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A Chick Flick

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I love my hens just a little more now that they aren’t all molting and nekked. And my hens seem to love me ever so slightly more. Maybe that’s because I hand feed them raisins, a trick the neighbors taught me. The chicks don’t mind so much the huntress kitty cat, and Boris is largely unconcerned by the whole lot of us outside the Hubster. I dubbed the video sound to cover my yelling, “NO RAISINS FOR YOU!” I seem to be the only one who doesn’t kowtow to the Hubster’s Vader-like presence.

Oh, this is just too low. Pet blogging.

Inspirations:

Firstly,
Eons ago, when I was addicted to My Space and not Facebook, April March’s Chick Habit was Anna’s profile song. I thought it rocked and so I bought it.

Secondly,
Listen up

Poins: Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
Falstaff: What, upon compulsion? Zounds, and I were at the strappado or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you upon compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
(Henry IV, Part One, 2.4.246-42)
Best, Michael. Shakespeare’s Life and Times. Internet Shakespeare Editions, University of Victoria: Victoria, BC, 2001-2005.

Fun with Google: Part 1?

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To get my job, now that it’s legit, I gots ta update the resume. Time to hit the Googles. Citizen’s League, check. Language Arts, check. But wait! There’s more!

You may or may not know that I got skills. Yup. I sure do. Perhaps you can’t think of a single one, but I did recently earn honorable mention in a photography competition that was judged by impartial professional photographers. It’s true. Here’s the evidence.

Why is the hubster smelling his fingers? Beyond the mystery, there’s not much else to recommend this photo. I presumed I was offering it up for a beginning of the year slide show for his department and didn’t realize that there was a judicial process involved. Mine was the first honorable mention. Of course I have a beginning of the alphabet sort of name and so far as I know every entrant won at least an honorable mention. Whatever. I’m totally putting it on my resume.

Once, I had an article published. Yup. I sure did. In it I provided basic information featuring the Canada goose. I bet you thought it was Canadian, but that’s not the case. Here’s the proof.

Let me just say, the article is well and heavily edited. I don’t know anything about the Canada goose. The publication resulted from me begging Outdoor Oklahoma for a writing gig. My dream of running away to NYC to work on a high-gloss magazine was just beginning to fade. Just as well because as surely as video killed the radio star, Internet killed the printing press. Regardless, I’m going to put this on my resume too.

My favorite Google result is the following:
Rebecca Ballenger’s, Martha Stein’s and Mary Sweeney’s vaginal images are seductively soft, yet menacing creatures with a life of their own (especially …

If only I had the log-in. On first read, it seems that our vaginae are soft and menacing as revealed by images. Then it can also read as though we captured images of other soft and menacing vaginae. Oh, if only either one was true, then perhaps I could retire and avoid putting a resume together at all.

Because It’s All About Me

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I should have worn my Bali bra with modesty petals.

As it was, I chose a lumpy dumpy message t-shirt over anything fashionable.

The result was less cute college co-ed and more public school mommy volunteer out in the cold January rain.

I imagined Denise Richards, but all things considered I should give up the Tom Cruise samurai hair don’t. Imagine this hooker hair only less Rodeo Drive and more Main Street.

I was reminded on the way out the door at 4:30 a.m. that last time I was on television, I was made to remove my glasses (video unavailable). Not being able to see, I looked like an oggling goggler. So I put my contacts in and revealed my partially inherited, partially earned under-eye baggage.

Finally, though I’m already bloated from my premenstrual Eve’s apple thing, a mike pack was hidden under my shirt at my waistline.

And if I were to make it on to a national television show, that is how I would present myself. Of course, the media were only interested in the phenomenal teacher who made it all happen, so this is total vanity.

Yesterday’s schedule:
4:30-7 a.m. local news
7:45 a.m. – 2:45 p.m. – film crew contracted by Rachael Ray
10 a.m. – TUSD Focus reporters
1 p.m. – different local news
8 p.m. – crash

Of course I can’t find the live coverage from the local news, but their edited piece is online and my kids are in it!

More to come – if I feel like it.

Perpetuating a Fraud

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If I could be anyone in the world, I’d be the person described in this blog post. She sounds cool what with that community garden, bird sanctuary, and borrowed solar oven. A person like that has friends because those types of things don’t happen without the efforts of many.

To be featured by Ruth Tobias, who has written for, among other places*, The Boston Globe, is most assuredly an honor. When I stalked her on Facebook and claimed her for my network, my in box filed with reverent salutations and requests for friendship from those who otherwise wouldn’t give me the time of day. I could feel my social e-capital rising via the express elevator. Of course, this is something of which I am certain Ruth is unaware or at least would dismiss.

When I am famous for being famous, because I can’t be famous for much else, I will look back at this, my second (the first being relatively unnoticed by the masses) bloggy shout-out. Thank you Ruth. You made me look like chiltepins.

(If you visit her blog, please be sure to say “hello” for me!)

* Zagatsurvey 2004/05 Boston Restaurants (Zagatsurvey: Boston Restaurants)

* Mealtime at the movies: 15 food films.(food): An article from: World Literature Today

SUCK IT!

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I guess I was supposed to make a big “to-do” about my 100th post. Oh, well. YAY for you last post I posted! Anyway, onward and onward.

I couldn’t have predicted my adventish anticipation for January 20th. Inauguration is also the 100th day of school for my children and both their schools are planning celebrations. Plus, Arizona just made it to the Superbowl. Additionally, I just adore my friends. I have spectacular friends. My friends are great because they give me stuff. Good stuff. Stuff I bet you wish you had. A la la la.

Magical Martha, who can make anything happen and does, gave me lemons from her tree. Not only that, she gave me freshly squozen lemon juice and promises of a rockin’ lemonade recipe. THEN, our neighbors dropped by with more lemons. We are flush with the fruit. OMG! I want to make lemon everything! Got a good recipe?

Next up is the tale of my own greed and gluttony. A member of my book club, whose hubby heads up some biodiesel group here in town, gets fry grease from local restaurants and turns it into gas in their backyard for her car. The byproduct of this process is glycerin. Yup. Soap. They’ve packaged it as Grease Monkey soap and I think they should totally make it a commercial venture. I’m so in awe of this process because the oil was 1) used to cook food, 2) used to power a car, and 3) used to wash up, which means that it’s used, reused, and rereused with NO WASTE LEFT OVER. When her book club holiday exchange gift was Grease Monkey soap, well, I sorta threw a hissy fit. “I want some!” She’s a better person than I am (let’s face it, most people are), and made more soap – enough for our whole group.

And not related to my friends who are generous, I just want to do a quick shout out to Robyn. If you don’t know her, you should. Life would be gray and dull without her. I know this unequivocally. I watched her sew today and that was, it was, the penultimate.

Wanna know what I give my friends? NOTHING! HA! Suck it! Perhaps I should feel badly that I inspire such generosity without being generous myself – but I don’t! So, while some look at their buddies and wonder “what have they done for me lately?”, I’m going to suck a lemon, take a shower, and call Robyn to schedule a Superbowl clatch.

I Wouldn’t Want That Nasty Thing In My Mouth Either!

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So, the hubster was asked point blank what I was up to today. He said, “The same old thing.”

(Thanks Parrish.)

I think he meant, “Oh, her. Still taking up space, you know?” Uh… he knew a $25K grant came for my work today and that I may be a bene eligible employee again. What sort of retirement fund hater is he anyway?

(Thanks Todd.)

I shall elaborate on the gist of what the hubster meant. “Yup, she’s hogging all the oxygen.” I did tell him my don’t-tell-anyone-I-taught-you-this mechanic buddy let me use his power tools* and how empowering it was for me.

(Thanks Jesse via Todd.)

Seriously, it was an awesome freaking day filled with awesome freaking stuff and all he can come up with is that I’m doing the same ol’? The note on my morning coffee had better be awesome. You hear that, honey? Awesome.

* Just so you know, this was totally going to be a blog full of innuendo regarding long screws and the hubster ruined that with all his talk like, “Last I checked her heart was still beating.”

Rockin’ the Sweatshop

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Look at this. Look at it because I can’t stop. Honestly! She’s sewing in rose colored glasses. We agreed to help some sister Daisy Girl Scouts by sewing patches on their tunics as a project to break in her new sewing machine from Grammanina. At the same time, she had homework to make a hat for National Hat Day. She’s wearing the mock-up of her hat in this photo. I was never, nevernevernever, as complex as this young lady.
We freed her machine from its Styrofoam prison and she loaded up orange thread to contrast the blue fleece of her hat.

Then she wound the bobbin and snipped the thread. My machine winds the bobbin in a totally different manner, so this was a learning experience for both of us. George then threaded the machine for sewing.
And after a few mangled stitches, she asked if we could go back to my machine. So we did because I’m not about frustrating the kiddos. Well, not at this particular time anyway. Sew, sew, sew.
Lift pressure foot and turn.
Sew, sew, sew.
Sew, sew, sew.
And so! Three Daisy tunics all patched up and after a quick thread change, one hat seamed up and accented in orange. She makes sewing cool. YAY Baby Girl! You rock my world.

Still Not Fine in Aught Nine

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Leggings McGillicuddy and her ununiformed daughter infringed upon my daughter’s cookie selling territory yesterday. I was close to making a stink just to be shitty, but restricted myself to flashing the stink eye. THIS is why I didn’t want to do Girl Scouts. THIS is why I didn’t want to do PTO*. It makes people like me small. Next thing you know, I’ll be scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head. Kill me now. Send me to hell so the hounds can pick apart my cold black heart.

To emphasize my capacity for smallness, consider my “teaching time” in the 8 YO boy’s class as we discussed social justice and taking action. I discriminated against half the class by denying them a gew gaw that I gave the other half of the class. “Is this fair?” I asked. “Yes, because maybe you didn’t have enough for all of us,” said one do-gooder smarty pants. “We can share,” offered another. “No, no, no, no, no! We we don’t share! There is no sharing!” You know what it was? The gew gaw was STUPID. I should have given half the kids a Wii and then asked if that was fair.

My dear sweet hubster, who knows the darkness deep within my soul and is terrified by it, uhm, I mean who clearly loves me dearly, brought me the most perfect cup of coffee last night about 9 p.m. After a long, busy day, I had just returned home from my last Vestry meeting as a member of that body. I went out approving a deficit budget. What a spirit crusher that was! The deficit budget capped off a fine day of looming dark clouds between my ears.

Back to the coffee – I am currently involved in a project or two. One such effort is a series of on-line computer classes to help me with the Internets and Web site stuff to keep me employable. The hubster fed and put to bed the anklebiters and presented me a quiet environment in which to pursue my learning. The perfectly prepared and snuggly warm coffee by my side was intended to feul me through xHTML Because You are Old 101. Instead, I wasted that time doing, uh… social networking? E-mail? Stalking Whiskey. Whatever. But at 2 a.m., I decided to get some shut eye. At 3 a.m. the eyes still weren’t shut. Shortly thereafter the 6 YO girl crawled into bed with me. Shortly thereafter the alarm went off. I’m tired and hungry and small. So, I’m just saying, maybe, if you see me, you can find some charity for me that I’m quite sure I wouldn’t recriprocate.

* Just to clarify, I love the PTA and all their good work. I just can’t do the PTA.

Not Selling Girl Scout Cookies Online

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Let me start off by saying we are not selling Girl Scout Cookies on-line. No, we are not. We are not because that is clearly against the rules. GSUSA prohibits internet sales of Girl Scout Cookies. This includes on-line auctions, broadcast e-mail messages, and/or council Web sites. Got that? Are we clear? Let’s face it, even if it were allowed, we’d never get to the post office to mail your order to you.

Now that we have covered how we are not selling GSCs on-line, I’d like to point out that many of you who adore the 6 YO girl and do live in Tucson may need of a source for GSCs. Consider contacting her since her personal sales goal is 185 boxes, approximately 1/4th of the goal for her entire troop. Think big baby girl!

GSCs claim no trans fats, but they do have partially hydrogenated oils in them anyway. Perhaps that would be inappropriate ingesta for you, but you would still like to help a sista out. Our church, Grace St. Paul’s, has a food ministry called Joseph’s Pantry. It is an agency of the Tucson Community Food Bank and Association of Arizona Food Banks. George and a Daisy GS sister of hers are taking donations of boxes of cookies to the pantry for their “Gift of Caring”. You could also talk to her about how to donate cookies toward that project.

Yes, I did just return from a GS meeting. At that meeting I picked up two uniforms in need of patch sewing. Some of you may know that in the process of sewing the 6YOs uni, a needle broke and flew at my face so quickly I heard a tiny sonic boom. OUCH! Sewing? Cookie sales? What the? And if you remember correctly I joined the PTO at my son’s school for a t-shirt discount. I drive, and love, a minivan with easy listening on the radio. I’m forcing my kids to eat carrots to help them poo. Fundamental shifts have occurred in my whoaminess. Where are my old lady jeans and hair scrunchies?