 Cup All Purpose Flour
• 1/4 Cup Packed Brown Sugar
• 1/2 Cup Butter
• 2 Cups coarsely chopped Pecans
• 1 Cup Flaked coconut
• 1 14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk
• 2 tsp. vanilla
• 20 vanilla caramels
• 2 Tbs. Milk
• 6 ounces semisweet chocolate chips

* NOTE: I made a double batch, but the recipe here is for a single batch.

1. Preheat oven to 350°f.
2. For crust, in a medium bowl stir together flour and brown sugar.

3. Cut the butter into the mixture until it resembles coarse crumbs.

4. Press flour mixture into the bottom of a 9 x 13 x 2 inch baking pan.

5.  Bake 15 minutes.

5.  Sprinkle coconut and nuts (if using, I didn’t in this recipe) over partially baked crust.

6.  In a small bowl stir together sweetened condensed milk and vanilla

7.  Pour over coconut and nuts.

8.  Bake for 25-30 minutes more or until set.

9. Let stand in pan on a wire rack for 10 minutes

10.  In a small saucepan combine caramels and milk.

11. Heat and stir over medium-low heat just until caramels melt. (this picture shows them about halfway melted, but remember that they need to be all the way melted, a smooth, milky mixture)

12. Drizzle caramel mixture over baked mixture. Sprinkle top with chocolate chips.

13.  Cool completely and cut into bars.

And here is a shot of the finished product at the judging today.

I didn’t win the competition but eating these yummy bars will be prize enough. Thanks again to Chefasbabe, and I will be visiting your blog again soon for some more yummy treats.

The Bacon’s Box

Last modified on 2009-12-23 18:57:16 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

Gather ’round now as I tell you the tale of an extinct creature known in our family by the nefarious moniker “The Bacon’s Box”. Alas, no real pork is involved…disappointing but true. You see, in my family I would spend Christmas Eve with my dad and his family (a sad little unit of never more then 7 people) and Christmas with my mom and her family at our Uncle’s James house in a small town in Georgetown, Indiana.

We would all gather at the house, starting sometime around lunch on Christmas Day, for dinner, fun, and presents. There were quite a few of us as it included my mom, her two brothers, spouses, their kids, and my Grandpa and Grandma Howard. The time period was the early to mid eighties, and as the youngest of the kids (at that time) I was already ready for presents even before the chocolate pie had been served (and if you have never had chocolate pie, then YOU HAVE NOT LIVED A FULL LIFE).

My Grandma Howard was known as Margie to friends, Grandma to us, Mom to my mom, and at Christmas- Gift Wrapper Extraordinaire.  Seriously, people, if you didn’t invest in 3M industries (makers of Scotch Tape) in the early eighties, you missed out on a gold mine. Because my Grandma didn’t really want to see your joy at opening the gift, see wanted to see your sweat and toil in trying to to get through the tape and to the actual gift. And you couldn’t tear at the paper, OH NO NO NO, my grandmother was a child of the depression and EVERYTHING that could be reused was. So if you began to tear the paper, she would stop you with “YOU’RE TEARING IT! It’s pretty and I want to use it again!” So you would stop and reevaluate how to get the wrapping off, through the mile  of tape, without ripping it. So hard was the task before you that there should have been a prize for this. (And I don’t know that I actually saw any of that wrapping paper reused…oh, Grandma, you sly dog, you).

Assuming you got through the paper, the box would tell you if you Christmas was going to be good or not. Because the first person to spot the distinctive gold stripes around the edges would shout “BACON’S BOX!” What is Bacon’s you ask? Well, it was one of those classic anchor stores that resided at the mall. They have been replaced with Macy’s or Nordstrom’s and in the case of the Bacon’s in Louisville, a Needless Markup, but for 95 years, Bacon’s reigned supreme in Louisville, KY.

(In one memorable location, it sat at the opposite end of the Lazarus department store. Did anyone else think that it was funny that a store named after a dead Jewish man was down the mall from a store whose name meant tasty fried pork strips. Just asking.)

When you bought clothes from Bacon’s they put it in a box for you. This box was white with the Bacon’s logo on top, and around the sides were one-inch gold stripes. There was no other box like it, and as an 10 year old, I can assure you that it was the last thing I wanted to see when I opened a gift. It meant one thing: clothes. Yuck. The adults however were different. To see the box meant that their mother had bought them new clothes, something that I’m sure reaffirmed that ‘mom loves me’ feeling. So for some the Bacon’s box meant good presents for other it meant just plain old clothes. Again, my grandmother was the thrifty sort (as mentioned above), and after a few years had quite a collection of Bacon’s boxes. So the cries of “BACON’S BOX!!” became more numerous as the years wore on, even though they were stocked with socks from Dillards, a sweater from Penney’s, or, in the case of my sister, a sheared lamb’s wool vest that she just HAD TO HAVE! Even I, who still wanted toys, got faked out a couple of times with the distinctive box.

Of course the years moved on, my Grandpa developed Alzheimer’s and had to be put in a nursing home, and my Grandmother moved into a tiny apartment to be closer to him. My uncle divorced, remarried, and had another child very late in life, my other uncle also married again and moved across the river to Louisville. My mom even married again and move to Illinois. The Christmas tradition had been broken. But now, when we look back and think of those times and the great Christmases we had, we always remember that box and even now in unison we will yell “BACON’S BOX.”

For those from Louisville here is a great link about vintage Louisville Department Stores.

21 Questions for My Daughter

Last modified on 2009-12-31 01:09:57 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

My daughter recently asked for a Facebook account. I acquiesced because I saw no harm to it. I monitor her computer activity and felt that I could jump on there and intervene if things got dicey. Well, she recently took one of those quizzes that Facebook perpetuates. You know the ones, they sound really interesting, but in the end they tend to be complete time wasters. I try to avoid these at all costs, but Cheyenne decided she had time to kill (and what 11-year-old doesn’t really) and took a quiz. When I saw the answers I knew I had to share, so insightful were the responses.

(Note to my daughter in the future…this post is not meant to embarrass or otherwise harass you, it’s funny, that’s all)

• What flavor of ice-cream is your favorite?

chocolate

OK, we started off with an easy one. no surprises here

• What would you name your children?

idk porbaly jhon.rose

I sincerely hope that these are two separate names, and not a signal that you intend to saddle your son with the name John Rose, ’cause I am NOT paying for that therapist bill

• What’s your greatest achievement?

winning

And I hope you always get to win…really I do.

• Describe your wildest fantasy

hmm thats hard when i died in my dream

Had she been a couple of years older, this question could have gotten dicey, but fortunately for me we are not there yet. Nonetheless, dying in a dream can be scary. And good job telling facebook, and not, oh…I don’t know…YOUR MOTHER!

• If you had a year to live, what would you do?

i would go to the doctors to see if they could save me

I love the practicality of this answer…awesome

• Is love blind?

yes love can be sometimes

Yeah, for now, but wait ’til you have a boyfriend that can’t keep his eyes in his head, then you will REALLY want to make love blind.

• Do you believe in God?

yes i do

I should be happy that she answered this question in the positive, but I really want her to question this a bit more. But it does show a spiritual side that I believe is necessary to move through life.

• Do you think aliens are watching us?

im am alein just kidding

Just like her mother, all important questions should be answered with sarcasm

• If you could join any band in concert, who would you join?

im in band so i dont have to answer that

I don’t think the intention of this question was to see if you were in a school band, but teenage heartthrobs tend not to faze my daughter so I guess I am glad. But go on, sweetie, aim for the stars.

• If you could have lunch with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?

a dead person my gramma

This question really bothers me because the only person she knew that had died was my ex-stepmother. who succumbed to cancer last year. While I feel for my sister who lost her mother, the truth is that I HATED this woman. Cheyenne only met her once and never got to fully appreciate her special brand of crazy and I don’t have the heart to tell Cheyenne that death has not made her drug-addled, co-dependent, looney actions that I had to put up with any easier to deal with.

• Have you ever jumped on your bed?

yes when i was 4

Well, do it again, and while your at it giggle and laugh just because.

• How many brothers and sisters do you have?

one brothers he a dumbwitted fool

Even on Facebook, Trace gets no love. But I love the words she used. Of course the proper word is dimwitted, but she has put her own special spin on it. Can’t you just feel the love?

• What are 3 things you really like about Nancy?

she my gramma.She tought be how to bead.She is nice and funny

Nancy is my mom and Chey’s nana. She was there when Cheyenne was born and has been a big part of her life. Mom was just here and Cheyenne didn’t want to spend too much time with her, it’s part of the growing process, I know. But this little answer reminds me that they still have a lot of love for each other.

• Tell us a random fact about Tony

he my grampa der

I thought she meant to say ‘dear’ but as I read it out loud, she is saying ‘der’ like ‘duh’. She does not have a lot of respect for you, dear reader.

• If Carla knew today was their last day on Earth, how would they spend it and why?

well she my gramma and if she died i would cry

Carla is the woman my dad married after my other step-mother, and a vast improvement, let me tell you. There are too many questions about death here, and she does not know how to disassemble when questions tear at your heart.

• How has Nancy changed since you first met him/her?

she hasnt changed a bit she my gramma and she hasnt changed

Time stands still for the young. Oh, dear Cheyenne, open your eyes and see that time is passing and it is taking its toll on everyone, even for Nana. Cherish each moment with her.

• Would Carla be a good rapper?

I answered:”"

She did not answer this question, so I am going to go ahead and do it for her. No, my dad’s 50-something, Indiana raised, conservative wife would NOT make a good rapper. Just a guess though.

• What would Rich say if you hugged him/her right now?

I answered:”"

This question is about my brother, she doesn’t have an answer for this one. She hasn’t seen him in 3 or 4 years. I don’t have an answer either. We miss you, Richie, come visit soon.

• If Amy D Phillips went to a costume party, what would he/she wear?

she usally wears black dresses

My costume is that of woman without any love-handles!

• Does Tony like hugs?

from his garnd daughter yes (me)

This question comes off sounding kind of creepy to me, but Cheyenne is able to turn it around.

• Carla is most likely to break the law by

no

Yeah, we are going to skip past the fill-in-the-blank portion and go right to “no”. Good thinking, you never know who’s watching.

• If Nancy was really rich, would you ask him/her for stuff?

NO I HATE MONEY -__-

I am SO going to remind her of this next time WE GO TO THE MALL!

• What does Amy D Phillips do when he/she is bored?

work cause she is my mom

Honey, that’s not boredom, that’s work. And that’s life.

• Could Tony live without a computer?

yes anyone could

I guess she’s right. ANYONE COULD, but would anyone want to? The answer for me is no. For my dad, he thinks the greatest invention is cable news, so yeah, I guess he’d be OK.

• What does Amy D Phillips never leave home without?

her phone

So that when you leave your homework, or flute, or coat at home, I can call you dad and yell at him to get it. Or get goodnight texts from you when I am traveling for work. It’s essential it’s true.

Thanks Cheyenne, for that insight into your personality. It was fun, now if you excuse me, my crops need tending in Farmville.

I Cannot Concentrate that Hard

Last modified on 2009-12-08 19:59:30 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

As you may know, I am a latecomer to this new-fangled technology of blogging. It’s something that I have wanted to do for a long time, but never attempted, because get this…it takes actual commitment. I know! How unfair and stuff. So I waited until my kids were old enough to be on autopilot most of the time, and jumped right in. But I still needed a motivator. Sitting down and actually typing can be tedious when there are bright, shiny objects to look at (did I mention my severe ADD? ), and with that in mind I went out and found myself a motivator.

I stumbled across this National Blog Posting Month site or NaBloPoMo, which, as it turns out does not stand for Nasty Bloated Pond Monster. This initiative is simple, take a month, post every day for a month, and you will have started a great habit of posting regularly. This kind of thing can give you a boost up on your blog success. Cool. So here I go, and for three days straight I posted. And it rocked. However, it turns out that I really don’t want to write everyday. I don’t have that much to say. My life =  not that exciting. Shocking, yet oh so true. Plus, it put pressure on me. I flesh a lot of subject out in my head for days or weeks before I post them. This gives me time to see what works, what may be funny, what may be innappropiate, and what simply has to be discarded for the time being. Asking me to write everyday assumes I can do all that in a 24 hour period. Uh, not so much.

I am leaving the banner on sidebar up for the month of December, though. As a reminder to me that posting regularly IS important, and trying to to force creativity is doom. But you never know, you may get lucky, and one month I may have a lot to say, and I will post it…EVERY DAY. And you will stop following this blog, because you don’ t have that kind of time.

Love Letters

Last modified on 2010-02-09 15:41:53 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

Today I arrived home to see one of those door hangers on my door. You know the ones that let you know that someone ‘offical’ had been by while you were gone and did ‘offical’ business? Yep, those ones.

This one was about my dog. Apparently one of our lovely neighbors decided to call animal control on us because we leave our dog out during the day. This particular love letter informed us that we were in violation of animal control law because we did not have a dog house or bed and no sustenance. Our dog Oreo, is apparently a victim of neglect. Really.

Well, that’s news to me. First off, we do leave the dog outside while we are gone during the day. Not because we are scared that he will have an accident, but because he has such bad separation anxiety that he will drag down the kids stuffed animal, dolls, toys, whatever and chew on them to make himself feel better. So we put him outside while we are gone, but he is left outside with food and water, and if the weather is wet he can go under the porch. When we come home, this poor mistreated dog is given love, attention, usually a pig ear, and a place on the couch- until we go to bed then he has his own bed in our room. People, I don’t get treated this good.

Oh, and to top things off, our cat cookie (who I have mentioned here and here) decided that this would be the day that she runs out the door. Usually, no problem because she roams around and then comes back in when we get home from work. But today, it was raining, and she decided to sit on the porch to keep dry and wait it out. And, of course, the animal control person is going to mention that, too. OF COURSE!

So thank you to my neighbors, for re-enforcing what I already knew. YOU SUCK! I don’t know which one it was exactly so I will lump you all in one suckish category. ‘K? If you had come and ask us about the dog or mentioned some way in which he was bothering you, we would have been happy to have a conversation about that. But we can’t have you be all brave and upfront and stuff, right?

So here is your love letter: I will continue to treat my spoiled pooch like I always do, and I LOVE the fact that I am moving in 7 months.

The Angriness

Last modified on 2009-12-14 18:07:44 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

Today I was talking to one of my favorite twitterers and she mentioned how there was some angriness going on in her office today.  I had never thought of angriness as a noun but I liked the word so much that I had to write a blog post on it.

I have seen quite a lot of this noun. My family are pros are the Angriness. Especially the women. Along with wicked depression and emotional manipulation, it seems to be an inherited trait. (Hey, an inheritance is an inheritance, don’t knock it). We have been known to stay on our high horse for years at a time. This can mean extended silences that outlast even the merriest of Christmas cheer.

And it is no different in an office setting. I am one to give my opinions and it never fails that every time an assessment rolls around I am asked to work on my ‘communication skills’. I, of course, make the right noises that I will do just that. But I am proud of my angriness, people tend to respect it, and respect that I will tell them the truth. I try not to be mean or cutting (although sometime how can I resist?).  I tend not to screwed over, a big plus in my book. Naturally, I get all the de facto male comments about bitchiness or PMS, but not to my face. Is it wrong to like that so much?]

However, the problem with the high horse, is that you don’t get to see the other person’s view, and when you do, your perch can look a little silly. So don’t practice the Angriness if you are unable bring yourself to utter the word “Sorry.” Those two go hand-in-hand.

My point is this- have enough people told you that it is OK to display some of the Angriness? Well, you have my permission. Have at it.

Squirrel Stories

Last modified on 2010-02-09 15:41:06 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

Squirrels made a nest in our attic. Bad luck for the squirrels because as soon as they were spotted my husband (heretofore known as J) they became enemy number one. A plan was hatched was to evict them. But first we had to let our landlord know that they were there and that they needed to be gone.

Our landlord is pretty cool guy, and my husband is a good at fixing things. So our landlord was all hey if you can get rid of them be my guest, but if not let me know and I will call someone to take care of it. As soon J heard that he was ready to put his plan in action.

(Somewhat related: A couple of years ago, we went to Lowe’s because we had moles digging in our yard and I asked for something to get rid of them. The saleslady pointed to the repellent that the store carries. It was then that I made myself clear: I did not want to repel the moles, I wanted them dead. She told me they didn’t have what I was looking for. WHATEVER)

First part of the plan was to see what kind of squirrel colony we were dealing with. Obviously, we wanted to avoid disturbing of squirrel artist colony or something. Turns out to be a mother and three young (not babies, but almost full grown adult squirrels).

Phase one of the plan was for J to cut-off their escape route, cause there is nothing you want more when dealing with rodents is to back them in a corner. Right.

Phase two was to unleash eight pounds of hell of there in attic. This finely tuned killing machine had been known to take out baby rabbits and other rodents, so we were sure that it was in excellent condition to rid of us of this single mother and her freeloading ways. That was when we unleashed the….wait for it…..wait some more…..ready?…..COOKIE!

Yes, this fearsome cat was to be our rodent-killer. If you have not seen a picture of this cat, I recently featured her on my daily picture here.

Needless to say our killer cat failed us. Once she was launched into the attic to carry out the hit on her mark, she proceeded to meow. And meow. Until J took her back out.

Plan B- call a humane exterminator. He came out the next day.

Lesson learned.

Is that my dignity in the garbage disposal?

Last modified on 2009-11-16 01:24:46 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

If its one thing I’ve learned about raising kids, it’s that they never cease to surprise you. And not in the good way, either. Oh yes, there are those times of kisses and hugs and ‘I love yous’ that make each day wonderful. But so often there are the can-I-disappear-kind surprises that make you realize that motherhood came with an honorary citizenship to crazytown.

I was once a calm person. Now I know exactly how long I can yell without going hoarse. I was once cool (hey, maybe it was all in my head, but that counts, right?). Well, all gone now. And it has only gotten worse since my daughter has made here first forays into the pubescent era of her life.

I used to laugh when my mother told me that I would always be her baby. I thought this was a another clever mom device for ensuring offspring embarrassment. But it turns out that there is some truth to it. My daughter is my baby. And babies don’t wear bras, or have crushes, or think about the mysteries of procreation. Just doesn’t happen. Except that it is.

I am trying to be prepared, trying to be supportive and open, and definitely filling out applications for nunneries. But failing that I shall just have to hunker down and make it through. And I know that if my daughter managed to leave me any dignity from her formative years, that  she will undoubtedly shred them in the years to come.

To her, I’m not ‘cool’, I’m dumb, the meanest parent in the world, I have no idea what is going on, and, oh, my favorite, I don’t know anything about boys. My only comfort is that someday she too will have a daughter to do the same to her as she is doing to me.

Let the games begin.

Muuwwwwwaaaaahhhhh.

I kind of like this whole blog thing…

Last modified on 2009-11-08 15:40:32 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

When I started this blog, I was unsure about the direction I wanted to go. I know myself, and I knew that if I tried to blog about just one thing boredom would set in faster than you can say spellcheck. So for me the easiest thing was to write how I live, completely without purpose.

I know that some of us need to tell ourselves that we are here for a reason, that we have a higher purpose. But I don’t really buy that. That doesn’t mean that your existence doesn’t have purpose or that what you do for yourself or other people doesn’t matter. Quite the opposite, in fact. If life is as accidental as I believe then every time you effect events in the universe, the fact the you did that and could do that, is even more accidental and wonderful. Don’t worry if you don’t follow my reasoning, few people do.

Anyway, the blog. Yea, so I was wondering, how I could get people to read it, and if they read it, would they ‘get it’. But today I stopped wondering about that. I clicked on one of my pages that after a month is starting to fill out a little bit and read some of my past entries.

And I got it, and I laughed.

So mission accomplished.

I guess that means I’ll keep doing this whole blog thing. And maybe people will come along and read, and maybe not. It’s all the same to me.

Remembering the Beautiful Girl Within

Last modified on 2009-10-28 18:22:48 GMT. 0 comments. Top.

My daughter is 10. It’s not a wonderful age, and my heart aches to know that there are many more non-fun years to come. Puberty has begun to remove all traces of the baby girl she always been, and soon will replace it with the woman she will be.

I want my girl to be fiercely independent. To aim for college and mention marriage as ‘someday’. I want to her to be comfortable in herself and not change for anyone. I want everyone else to see how wonderful she is. I see it, why can’t they?  And sometimes I even wish that things would be easy for her in life.

You would think all parent would want things ‘easy’ for their child. But for me, less so. I know that the times that make her cry will make her stronger. I know that every time she gets heart broke she will (hopefully) make better choices in relationships the next time around. But as a mother, watching your child struggle is heartbreaking. So sometimes, I wish for things to be easy for her.

But the one thing I do not wish for her is beauty. Oh, I think she is beautiful, even with the acne starting.  And I know she will turn out pretty, but I truly do not want her to be beautiful. Beautiful women aren’t taken seriously, things come easier for them (whether they wish it to be so or not), and beautiful women are expected to always be stunning. (How many times have you seen a woman whose beauty has faded and had a little bit of schadenfreude?).

I don’t hate beautiful women, and being a human, I must admit that I may even be the least bit envious of their looks. But still, I want my daughter to be pretty, with a beautiful heart, a stunning laugh, gorgeous compassion, and a knock-out sense of love. Now that I would really be jealous of.

I will pluck your eyes out with a spoon (or why I hated the South)

Last modified on 2012-03-07 23:55:22 GMT. 4 comments. Top.

We moved to North Carolina in March of 2006. Now, I am from Kentucky so it’s not like I can’t say that I didn’t know what I was in for, but I had been out of the South a long time and I hoped that I would be able to adapt. I knew that the South as whole is more genteel, more conservative, and less diverse than the Baltimore/ DC area, and I expected to have to assert myself to get my point across. But I thought I could cope, do our time at Ft Bragg and return to civilization unscathed.

I should have known better.

When I moved to Fayetteville, one of the teams in my company was helping a client arrange a Red-Cockaded Woodpecker celebration. Really, a whole celebration just for this little bird. You see, the Army figured out that sometimes it had endangered species of plants and animals living on its posts. No, really. Shocking. And someone figured out that all of the stuff that the Army did to train could sometimes hurt the fragile ecosystem and cause these animals and plants to go from endangered to gone. As in extinct kind of gone. Now, the average soldier didn’t give a rat’s ass. But someone up the chain of command did. WWaaayy up the chain of command, like pentagon command. So Ft. Bragg did it’s part and shut down, modified, moved, and adapted training areas as to encourage the ‘comeback’ of this bird (heretofore referred to as RCW). And comeback it did. The conservation effort was a success, and the Army decided to have a self-congratulatory event to celebrate. All the people that had been involved in the effort were there. I was there representing our client from Aberdeen. And it was time for a meeting.

At this meeting were myself (the Defense Contractor), two representatives of the Fish & Wildlife Service, two guys from the post’s civilian offices to help plan the celebration, and the protocol secretary for the General of the famed XVIII Airborne Corps. The General would be master of ceremonies. One look at the protocol secretary, and I instantly knew the type of person she was. In a cheap suit with cheaper shoes, blah hair had a quiet demeanor, I just knew she had to be a junior officer’s wife. I also knew in my heart of hearts that she was the type of woman who quit the workforce when she had children. More power to her, I guess. Despite my impression, this woman was there in professional capacity representing a well-known general on Ft. Bragg, and I would treat her as such.

One of the two guys took the lead. He had obviously planned these sorts of events before and was upfront about what was needed, where we were at in the process, and other details. My job was to sit and listen and report back to my client. I had little to say, but made the right noises, when expected. And then ITHAPPENED! The moment I knew I would murder someone if given the chance. This man who had been speaking, turned to the protocol secretary and said, “Miss Rose, have the invitations….” WHAT THE HELL? MISS Rose, MISS? What year is it, 19 freaking 20? Did you miss the part where this woman was here in a professional capacity??!!

(Here is a side note: In a professional situation, regardless of martial status, no woman is EVER to be addressed as MISS. It is either Ms., ma’am, or the occasional Mrs. If the woman has a professional title such as Doctor, that always take precedence. Back to my rant.)

I could not tell you a single thing that was said in the meeting after that. First was my shock over his obvious faux pas, my amazement that the protocol secretary did not correct him, and the fact that no one else thought it strange. I wanted to yell at the woman, slap everyone upside the head, and then kill this misogynist male. AND HE KEPT DOING IT. OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN. I just knew that he was going to turn to me and call me Miss Amy. AND THEN IT WOULD BE ON! I would leap across the table, take a spoon, and gouge his eyes out for daring to treat me that way during a professional event. Why a spoon, you ask? Alan Rickman said it best: “Because it hurts more.”

I was poised, I was ready. And then…nothing. I had to sit there while this pig treated this secretary as a little sister that he had to tell what to do (NOT YOUR JOB ASSHOLE, IT’S HER JOB).

I got home and told everyone I knew this story. Apparently the only person upset was me, everyone else just justified it with “That’s the South for you” or “That’s the way you do things down there.” What-the-frick-ever. Never, ever, would I allow that. EVER.

I never saw those people again, the day of the RCW celebration was busy with VIPs and press. But I never forgot. But most of all I never accepted that this was the way things “were”. Little did I know that I had 3 more years to live in this place, and I already HATED it. It was a long 3 years.

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1. why do I even have to point that out, anime is an art form- movies are a separate and DIFFERENT art form
2. You’re welcome.
3. Jason from Outnumbered disputes this assertion, but I don’t care, I know what side my bread is buttered on, and it’s buttered on the Maryland side. So there.
4. To some stupid audience member who complains that the music is too loud, again, I CANNOT make this shit up.
5. I’m pretty sure that’s the way Jews say I love you but I could be wrong.