The Sock Manifesto

Mother's Day

2009-05-10T15:19:00.000-07:00

What a farce. Mother's Day is another day that mothers have to do all their normal stuff, then have a party in their own honor in which they actually end up doing most of the cooking, cleaning, and hostessing. I am going to celebrate Father's Day in the same way, and in doing so, I hope that I actually get a day off.

oh, and another thing.

2009-04-14T20:48:00.001-07:00

Eric is a real jerk face who hogs the computer all the time. He's a tyrant. He tries to pinch me while I sleep, he yells at puppies and kittens, and he doesn't even like America.

The Phantom Menace

2009-04-14T20:24:00.000-07:00

Allow me to recap yesterday, I know some of it may be extraneous, but it will add to the ambiance. I get to Best Buy (see previous blog regarding my opinion of this effing store), and the kids and I manage to get out unscathed. I now need to go to Kohl's to exchange two pair of pants for the boy child, who has been given the wrong type by his father. Said father did not have the receipt, or the boy child never asked for one. In either event, I did not have the receipt. We did not find the pants he so desired, he needs the really tight emo kid style, so instead, he opted for a pair of plaid-ish shorts and a few t-shirts. When we got to the counter, the clerk says that the jeans will only fetch 14 bucks, because they have gone on clearance. Well, Deven's disappointment was like a kick in the stomach. I could see that he was on the verge of tears...which caused the level of emotion to go through the roof. Pulling out of the parking lot, I almost got hit by an idiot in a minivan. Sidebar: if you put your blinker on, stop the car, turn into the parking lot, you CANNOT swerve back onto the road. You have committed to the turn, and since other people might be turning onto said street, and because the laws of physics prohibit two cars from occupying the same space, you will probably cause an accident. Anyway, this all leads to the ride home. It was not pretty and involved some screaming, crying, and groveling. When I get home, I read the mail. I got a letter from Honda (my finance company) chastising me for not paying a ticket issued in Chicago. Perfect end to a perfect day.

Today, when I called the City of Chicago, they tell me that I have earned myself a ticket, to the tune of $100, for running a red light. How did I miss this? Well, they have cameras that say so. Well, Chicago, I have two fucking passengers that say they cannot recall fearing for their lives as I blew off traffic rules. I also have a recollection of stopping whenever I am supposed to for the last fifteen years. Besides, I never received the ticket. Their explanation is that they send them out later. Later? Later? According to Chicago, this incident happened on October 22, 2008. This is six months later. Wow.

The lady on the phone asked me how I wanted to pay, I responded, "I don't want to pay. I had to pay to get into your fucking state. I had to pay to park on your fucking street. I had to pay to go home, too. I want to go to court."

The real kick in the ass is that after the drive down there, the concert was only 40 minutes long. I think TV on the Radio should pay my ticket. And the fucking phantom cameras that don't send tickets out should be vandalized.

Driving

2009-02-09T15:09:00.000-08:00

Here is the latest observation from the worst driver in history. I know that I am a terrible driver. I hate driving, therefore I am a nervous wreck behind the wheel. HOWEVER, this has also made me a supremely patient driver. This morning, as I was dropping off my daughter, I was stuck in the same congested street jam that happens every morning. The plows have left the sides of the road a mess, and cars cannot get very close to what might be the curb (I know it's there under the piles of dirty, icy, mess). People dropping off their kiddies at school are allowed to park on both sides of the street. Normally, and by that, I mean during springtime, summertime, and falltime, two cars can still pass. Today, only one could get through, and here's where problems arise. There is always someone who turns the corner, preventing the oncomers from turning and getting the heck out of Dodge. Today, this jackass throws his giant Ford truck into reverse, and literally squeals his tires as he fishtails backwards around the corner. Come on, this is a school zone. So, at the end of the day, there are people who shouldn't be driving. If you aren't patient, then you are just a maniac in control of a two-ton killing machine. I hate cars.

Buh, bye!

2009-01-20T17:50:00.000-08:00

Who watched the inauguration today? Based on the fact that they rolled a TV into our conference room, I'd say that it was everyone! The crowds were insane! I felt so much energy! It's finally here, Obama, our agent of change! I can't wait to see some of the changes that are ushered in!

Goodbye, George W., can't say that it was nice.

Priorities...

2009-01-12T17:46:00.000-08:00

What really gets my goat (today) is how little people actually do to make things better. For instance, there is a company that sells beauty products. This company wasn't satisfied making a ton of money here, in the good ol' US of A. They actually began to sell their product in less developed nations, using marketing techniques that are utterly deplorable. As they paddled the rivers of South America in small boats, they would shout that they could make the women in the area look as beautiful as American models. These women can't read, but they can shell out a month's salary for wrinkle cream. It's unimaginable that a company sells a wrinkle cream to Amazonian women. As if they have no other cares in the world. Plus, their products, like most other makeup products, are laden with estrogen mimics, which cause reproductive problems in large doses, so hopefully, your baby doesn't eat that lipgloss. The other products they sell, the trinkets, are more than likely made in China, and that's a whole other blog. So, I tell my mom that she should not order from this company...Avon. Her response is that they have cute Hello Kitty stuff. Come on, really? I know you want that special discounted eye shadow pencil, but isn't there another way? I spend a goodly amount of time searching for fair trade or sustainable products, and organic makeup is nigh impossible to find, and certainly expensive, but it's there. At the very least, buy from a company more reputable than Avon. (I shouldn't say that, my dad is an Avon lady). My mom said that I am something of a fanatic, but in all honesty, I am not. I want the stupid crap as much as the next guy, I just think a little harder about where that crap comes from.

I still use paper towels to pick up the dog pee, because I want to be able to throw it outside. Fanatics use their dishtowels to do this. I still use toilet paper. Fanatics use leaves. I still buy socks when they are worn out, fanatics darn theirs. I am just willing to sacrifice a little more than the next guy, I guess.

By the way, my mom is not anti-earth, anti-human rights, she just really likes Hello Kitty.

Christmas

2008-12-21T09:09:00.000-08:00

For some people, the hustle and bustle of the holidays fuels them into a hyper-happy state. For me, it is the polar opposite. I hate it. I went to Best Buy to get one item. One. Now, Best Buy isn't a browsing kind of store. Most people hate going there, but do so because they need that S-Video cable or are sadists. I went to get one item. While I was there, I was standing in the DS Game aisle. There was a lot of people in that aisle, including an old lady, not like my mom old, but OLD old. So, there are a lot of people, confusedly looking for a game that their kid won't like anyway, when a lady with a cart tries to pass the aisle. Now, she is obviously confusing this aisle with an aisle that her cart-toting ass will fit through, but she perseveres. At the end of the aisle, she passes me and the old lady, knocking into her. I yell, "RUDE!" The cart pusher turns around and looks at me, and this, of course, foments my inner riot. "You heard me, you are fucking RUDE!" She just kept walking.

Now, this happens all of the time. Most of the time, people don't yell things, but I do. I always do, because what the fuck!? Who says that your time is so much more important than mine, that you can't say excuse me, or better yet, wait a split second for the old lady to move a little so that you can pass. I bet Jesus wouldn't like that. And isn't Christmas about Jesus? HA! No, Christmas is shitty and stressful for everyone because it's about presents. This is why there is no fun in shopping. Mayfair was so crazy the other day, that it took me a total of 80 minutes to park, buy 5 pair of underwear, and leave the lot. It was NUTS. I thought that nothing could shock me, but the droves of consumers captivated me. It was NUTS. Again, let me reiterate, it was NUCKING FUTS! And at the end of the day, do you think that it makes your holidays better? No, think about it, the best part of the holidays are sitting around the table, eating taco dip and merengue cookies, and talking to your family. For me, at least. I can't really remember from year to year what I even got as gifts - but I remember the year that my Grandma coined the term "shit-ass."

What I am really saying, is how can we dial down the consumer frenzy that is Christmas? Is there a "going back?" Is there a way? Yes, buy handmade, or better yet, make it yourself. I love the paint stick snowman that is in my plant. I leave it there all year. I got it from Deven when he was a little tot, when he didn't talk back, and I love it. I love it.

That said, if you are in the stores, I want a Kitchen-Aid. I have been good all year, I swear.

Long time passed

2008-12-14T14:08:00.000-08:00

I am so excited about so many things since the last blog update...

One is our president elect, Obama!!! Holla!

Another, our impending trip to England to visit Eric's sister, April. I have been eagerly counting down the days, and it's finally down to single digits. It's insanely hard to wait for this, like when you were little, waiting for your birthday, or Christmas. In the meantime, I seriously have a lot to do to prepare for the trip.

All the while, I have been happily watching the dollar rebound ever so slightly...I guess every penny counts? It does help that gas is under $2!

Confession...

2008-10-27T18:54:00.000-07:00

So. When the others go to the gym, I run with the dog. My plan is to run a 5K soon, so this works out for all of us, including the pup. Anyway, I take him out and he does "both his business," as Eric calls it. Then, I go inside, get all geared up (it's cold tonight), and take his ass for a walk/run. So, we are going strong, and by that, I mean I am walking briskly, and the dog is jogging. Lately, he doesn't want me to run, although I do drag him now and again. Well, like I said, we are going strong, and after 20 minutes, he starts pulling and pulling, which is weird, because he's pretty good on the leash, and I don't let him pull, and then he poops right on the sidewalk. I am still walking, so the poor guy is walking and pooping. I thought I had a bag in this goofy fanny pack, but it was gone (I must've used it), so I rang the bell of the person (I am like a mile away) but there was no answer, so I just kept going. Yes, that is me who left a trail of dog shit on the sidewalk, but I tried! I now know to always check for doody bags before leaving with this little guy. Sigh, sorry to whomever finds the pile with their shoes.

Have a little sympathy, jack ass.

2008-10-25T17:40:00.000-07:00

Could you ask a perfect stranger for money? Beg for someone's spare change? It's dehumanizing, to say the least. The way I see it, in order to go through that humiliation, knowing how the person you ask will judge you, the panhandler must REALLY need that money. Don't think that I am fooled, I know that it doesn't all go towards food, rent, nice clothes, and their homes in the hills. I understand that some people panhandle money for alcohol and/or drugs. But - I don't care. I think of it like this: I used to smoke. If I didn't have a cigarette, I couldn't function. It's not a habit, it's an addiction. That addiction drives one's will. If I were an alcoholic, the alcohol would fill that brain receptor, and at least allow me to be normal, same for drugs. It's that addiction that probably landed said panhandler in their situation. So, since I am not an AODA counselor or social worker, and I can't cure this person instantaneously, I try to do what I can to alleviate their suffering in the moment. I might have only $100 in the bank, but man, I bet that "bum" needs this buck waaaay more than I do.

The other camp, who I said I wouldn't name, said he doesn't give to panhandlers because they irritate him. I know this feeling. It's the feeling of guilt, and embarrasment for the other person. Of the fact that now you have to come to terms with the less fortunate, and it sucks, because you were just starting to enjoy your "Barack-O-Latte." Later, he mentioned that those people probably don't need the money as much as I think they do. To which I can only disagree with this statement: HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW?

I seriously think you have to walk a moon in someone's mocassins in order to truly understand. Which is why I always give to the panhandlers, because I don't ever want to be there, in those mocassins. But, if I were there, I would hope to meet someone like me. On the other hand, I am feisty, and if I saw a certain tight-fisted, alopecic dude sitting there on his high horse, I might flip his ass off.

Dog days and loooong nights.

2008-10-16T17:17:00.000-07:00

Well, since we got the dog, I haven't slept a whole night until last week. Rewind, let me recap. We bring the dog home, and OH-MY-GOD he is the cutest thing I have ever seen. Some of you may think that your babies were cute, but even the most seasoned mother can't deny that this puppy is friggin' CUTE!! He was a little, sleeping, furry ball of cute. The first night he came home, we put him in his little travel cage, perfect for a tiny pup, and again, -OH-MY-GOD- the sounds that the tiny pup made, well...if there were one thousand dogs being run over by lawn mowers and one thousand ambulances were in there rescuing them, well, that might have been better than the pitiful cries of that scared, tiny puppy. I tolerated it for a few minutes, but then I yelled at Eric, "I am a mammal, and a mother, and I think it's terrible to leave that dog in there like that!" What happened next was that I rescued the dog from the cage, and slept on the couch with him. Eric slept in the bed, restfully, and I had a fitful night of puppy chewing, writhing, whining, et cetera. The next night was Eric's turn on the couch. The websites all said the same thing, you have to coax your puppy into the kennel, so he learns to love it, blah, blah, blah. It said NOT to "Ferberize" your puppy by leaving him in there until he stopped the whining. Ok. Three weeks of alternating nights on the horrible futon, and I literally could care less if that puppy whined all night long, as long as I didn't have to hear it. Well, one day, Eric woke up with a kink in his neck, and that was it. He left the little whiner in the kennel, and let him whine it out. The next night was the first night that Eric and I slept in the same room for 21 days. Wow. That spoiled little brat. But...now that he's cool in the kennel overnight, I love him more than ever. He is the perfect puppy.

The Canine Diva

2008-09-26T22:01:00.000-07:00

I have a naughty new puppy. He is a diva. He is adorable! I will post a pic tomorrow, but I am sooo tired. He keeps Eric and I up all night. Who's idea was this?!

Moving day is approaching.

2008-08-28T14:55:00.000-07:00

Sigh. I have to pack my stuff, load it on a UHaul truck, and caravan it 4.2 miles east. The problem is that I don't wanna actually do it, and it's stressing me out, causing me to feel fatigued, and generally pissing me off. The sad thing is that I know it's not the last time. I have to move again in two years, and that sucks. It simply is the worst thing to turn your life upside down and put it in brown cartons for transport. Okay, there might be worse things, like stepping on landmines, but still. At least I get to leave this god forsaken building behind! xoxo

My girlies and their full uteri

2008-08-24T19:30:00.000-07:00

Two of my girlies are pregnant, and today I went shopping at Babies R'Us with them, and all I can say is OH MY GOD! I love babies, and that store sells exactly every item that you need to have a baby, except the baby itself. Now, we get to throw Katie a baby shower, and I can't wait. I can't wait until we get to paint Meg's nursery. I can't wait until there are two babies for me to babysit. All I need now is one of my own!!! Eric gave in and said I totally could after Christmas. That's not too far, and I think that he will make pretty cute babies.

Married life.

2008-08-21T19:09:00.000-07:00

So, it's been about a month since I got hitched, and honestly, I don't think a damn thing has changed. He's still lippy.

Today, I did something a little unethical. Like, I can't think of a situation where I would say this was the right thing to do, and if someone did it TO me I would kick them where the sun don't shine. But...I tried to justify it because the person will never know, and because I could. I feel strangely UNguilty, though. It's weird, it's like if I don't care about the victim, they aren't really a victim at all. That's called apathy, and it's kind of scary. I will elaborate in the future when the shit I uncovered actually hits the proverbial fan. When it does, the fallout will be colorful! Anyway, the point is that my husband told me that I was unethical, and that I was trying to justify it ex post facto. Who even uses those words?!

On a lighter note, we are taking a trip this Christmas to ENGLAND! We are going to visit Eric's sister, April, who lives with her family there. I can't wait to meet the kids, and their dog, too! Lilah wants to visit BigBend. Ha! Deven is acting nonchalant, but I know he's going to flip when he gets there! Counting down the days!

Ah, Married Life...

2008-07-20T11:17:00.000-07:00

So, I got married on Friday, in a quaint little ceremony in the Milwaukee County Courthouse. The court commissioner united us in "holy matrimony." Is that right? Can a non churchy person actually bestow anything holy? And wasn't the p,oint of the courthouse marriage for us to be non-holy? Anyway, it was very nice. Rachel took lots and lots of pictures, and it was quick and painless.

On Saturday, Eric and his boyz had the bachelor party, even though it was after the wedding. The plan was to do the "gauntlet" which is a series of brewery tours followed by more drinking. Lucky for them, one of the breweries was full up of tourists, so they had to skip that one. If it weren't for that lucky break, Eric might actually be dead today, since he is the walking dead right now. Except that he's not walking. On the contrary, he's not walked (except to the bathroom) all day long. HA! This is why beer isn't my friend.
xoxo, Mrs. Lohman

Married...With Children

2008-07-17T19:07:00.001-07:00

Tonight is my last night of being Ms. Duelge, tomorrow I will be Mrs. Lohman. Ha! I still can't get over it. I am super excited, because now I get half of Eric's riches. Oh, wait, he's broke. Brother, I guess I already booked the appointment, so we might as well go ahead. Sheesh. xoxo

The final countdown...

2008-07-09T18:18:00.000-07:00

I am totally getting married in nine days. The only really strong emotion that I am having at this point is my reaction towards the name change. I want to be liberated of the albatross that is duelge, but it's totally weird to have a new name. For 32 years of my life, I have been sdd. Now, I will be Mrs. Lohman. That's Eric's mom, ha!

Still, I can't wait! xoxo

Sigh.

2008-07-01T18:26:00.000-07:00

I went back to work in academia, and my god, it feels good to be home. I guess it is one of those things, that you don't know how good you have it sometimes. I am just glad to be back.

The bald and the beautiful

2008-05-30T19:23:00.000-07:00

You all might have heard that I am going to marry Eric. Bwah hahaha. Okay.

Now, you have yourself together. I am actually super excited about the whole ordeal. This is the sappy part of the blog, be warned:

I never knew that being part of something could feel so perfectly natural. I don't feel self conscious about a thing when I am with Eric. I feel like I can say anything. He encourages me to be better, feel better. I am so lucky.

AND - bonus! His mom is super sweet, his dad is full of hilarious hijinks, and it's a whole new level of dysfunction (lower?). Really, I can't wait. And it doesn't hurt that my last name will be pronounceable.

Now about the actual wedding part. We are getting married in a courthouse, seeing as how we aren't really down with the JC and all. Then, the following week, we will have a wedding party that will be super duper casual. I will be wearing either jeans or a jean skirt, depending on how hot it will be in July. It might actually be Stacy's snowmobile suit (this is Wisconsin). We will be drinking a purchased half barrel at a local VWF post, dancing to Travis' dj equipment (on loan for free) and eating a way inexpensive meal of sandwiches and salads. The rest is history. I don't want to be a bridezilla, and I don't want anyone to have sore feet because I made them dress up at my wedding party. xoxo

Phew.

2008-05-30T18:57:00.001-07:00

After a long hiatus, I am back. The problem is that I can no longer blog at work. Not that I used to shirk off and blog all day, but I would eat lunch, or stay a bit longer, take a five minute break, and so on...

Well, new job, new rules. Turns out that the Gestapo moved from the USSR into my company's IT department. They have outlawed general email accounts. Yep, that's right. No gmail, no hotmail, no Yahoo!, not a one. You can't get on. Not even a glimpse. Well, I have a real problem with the man trying to squeeze another ounce of productivity out of me by curtailing my freedom. The company made me sign a form agreeing to use my work email account only for work. So, when Eric wants to send me a picture of Jari and him making lewd gestures on Jari's fancy iPhone, I used to get those in a timely fashion on my gmail. You know the drill. Now, I don't get those emails at all. It is looking forward to popping in by my desk, logging on, and seeing a set of oranges and bananas that make my day go by faster. It's a bit of sunshine amidst the fluorescent tube lights.

Well, in their futile efforts, I have retaliated. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. I used to write reports and such while I ate my lunch at my desk. Now I read my book in the lounge, then come eat and email Eric on my work account. Oh, well. I used to eat and work for a half hour. Now I loaf for a half hour, then eat and type for the other half. They have decreased my lunch hour productivity by 150% by tightening the reins. Their loss. The only problem now is the difficulty I have looking for jobs while at work.

Howdy

2008-04-20T12:14:00.000-07:00

Well, after a restful vacation, I am back, recharged, and a little happier since all the snow is gone, and the forecast doesn't call for more(yet). I really like spring/summer. I really enjoy when I can go outside and boogers don't freeze in my nose.

I am starting to get a little tired of the Democratic presidential race. Hillary is pissing me off, and I really hate that it's taking soooo long. I don't really think that she is a bad candidate, she's my second choice, actually, third, I really liked Kucinich, but alas. I just want the ugliness to be over with. Sheesh. People are really funny, these people should be on the same side, it's giving us liberals a bad name. Hil should just quit. Obama is such an eloquent speaker, we need him to revive grammatical correctness in this trying time.

I deplore snow

2008-03-21T08:04:00.000-07:00

I might cry.

daylight savings...

2008-03-06T15:30:00.001-08:00

i am astounded that they want me to "spring forward" a month earlier than we are used to. i don't like getting up so early. boo hoo.

Dogs, appointments, microwaves, OH MY!

2008-02-29T22:01:00.000-08:00

First, I refer you to www.thebagladystrikesagain.blogspot.com.

Then, I say, people are fucking crazy.

Now, I write about a doctor appointment...

I just paid off the bill for the kids' last doctor appointment - in May 2006. For the labs and other things not fully covered by insurance, it totaled
$287. I got several pink bills saying, OVERDUE, and threating to send me to collections, but I just hammered away at it. I feel better now, but I also can't afford to pay that, especially when I can take them to another doctor with zero copay zero deductible under my insurance. It's a sad state of affairs when I have to leave the only doctor that the kids have seen for 10 years, who also happens to be the pediatrician that I went to, but alas.

So, I decide to take the kids to my doctor. I call the scheduling line, and dutifully press 1 for scheduling new patients. Laura answers, and we start entering the information. She is obviously reading from screen prompts aloud, which is irritating me, since I can't tell if she's actually talking to me, most of the time, she's not. After a loooong time entering the kids' names, addresses, and dobs, she proceeds to try to copy information from my data. Unfortunately for her, she has listed their last names incorrectly, despite my protests, and then starts looking for me under the Vs. Duh.

Okay, appointment time, right? Wrong. She can't schedule two back to back physicals. The computer won't allow it. Now, she mumbles aloud, that she can transfer me to the clinic for an override. Okay. Raquel answers. Oh, Raquel, the nurse. It's a wonder that she passed her eye test, much less the nursing exam. Holy shit, this was the most ignorant person that I have spoken to in a great while. So, she can't find the Belez's in the computer. V. As in Victor, I repeat. She looks, no, still nothing. I respell their first names, nothing. She looks again, and somehow the computer must be wrong, broken, et cetera. Ok, she found them, right where they were supposed to be, silly Raquel, forgot to click on the field. OMG. So, she flounders with finding an open spot. Then two, that's up there with rocket science. We get sort of squared away, and I ask, "How should I go about getting the children's old records to you?" Raquel says the doctor can just fax it over. Deven is 10. Delilah is 8. Their charts are fat, and I can hazard a guess that the old place will decline that request. I tell her this, and she says, "Sign a release here, and we can get them mailed."

Good, now we are getting somewhere. I have the appointment, now I need a release. Since I work for the Medical College, I ask her to interoffice mail the forms. She replies that they don't have a scanner. I repeat, interoffice. She repeats the scanner blurb. I ask, "You can't print it, put it in a manila envelope, write my name on it, and put it in the bin?" Raquel says, "OH, INTER office." Sigh.

Then, she needs all of my information. At this point, I give her my interoffice mailing information, and ask if that's all. I say, "I have been on the phone for 27 minutes and 6 seconds. Is there anything else? Did I successfully make an appointment? Can I hang up now?"

Raquel says that she has to go through all the steps.

I am pretty sure this is a new computer system, but come on people. Unless you are too old to have ever had a computer in school, it can't be that difficult. Raquel, Laura, I am complaining about the 27 minutes I lost on the phone with you vacuous idiots. It does offer hope, however, that even those less gifted can have gainful employment. Way to go, see you soon.

Puppies

2008-02-25T10:51:00.000-08:00

You know, I reaaaallly want a dog. I can't have one in my apartment, but why? Why is it that Americans are so adverse to having dogs in their buildings. It's just not fair. Hmpf.

The Big O

2008-02-14T19:51:00.000-08:00

For those of you who are on the fence as to which democrat to vote for, I give you this video. Charlotte Johanson is hot and she likes Obama, so he must be the best. For those republicans perusing my blog, if you haven't noticed, I am a bleeding heart liberal, so what are you doing here. I still can offer you this tidbit, if you had socialized medicine, you could use the money that you would save in premiums every month to put gas in your Hummer. Also, the poor kids in the inner city could see a doctor once in a while...Anyway, to the PinkLadies who will be at the Midwest Center tomorrow to see Barack Obama, I am jealous, and if you get the chance, get him to autograph your boobies! xoxo, Stephani

Back to Whence You Came...

2008-02-12T19:25:00.000-08:00

I had a day from hell. We've all had them, and this isn't the worst one I have had, that was this summer when I drove about a mile on a flat ass tire.

So, I get up to snow. As if that isn't enough, I have to drive down to sign up the boy child for middle school. Middle school. The gray hairs are bad enough, now my son is going to be in middle school? The snow sucks, and the school smells like a wet dog. The secretary is wearing Merle Norman orange lipstick. I can hardly keep a straight face as she talks to me. I fill out the form, one of those that has three layers, and leave, but get stuck crossing the street, snow flattening my graying hair.

Get back in the car, cool beans, at least I am dry. I get on the freeway, which has the sign to 94W. There is no orange sign, and the 94W is not obliterated by a piece of plywood, which is sometimes the practice when the DOT decides to close a ramp - for ten years. So, as I am on the high rise bridge, I see that I cannot, in fact, get to 94W from there. Okay, I quickly get over to the right to exit on Plankinton. By quickly, I mean slowly. Traffic was crawling at 20 mph due to the increasing snowfall. Boo, hiss.

I get off on Plankinton, decide to take Wisconsin up to work, but not wanting to drive Wisconsin until around 35th, I get on Clybourn. Well, I end up driving in the wrong lane, who knew that it totally becomes a two way street at some point. The oncoming headlights encouraged my lane change. Sigh.

I get to work, the phone rings, from a recognizable 604 number. "Hello?" Oh, it's Deven's school? Oh, he's in big trouble for talking in music class? You don't say? Sheesh.

Whatever. Then the jackass calls, complaining that the girl's toenails were too long last time she visited. No, that is what I meant, he called to tell me that he disapproved of her toenail length, and also to let me know that their teeth were looking a little yellow.

Then, the school calls AGAIN, this time it's Deven on the other end. He failed to go home after school, and Jack left. He finally saunters in and no one is there, he freaks out, goes back to school (at least he's level headed if not well behaved) and calls me. Why he didn't call from the house phone is beyond me, but hey, who's even counting the mysteries of children these days?

Driving home was a nightmare, and the grocery store was the perfect cherry on top. The bill was, as usual, exorbitant, and I certainly love carrying 15 bags through a snow pile the size of Kilimanjaro.

But wait, then I got to shovel. What day would be complete without a good back workout, right? Well, I quit today. I am going to bed angry, as these were just highlights. I didn't even get into the 90 minute meeting about nothing...xoxo

Diamond Settlement

2008-02-06T16:36:00.000-08:00

My aunt Laurie sent me a link to a website that is for the diamond settlement, or more specifically, a class action lawsuit settlement site. I guess that a court of law found that DeBeers was price fixing or something similar. I went to the site, and I guess that I am happy that some people will be getting some money back on their jewelry purchases. I will not be one of those people, as I have never purchased a diamond because I have always been poor. Anyway, you sign up, and get a little cash back on your purchase.

Okay, simple enough. My question is this: isn't that exactly what DeBeers does? It is the name in diamonds for a reason. DeBeers buys up diamonds, so it can control the flow of diamonds into a given market, thus driving prices up by keeping supply down. This system has been in place forever, since diamonds began to be marketed in capitalist societies. However heinous the diamond trade is, one has to admire the diamond trade, spearheaded by DeBeers. There is no paperwork, just handshakes, and everyone knows that your diamond is worth more when sorted, stored, and approved by DeBeers. That's genius, and apparently, the United States thinks that's criminal.

Oh, well, for all of you who get a buck or two back, enjoy your latte! For anyone who gets a lot of money back, I have a word of advice, the only one who could pull off that much jewelry is Phyllis Diller, cut back on the diamond purchases. xoxo

Let it snow...

2008-02-06T08:55:00.000-08:00

Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Wait, actually, we do have places to go, people to see, so if the snow could just stop, we'd all appreciate it. Really, is this right? Really?

Fucking snow.

Still got the butterflies...

2008-02-04T10:06:00.000-08:00

Today is my one year anniversary with Eric. For all of the complaining I do about him, it's really me who is the lucky one. I am a lucky girl that he puts up with all of my bugaboos about cleanliness and order, and that he tolerates all the moods that I have in a day, even an hour. I heart Eric. I got his name tattooed on my boob. Psych! Scared you, huh?

Arctic Blast Meets Microwaves

2008-01-29T19:03:00.000-08:00

It's effing cold outside. As we speak, Eric is sitting under the down throw (he calls it the magma blanket) and he's still whining. I am in a pair of fleece pants, a tank top, long sleeve tee, hoodie, socks, and a fleece blanket, but I can't feel my feet. We are in the house.

I hate the news people. If they didn't keep talking about the "arctic blast" maybe I wouldn't fixate and feel so cold. Jackie came into work, talking about the cold coming, saying, "They had these giant blue arrows, wiggling, like they were shivering..." I guess the hand gestures helped, in any event, it sucks.

In some parts of the world, it isn't arctic today. As a matter of fact, I think the arctic lives in Wisconsin.

Oh, and for those of you who like to hear about my confrontations, get this shit. The other day, I was using the microwave at work. There are six microwaves, but the medical students (blech) use them all because they think they own the place even though they are pretentious bastards and don't own shit yet except a ton of student loans. Anyway, I digress. So, my timer beeps, and I take the dish out, test it, realize it's done, and set the lid on it. I reach for a few napkins to substitute as a potholder (the dish is hot) and this chick says, "Can I sneak in there?" and jams her shit in the open door of the microwave. Mind you, I am still standing right in front of it, and my stuff is all about the counter. She can't shut the door because my dish is there. WTF? I looked at her dumb ass and said, "You could've waited until I was done!" and I slammed the door of the microwave hard as I continued to stare at her in the eyes. I wanted her to drop her gaze, you know, like dogs do when they realize they are NOT the alpha female. Sheesh. Then she sat and talked about me to her friends, so I got up and acted like I was coming over to her table, but I really was going to get a fork from the condiment area. Ha. Her whole table got quiet. Ha. They were scared. Ha!

Hypnosis

2008-01-26T16:34:00.000-08:00

Eric and I were watching youtube for some reason. Oh, because I like to watch videos of cute puppies and kitties, and he wanted to see something, but neither of us can remember what it is at the moment...

Anyway, somehow we started watching stage hypnosis videos. I think this is a bunch of horse shit. If it works so well, how come there aren't more hypnotists all over stopping smoking, drinking, et cetera. Even if only a portion of the population is suggestible, then they could still make a killing. But they choose to take their skills and lavish colleges with them, hypnotizing idiot students into clucking like chickens and having orgasm handshakes. Come on, can we be serious for a moment.

I don't propose to know all the nuances of the human mind, and I am sure that there is a subconscious desire to be uninhibited, but why doesn't it work for everyone? If something doesn't work for everything in math, it's not a law, and therefore debunked. This doesn't make sense, I can't wrap my brain around it. Suggestibility. That just means that you do what they tell you. Isn't that exactly what our mom's told us NOT to do?

Eric says maybe I am just not suggestible, and that's why I don't believe, but he actually saw his friend convinced that she was RoadRunner, meep meep. Unless it happens to someone I trust, and I see them eat bugs, or something that I know they wouldn't do, I can't buy it.

tomsilver.com is an example...if this shit is real, why peddle hypnosis tapes on the internet? Why wouldn't George W. have hired a hypnotist to help him say nuCLEar? Why wouldn't people use this as a means to get even with someone? All the untapped potential points toward the likelihood of snake-oil. But, if you believe, then I got a bridge for you. xoxo

Friday

2008-01-25T11:28:00.000-08:00

I like today. It is many things:

The first Friday with no math class in a long time.
The first Friday with no stank turtles.
The first Friday with nothing to do in a loooong time.

Sigh. Sometimes, I guess, there is rest for the weary.

Bon Voyage

2008-01-24T10:51:00.000-08:00

I gave the turtles away. I really tried. I had those little fuckers since December 19th, and they weren't getting any less smelly. Oh, well. I wanted to do it, I did, but I had acute stress reactions when I walked into the room. The last straw was having to change the filter every 4 days. That's a dollar a day. For turtles.

I am a much happier person today than I have been since December 19th.

ambiguity

2008-01-18T15:22:00.000-08:00

i hate it. say what you mean, mean what you say. have a clue, give a clue, get a clue. don't smother me in enigmatic crap then call me crazy. sincerely, stephani dilligaf

Mathematical Genius?

2008-01-14T09:48:00.000-08:00

I recently have had the opportunity to study a human primate in captivity, by math. Oh, dear. Let me tell you that for people who lack prowess in this area, the challenge is daunting, and painful. It's also painful for me to watch. It's like explaining color to a blind man. I just think there is this great divide between the cranial hemispheres, and if you don't get that click, you can't move on. However, some people don't get the click, then what? You have to move on anyway, so suck it up? Yes. That's exactly it. I once thought it was attitude, now I truly believe it's aptitude. xoxo

Fender Bender

2008-01-11T16:34:00.000-08:00

For the first time in my life, the Wisconsin weather got the best of me. I don't want to complain too much, but the snow caused me to have a fender bender. The problem is that fenders don't bender anymore. They are made of plastic. I had a fender cracker. Both my front bumper and the other guy's rear bumper are cracked. This, my friends, is a conspiracy by the insurance companies. They lobbied for plastic bumpers. This way, whenever one has a "fender bender," one has to replace the entire bumper, at least $1000, well over the deductible. If the fender could be pounded out, no income for them.
Boo urns. I hate insurance, it's a racket. I have been forking over my premiums for almost ten years to this company with no claims, but I bet the ranch that my insurance goes up 20% now, even though I am old, two kids, big boat ass car, and good driving record. This money that they are paying out doesn't even come close to the money that they have made from investing my premiums, so wtf?!

I am buying an island soon. I bet cars made of palm fronds and coconuts don't have that high of insurance premiums.

"The French Fry Theory"

2008-01-10T07:21:00.000-08:00

This theory, counter to the "Chicken Nugget Theory," was penned by L. Bay, a brilliantly matriculated woman, who has also learned a lot of lessons in the school of hard knocks.

The theory is that if you go to get fast food, and you poll the crowd as to their order, and they all say no thanks, when you get home, you will inevitably have to share. It's not that these people are idiots and lack foresight. It's not that these wanton eaters just want to ruin your meal. The truth of it is that when you leave, the smells of Mickey D's are out of mind, but when you come in with your grease spotted bag, smelling of golden goodness, the same nay saying crowd is going to eat your fries.

Now, the divide is less either speak up or starve. Rather, it is the difference between women and men. Women know that all of the men in the room are going to eat their fries, so they get more. Men don't think about the future, they just come up with theories to explain away the welt on their head, the result of the chicken nugget being launched at them by the mother they denied. (Ha! Score one for mom).

In a nutshell, the Chicken Nugget Theory can be boiled down to one word, selfish. Even if you decidedly choose to ignore the French Fry Theory, thereby only returning with the exact amount of food that you want to eat, you should still simply understand that it's human nature to want the delicious fried food that you have, so suck it up and share. As a matter of fact, if it's your mother, you should just give her the whole box of nuggets since she took the time to expel you from her uterus and all.

Just saying.

Hello, 2008.

2007-12-31T08:45:00.000-08:00

I am actually excited to start the year anew. I am making resolutions, and sticking to them. I resolve to be poor for the majority of the year. This shouldn't be hard.

I also will occasionally binge drink, talk about people's hideous outfits behind their backs, and eat things that are bad for me once in a while.

I believe, wholeheartedly, that this year I can stick to my resolutions.

For those of you who have resolved to save money, eat healthy, and be nice: good luck, suckers.

Happy New Year!

The Turtles

2007-12-28T07:40:00.000-08:00

A while back, around Thanksgiving, my aunt Shirlee offered Deven some turtles. Actually, she mentioned it to my dad, who mentioned it to Deven. Not to me, like, "Hey, Steph, would you like me to give your boy child some turtles?" Nah. He went straight to the source and pitched the idea to the boy himself. Of course, the kid said yes.

So, we finally get the turtles in the middle of December. They arrive in a spic and span 15 gallon tank. They seemed scared, which made them charming.

So, I ask Deven how we should take care of these things. He said we throw a couple pellets in a couple times a day, and change the water once a month. Well, I came home, and the house smelled like a giant toilet that hadn't been flushed in a while. I changed the water. All was well.

I came home the next day, after reading up about these particular turtles on the internet. Alas, these turtles require a daily water change, much more variety in their diets, and the tank was too small. Now, I am not pointing fingers. I am sure that when the turtles were acquired by my aunt and uncle (more specifically, their children), they were taking care of them the best way they knew how. But the smell of those fucking things! I can't imagine that they could have possibly only changed that water once a month. After 12 hours the water was so turbid, that you couldn't see through it, and it smelled like a sewer.

So, I get a whole new set up. Tank, filter, lid, et cetera. It was Deven's Christmas present from my mother. Well, the filter wouldn't work properly. Yikes. Julia came in to drop Delilah off and said, "Why does it smell like diarrhea in here?"

I promptly returned to the pet store, worked out the filter problem, and got the thing working. Washing those rocks was absolutely the most odorific thing ever. It smelled like Joan's Island on a hot day.

I hate these turtles. Deven is fucking lucky that I am such a nice mom.

Sigh of relief

2007-12-25T17:40:00.000-08:00

It is over. I have put away all of the boxes. The trash is in the alley. Although the girl child won't allow me to take down the tree tonight, I would if I could. The only trace of Christmas is the lingering stress in the air. Smells kind of like, turtles. Oh, wait, that's the disgusting turtle tank, never mind.

Ah, I did get some very nice, thoughtful gifts. A new watch from the man child, and from his mom, a set of silicone baking dishes. 12 of them. Turquoise. I know you are all jealous, but don't be a hater, get your own. Of course, they won't be as cute as mine, but still.

The day is done, at this point 2007 years ago, Jesus was born, the magi were on their way, et cetera. In real life, CapitalOne is adding up my interest. Now rest, and eat all those damned cookies!

You Got the Cootie Touch...

2007-12-20T07:29:00.000-08:00

Joe says, "What do you want to do?"
Bob replies, "I don't know, what do you want to do?"

Do you think Joe would have asked Bob if Joe had a fucking clue. Bob should just suck it up and decide. Jesus.

Bah, Humbug.

2007-12-18T13:32:00.000-08:00

If I could, I would skip the entire holiday season. I would truly eliminate Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's from my vocabulary.

Auld lange syne my ass.

Okay, so Thanksgiving isn't that bad, but like the St. Louis Arch, it's the gateway. Unlike the St. Louis Arch, which is the gateway to the west, Thanksgiving is the gateway to hell. Black Friday literally creates monsters. I never got so many phone calls from my family, but these aren't well wishers, oh, no! These are phone calls of inquiry. What does Deven and Delilah want for Chrismas? What size is so and so, and so on and so forth. Bottom line, Christmas turns ordinary people into super-consumers. As an adult, I usually don't need anything. I might want stuff, but it's usually still in the want category because it's too expensive, and since no one in my family is descended from old money, they aren't going to buy it for me.

Alas, I can't give it up. I can't say goodbye to Christmas. I would feel too guilty, as if I were somehow letting everyone else down by eliminating their opportunity to give me a gift. I think we should all become Jehovah's Witnesses. I don't think they exchange gifts. Actually, they just use it as another day to love their lord. If this were the case, I would totally be off the hook, since I am not down with the JC. We could still celebrate festivus? Or just scale it down a little? I am going to be in hawk soon, and I simply can't afford another pint of plasma.

F&*#ing Wisconsin

2007-12-11T18:22:00.000-08:00

I would like to state, for the record, that there is such a thing as too much snow. We have reached maximum capacity for frozen precipitation. Argh!

So, as you know, when it snows and there is a snow day, citizens of Wisconsin often find it a jolly idea to go sledding. When I was little, sledding meant whooshing down a powdered hill over and over until your nose was frozen and your mom made you come in. As an adult, sledding means hauling your sorry ass up the hill after you have barely made it down alive.

Why might one die sledding? One might have used a giant, inflatable inner-tube for two, and went over some snow ramps, and was subsequently knocked off by the rear-man who was far too big for said sled. Ah, yes, E. made me go down tandem and took me out. I am still seeing double. By the way, ramps are built by tweens for tweens, they can handle the rough and tumble, but I cannot.

Okay, so, after the third or fourth time down the hill, I had those wet mats of snow stuck to my jeans, as only the kids have snow pants. I was a little cold, but the boy child wanted to continue sledding. I waited at the bottom of the hill. I would have waited in the car, but then they would really have called me the party pooper. I call it self-preservation.

In any event, I just want to know, this: What happened to you Wisconsin, you used to be cool?! I think I have the answer, and I suspect that the answer might be that I got old. Anyway, if you have a snowblower, come dig out my car, as I am pretty sure it will be stuck, even if you read this in July, still come check, you never know, after all, this is F&*#king Wisconsin.

The divergence of human evolution...

2007-12-07T14:24:00.000-08:00

Imagine a world in which men and women could communicate well. Ha!

Think again, sucker! I don't care how many books Dr. Phil writes, at the end of the day, there is some gap, some chasm, if you will, that prevents the words that exit a man's lips to penetrate my brain in any meaningful fashion. It's terrorizing. I simply want to understand, and I am starting to believe that it's not going to ever happen. My friend put it best when she asked, "Do you think men just evolve slower?"

Yes, yes I do. They are devolving into grunting cavemen, me thinks.

Headline: Tequila Shots Lead to Surgery

2007-11-28T13:21:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I went to have the review of that MRI. Okay, this guy, dentist, oral surgeon, whatever, is a complete lunatic. I asked Jackie to come with me, so that there was someone to appreciate just how crazy this guy is. Unfortunately, she couldn't go, so suffice it to say that it is a rare opportunity to meet somebody this insane outside the walls of a mental ward. Okay?

Anywho, turns out that this tmj (remember this is all due to drinking too much tequila, puking, and somehow hurting my jaw in the process). Anywho, I completely dislodged the cartilage, and it's been so long that pulling it back into place isn't an option. What is an option is that I get surgery on my face. Ouch. Then, this crazy dds wants me to do it BEFORE Christmas, as if I want to forgo all of the delicious candy that Jen & Megan make! I declined. Instead, I will wait until after the holiday binge. I figure that losing the use of my jaw will help me shed those holiday pounds.

Seriously, everyone (including myself) has seen this as a positive side effect. Like, wow, that sucks, but at least you'll lose weight. Yikes. What a vain race we are. xoxo

Jury Duty Day Two

2007-11-21T18:38:00.000-08:00

The saga continues....

Ah, the second day was fabulously bad, as I actually got called upstairs to a room where thirty of us were questioned by the very same people who imposed the Spanish Inquisition. I answered honestly, but didn't get picked. Ha! It was a domestic violence case, I wonder why...

The lawyer for the defense was afflicted with the lollipop syndrome, super skinny so her head looked huge. I am pretty sure that her diet was exclusively nails, and she exercises by pummeling wayward jurors with her fists of fury. Seriously, this chick was whack. She asked me, at one point, what my hobbies were. I said, "Reading and crossword puzzles." Why did I say that? Well, I had already introduced myself, and said that my occupation was a research technician, explained that, and answered more specific questions, so I figured I would make myself out to be the biggest nerd in the joint. No, really, when put on the spot, it's the first things I could think to say. D'oh! Anyway, this atty. then asks me what my favorite book was. Like I was lying. I seriously wanted to say, UUUH, and get fidgety. I just said, "Untitled." I figured that would throw her off, and I am pretty sure that somewhere there's a book titled, "Untitled." She was pissing me off. There were thirty of us, and she condescended every person she questioned, and most of the jurors didn't even know it.

On a lighter note, I did get to go home that day, at 12:45 p.m., just in time to meet the half day cut off, but not quite early enough to make going into work productive. Sucks!!

So, I went back to work today, and I basically just regrouped, and had an MRI of my face. That was fun.

Getting Comfortable

2007-11-19T19:03:00.000-08:00

Right now, I am sitting on my couch, just finished typing that jury duty one blog, the kids were on the floor playing a chess game, and e. is on the other end with his elbows on my knees. I don't feel randy for him. I actually feel normal...isn't that crazy. It's not even a year. Boo. Maybe I should break up with him for a month, just to get those insane butterflies back? He'll say no, that's reckless. See, I even know what he's thinking. Watch, I am going to try to "bag tag" him right now, I bet he flinches! He did, and he said, "Ow." But only in a whisper, because he's reading and I am totally annoying him on purpose. Oooh, wait until he reads this, he's gonna be sooo irritated. But that's funny to me. And I know he'll be over it, so I do it anyway...sigh. This one's for you, J.Proc218: I ate your friend, and I regurgitated this version, sweet, like ruminated cud.

Jury Duty, Day One

2007-11-19T18:37:00.000-08:00

About a month ago, I got an envelope. Not unusual, I get a lot of envelopes in my mailbox, they're called bills. This one, however, was different. I thought it to be a regular piece of junk mail (gotta love the CartL Sort...) but it was actually a summons. And not a regular summons, like someone is suing me, a summons for jury duty. I could hardly contain my excitement as I filled out the "Juror Questionaire," answering questions like:

Can you understand the English language? and Race:

Boo. I went to work told my boss, and when the taunts subsided, waited with bated breath until today, the day I got to be a juror.

I get there at 8:20, but it takes 15 minutes to get through the metal detectors thanks to the giant line of people. These people are idiots, I think to myself as I watch them being sent back and forth through the metal detector's gate. I mean, come on, if you were sent back for the pocket change you are carrying, it's a safe bet to think your HUGE belt buckle is going to cause a loud BEEP!

I make it into the jury area at 8:35, the lady is understanding, and I sit down next to a lady and her mother. What are the odds that they both get a jury summons? Pretty good, I guess, as the next juror to follow me into the room is none other than Sen. Herb Kohl. He was wearing a Packer's hat and a hideous pair of blue polyester slacks. Slacks! Ha, that's a funny old people word. He probably wore those slacks a long time ago sitting on his grandmother's davenport.

Weird. So, I sit there for a while, and a while more, and then what seems like forever. On lunch, my special "JUROR" sticker gets me into the museum for free, where I go and see the Sampson exhibit and start crying at the lack of humanity in this world. Zoos are evil. Kids on a field trip started laughing at me, so I moved on. I meandered around the museum for a bit, went back to the courthouse where I again found myself in a line. But, and this is weird, I was behind one group of people, but there were ten of them. Some of them were wearing slippers, but they all came together for one purpose. I didn't quite catch it, but I wondered how ten members of any group could possibly get organized enough to go anywhere together, and amicably at that. Plus, don't any of them work? Apparently one didn't even have shoes, so I guess not.

I get in again, despite the deadly rivets on my jeans which alarmed the machine this time, but not in the morning, whatever, and then I return the the jury room where I sit some more. This time, I am being chatted with by a stranger who had shared my table at lunch. Blah, blah, blah, I absolutely had my iPod on AND was reading a book. People are nuts. I swear that one guy was wearing red sweat pants with elastic ankles, and down the side were the words, "Cross Colors." Dude.

There was a lady who ate the entire time, talking while she chewed. I know that she has a daycare, her son has a van service (Oh, there's money in that...), she owns a rental property, and she likes Gardettos.

Another woman sang the whole time, I don't know if she realized it or not, since her phones were on. Rock on, sister.

A crazy pacer made me nervous all morning. I was happy when he was called to service.

Herb Kohl greeted people simply with, "Good morning." For example, one guy asked, "Aren't you Herb Kohl?" His reply? "Good morning." Yikes.

Today was a completely strange day. An exercise in surreality. And I didn't even get to see a trial. I finally left around 3. Boo-urns, tomorrow promises to be better. I think I am going to pretend to be deaf.

Missing things...

2007-11-14T10:36:00.000-08:00

I had this weird feeling, that I was missing something. Like the feeling you get when you forget your watch, or don't put on your seatbelt. I couldn't figure it out, though. I think I was missing the summer, the way things used to be, maybe? Does that even happen? It was a weird physical sensation, and yes, I am wearing underwear.

Also, the other day, I was in the passenger seat, and E.Roc was driving, and I looked at him, and it occured to me that I would be the passenger to his driving forever, and it was slightly scary. But mostly nice and exhilarating. Sigh.

Ain't That Some Shit?!

2007-11-07T18:35:00.000-08:00

You know, some things are unbelievable.

Once, a lady punched me in a store. She punched me. In a store. That's unbelievable. (And another blog post, closer to Christmas...)

But, the most unbelievable thing happened today, and I am sure that there are similar stories to be shared, but since this just happened, I will vent all about it.

Okay, rewind to this morning. It's a normal morning, but I decided to stop at Menard's to buy some special epoxy to fix this gel-casting tray at work. I have been meaning to fix it forever, and it's just one of those things that you see and say, "Oh, yeah, I totally need to get some epoxy," but then in the store, yeah, no, you forget. So, anyway, I actually bought the epoxy and went on my merry way to work.

I get to work, we have a nice day which includes a delicious Madeline cake from the MetroMart Pick-N-Save on the east side to celebrate some birthdays. The day goes on, and it's not that bad, and I notice it's around 3, so I plop my phone on my desk because usually one or another of my bay-bay's kids calls me from their phone after school. I notice that I have six missed calls. Six?! Damn, I am popular, or am I? No, actually, I am not. Everybody knows that I work, so who called me during the day, even bill collectors don't sweat me that much. I check the list, but don't recognize three of the calls. I listen to the messages, one is Walgreen's pharmacy reminding me to pick up the prescription that my doctor called in, which I picked up 9 days ago. I get this call everyday. I delete the message, and the next caller is my brother asking if he was going crazy or did he see me in Menards at 8am? He convinced himself that he saw my doppelganger, called me a shitass, and hung up. The next message was from Jack, some jibberish, then saying Kimberly somehow told the school that I didn't live in 'Stallis anymore. Then a message from my mother talking about how Kimberly purposefully told the school that I didn't live in 'Stallis anymore. Then nothing. I get a little concerned. I call Jack, then my mom, and confirm that Kimberly did indeed do that.

Then, the mysterious number calls again, and it turns out to be the kids' school, the principal to be exact. She was calling to tell me that although she didn't "know exactly how I was associated with her, Kimberly Stevenson came in" to the school to try and register her son for classes. When she found out that there were no openings in grade 2, she tried to create one by saying, "Well, Stephani Duelge's children Deven and Delilah Velez go here and she's using my address but doesn't even live here."

For those of you confused, I moved from 'Stallis to Milwaukee in the summer. I did not forget to mention this to the school board, I actually called them, and filled them in, and filled out a form. So, my kids go there perfectly legally, even though I left the city. More importantly, Kimberly is my cousin. She owns the house I moved from, and recently moved back here from Santa Fe. Because she didn't register early enough, or they lost her paperwork, or whatever, her son has found himself without a seat in grade 2. Delilah is in a 2/3 split class, so her absence would mean his admission. This is my cousin, mind you, and not a distant one. I tutored her in her classes, she stayed with us in that tiny apartment in the summer because her own family couldn't be bothered to board her, but in repayment, when cornered, she chose to sell me out.

Too bad for her she is tilting windmills. Not only are my kids not going there under the guise of living in 'Stallis, they wouldn't be kicked out for her anyway...see, I am nice to the faculty and staff at the kids' school, while she goes in there raising jihad. The principal basically told me that what address I use doesn't matter because they like my kids. At the end of the day, it's still about who you know, but more importantly, how you treat those people. I just can't believe that people treat their family this way.

I left Kimberly a nasty message, by the way. Hope it made her day.

Babies!

2007-10-26T10:59:00.001-07:00

So, it's the best holiday of the year, and I will tell you why...

We all get to see cute babies dressed up as other cute things. I am partial to pea-pods. However, pumpkins are cute, too. I can't wait to see toddlers wobble up to get a piece of candy, but when they get to you, they are too afraid to say, "Trick or Treat?" Also, I love dogs in costumes, too. Basically, I just love dogs and babies.

Oh, I love candy, too! xoxo, Happy Halloween!

Ashley, Ashley, Ashley!!

2007-10-17T20:09:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago, my daughter (eight going on 16, you know the type?) informed me of the most spectacular, wonderful, great event in the history of good events. Ashley Tisdale was coming to Southridge Mall! Of course, like any other event, all of her friends were going, and she just had to go. I called my sister, she says there's no way she's going, but she'll happily send her man. Okay. I now have plans to go to the mall, with my daughter and niece, and see the Disney-born soon to be pop-tart.

Even though I tried to think of excuses, every mom knows that sometimes, you just have to take your lumps. So I call up my private taxi, aka the sensible Honda driving Mr. Isonomonkey, and he drops us off at the mall (Thanks, Dad!), so we don't have to hassle with the parking nightmare that is Ashley Tisdale.

Oh, did I forget to mention that on the news, on the radio, in the paper, and basic gossip in the mills, the talk of the town for today was how Ashley Tisdale would be at Southridge. It was advertised on KissFM, promoted by KissFM, and much to our dismay, every single person who caught wind, drove their sorry asses to Southridge to appease their own children. And OH MY GOD. We couldn't even walk. Malls aren't designed for concerts. Every seat in the house is an obstructed view. Every parent had a kid on her shoulders, making putting your kid on your shoulders completely moot. My daughter sullenly asked to get down, and then said, "Let's go." I tried to ply her with ice cream, but she was disappointed. She had a notion, a grandiose idea, of Ashley Tisdale performing to an intimate audience at a shopping establishment. Maybe later, she'd get an autograph, and maybe they'd do some shoe shopping. What she got was a handful of shit. I am totally writing a letter, I mean, who decided that was a good idea? It totally didn't look like chaos in the Tiffany video! However, Tisdale obviously has reached a wide audience, appealing to the pre-adolescents via the Disney channel hits that she stars in, and teens by way of her new singing career, a la Brittany, where she shakes and shimmies like a true Hollywood star.

Wow, I just can't believe that KissFM would disappoint little girls like that. The least they could have done was put it in a venue that could house all those screaming girls. And one screaming 20-something boy, fabulous, by the way. Wow.

Chicken Nuggets are Gross, Anyway!

2007-10-12T11:52:00.000-07:00

A certain blogger likes to say that I don't know how to apply his "Chicken Nugget Theory."Alas, I do. It's just that it's so narrowly defined, that I apply my own version of it over and over to other situations involving food.

For instance, if I get my lazy ass up to get something, shout at me while I am up to get something for you. Otherwise, when I sit down, don't ask me for a bite. It's called the "Get Your Lazy Ass Up Theory."

Another example is when we are at a soiree, of sorts, and there is a buffet table. I go to get food for ME, not for you. If you wanted something, see the previous theory. This one's dubbed the "Get Your Own Theory."

The last one is the worst offense, in my opinion. It's when one person asks the other what they want for dinner. "I don't care," is the reply. Then, the ensuing complaints make me really mad. This is called the "You Should've Said So Theory."

Not that the author of the Chicken Nugget Theory is wrong, he's right, sort of. The problem is that the theory needs to broaden its horizons. And none of these theories apply to mothers. Geez, that's just mean. I'd say that Mr. Isonomonkey is lucky that his mom didn't shove that chunk of chicken right up his...gizzard.

Shout out...

2007-10-08T07:17:00.000-07:00

I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have all these great friends. I am talking to you, Card Sluts. And to you, Regression Girls. And to you, Mr. Isonomonkey. (Even though you are a bad apologizer.)

I think that most people only get one, maybe two great friends. I have ten. Ten folks who I think would do anything for me. And that makes me one lucky girly.

Editing other peoples' text

2007-10-03T19:40:00.000-07:00

For years, I worked as a writing center assistant, which basically meant I helped people write papers. I had no problem convincing those folks that what I said was right. Primarily, they were ESL students, or had serious writing deficiencies of all sorts. However, I found recently, in composing a very simple document with a certain, unnamed bald guy, that writing with someone who is a good writer is far more challenging, and far more frustrating.

I seriously don't know how said guy puts up with me. In the end, I mostly won. Despite using the word PSYCH! Come on, who doesn't love a throwback to the 80s? Maybe it's the fact that when that word was having it's heyday, he was a talking tyro, and struggling with words with three syllables? Loathing aside, I discovered that I am not a team player. Let me rephrase that, my belief in that theory was strengthened. I guess I discovered that a long time ago. Waaay back in the day, when people used to say PSYCH! and CRUNCH!

the skids are winning

2007-09-25T17:01:00.000-07:00

So, I decided that the trash of the world is definitely taking over. I think it might have something to do with an extra wet August in which the breeders could lay their fucktard larvae in the grass. But, that's just speculation. Some scientists argue that they came over in tires imported from the land of Appalachia.

So, a friend of mine recently discovered her neighbors' crack pipe in her bushes as she was trimming the hedges. What is that all about? Smoke crack in your own bushes, dammit.

My neighbors find it an acceptable practice to spill extremely sticky stuff in the front hall, track it up the stairs, and ignore the ensuing ant armada that inevitably sailed right into my house. They also have a three year old who told his mother to, "shut the fuck up, bitch." That is not onomatopoeia. The kid said it in his little kid voice. I laughed behind my locked door, but I am sure that's cool with them, after all, they do park their hoo-rides all over the property.

So, where do all these craptastic neighbors come from? They are home grown. My shithead neighbors use my laundry detergent all the time. They must think I am rich, who wouldn't judging by the luxury apartment I have. Oh, wait, we live in the same building. I guess they are just assholes. Yes, and I think they have several people in that apartment, all learning the fine art of pilfering laundry soap from the neighbors and how to smoke a Newport without ever taking it out of your mouth.

I do have a solution, though. I am just going to have more babies. I am going to make an armada of my own. Does anyone have a bus I can bury to store my cache of guns, I mean kids?

shit or get off the pot...

2007-09-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

Recently, I was accused of oversimplifying everything. Do I do that? I don't know, really, it's hard to say when you are on the inside looking out. However, I do know one thing, if you can see the outcome of a situation, make a beeline and get there. Don't dick around, is all.

So, if that makes me insensitive, so be it. I find no reason to change what I do. It works for me. I spent ten years zigging and zagging my way towards the inevitable outcome, and I want to say that, in hindsight, I wish I would have been brave enough to just do it.

And for you zig-zaggers out there, judge me again in five years, when you are lamenting the time you wasted trying to get the hell out of Dodge unscathed. It just doesn't happen.

Update to the Sock Rules

2007-09-17T07:12:00.000-07:00

I am not asserting that everyone must follow these rules. I will still love you, shit-ass, if you wear red socks with your orange skirt. I will allow others to wear rainbow striped socks and photograph themselves on a rural highway, if no other reason than it's kitschy and you're artsy. However, these rules are not universally applied, there are exceptions, but unless you have a personal invitation to disobey, my suggestion is that you must follow. Resistance is futile.

What a racket!

2007-09-14T10:57:00.000-07:00

There is a worrisome trend happening in America today - weddings.

Now, back in the day, there were weddings. They mostly occurred in June because that's when folks took their annual bath. M'lady carried flowers so that she didn't have to smell herself in the noonday sun. Ah, the good ol' days. Alas, and alack, certain traditions have gone the way of the dodo, and thank jebus. Bathing, as it was discovered, was a good thing, and thankfully, the bride normally smells nice (at least on the outside of the dress, underneath is a whole different story...). But that's about the only tradition that has changed for the better.

For a long time, girls got showers for their wedding, and rightfully so. Most moved from their parents' home into their newlywed nest, with nothing. Today, girls get showers, even though most people already are living together, or at least they don't need an entire household of things to start out. So, the happy couple waltzes up and down the aisles of Bed Bath and Beyond, scanner gun in hand, registering for things like towels, scales, and whatever else they have always wanted but couldn't afford. So, as an invitee, I grudgingly buy an item from this list and bring it to the shower, which translates to "watch girl open a lot of presents."

Then, the chick has to have a flippin' bachelorette party, which means that I go to a bar with $40 and spend it on drinks and shots. Okay. This debacle, previously reserved for the more juvenile sex, mostly includes a cake shaped like male genitalia, and straws in the same likeness. A tawdry display that usually ends in a headache.

Last comes the actual wedding. I usually go to get a gift, leave with a card since the showers thrown by friends, coworkers, family, have left the registry barren, or littered with a few items that cost way too much. So, I throw cash in the card, and drive to the church.

And eat a soggy chicken breast, and dance to Celebrate and The ChaCha Slide. Great fun is had by all, usually at the expense of my date, who has to pay for the cash bar.

At the end of the whole ordeal, they get to go on a trip. I get to watch reality shows about bridezillas. This entertains people? Why spend so much on a day that everyone else spends so much on? I don't want to diminish the excitement that people have about their own weddings, I am just saying, is all. Weddings suck, and there are a lot better ways to drop twenty grand. I, for instance, would really like a trip. Maybe I should plan a wedding, just for the honeymoon...hmm. The wheels are turning.

the sock rules, and it's definately a tyranny

2007-09-13T15:09:00.000-07:00

I didn't make up socks. I imagine that somewhere, a long time ago, a person grew weary of having cold feet, and put some sort of cloth around his feet. Later, a woman probably grew weary of hearing that man complain about pulling that fabric up all the time, and fashioned the modern sock. That's just a theory, though, and based on nothing but my imagination, and the fact that boys complain a lot.

However, this isn't the battle of the sexes. I think that war is over, and we all know who won. Anyway, pardon the digression. Back to the subject: socks. Like I said, I didn't make up socks, but I did make up the sock rules. The rules were compiled from common sense, fashion trends, and my own neuroses. Still, the rules apply to the ubiquitous "you," whether young, old, and so on. You know who you are.

The rules will be presented in random order. No one rule is more important than the others, and all must be followed in order to bring harmony to the universe.

If you are wearing black pants and black shoes, you must wear black socks. Especially, do not wear white socks. This should be obvious to everyone. When you sit down, the hem of your pants rises to great heights. Great enough for everyone to spy your white, athletic socks. Boo. Don't do it, I propose jail time for this offense.

If you are wearing brown, blue, khaki, or chino pants, match your socks to your pants or shoes. For the above mentioned reasons. Duh, this may be punishable by stoning.

If you are wearing tennis shoes, or athletic shoes of any kind, you have to wear athletic socks. They come in white and gray. They come that way for a reason, it has to do with sweat absorption, bacteria, and your feet smelling like corpses, but that's boring. Don't come over to my house in your New Balances and your shiny, black, gold toes barking about how it's a waste of laundry to change socks. I don't care. It looks ridiculous and I do your laundry anyway. That was for everyone, by the way, even if it seemed directed at a certain person who shall remain nameless, Mr. F.

Novelty socks, although frowned upon by fashionistas, are fun, and work for the most part, on WOMEN. Boys, don't wear Santa socks in public. I am not even sure if women should do this past 30. If the socks are festive, trouser socks, ladies, I say go go. If they have fuzzy stuff on them, I say no no.

This one's a doozy. Stockings and sandals or peep toes? Are you from Appalachia? Come on, now. Even if they are called "sandal toe" don't do it. There is an exception to this rule. There are some businesses, mostly banks and other financially oriented businesses, that require their women to wear hose. *Gasp* Yes. Be horrified. Hose are archaic inventions and give you the ever dreaded polyester fester. But, the current patriarchal paradigm indicates that legs are somehow less provocative when shoved like sausages into a flesh colored casing. Whatever, that's another subject. If the rules say that you have to wear hose, and you can't get away with the toe less ones, then okay. But only in summer. After that, you'll have to put up your peepers.

Y'all still with me?

I love knee high socks with anything, and I say be down.

Let's move on to tights. Ah, tights, like nylons, but with oomph! Tights are good, but not with holes, just like nylons. The same goes for fishnets. Get a new pair. And don't wear any tights that make you look funny colored. A lady that I used to work with wore this pair of grayish blue tights that made it look like she had just gotten a beat down with a sock-full of quarters. Not cute. Really, she looked dead, and I think she was going for spunky. Orange can do that, too. On second thought, orange tights are just a bad decision.

The last rule is that if you have to ask, then it's a no. If you are thinking of rocking socks with Birkies, and you just aren't sure, then no. If you find yourself pondering whether or not those fuchsia bobby socks go with your pointy toed stilettos, then no.

Socks can make or break an outfit. Just like belts. And ties. And wrinkles. Don't wear a wrinkly shirt, with a bad tie, and mismatched socks, as that is definitely a capital offense, and I think that somehow I can make a rationale that it might be a breech of homeland security. You don't want to be public enemy number one, do you? Good. So fix your almond rocks, print this blog, and keep it in your wallet. Ignorance of the law is no excuse.