Tag: personal

Incognito on Rachael Ray

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The episode of Rachael Ray featuring the hard work of Hawt Mz. Molly and crew will be aired on March 6th. If you follow the link, there are two pictures of yours truly in a flash format, so I couldn’t easily steal them. Now do you think that’s fair? Neither do I, so I learned how to poach images. BTW, I’m not saying Ultimate taught me how to do that photo stealing trick, but you know, if you need some computer work done he knows his shiznit. If they threaten me, I’ll tear the photos down asap (or as soon as possible, Brett, whichever comes first) so look quickly.


Photo 1. ‘Member my pal who teaches me how to fix my car? ‘Member the guy who taught me how to use power tools? Well, he and I totally built this farm stand. By “he and I” I mean he did the work while preventing me from circular sawing off my oppositional thumb (it’s like the rest of me). I am not clearly in this photo, but my work is. Unclearly, I am in the back ground in the jeans and whiteish shirt next to my pal Lori who didn’t sign a release and loudly cursed while proclaiming her judgeship. She did sign a release later, but she claimed it was bullshit. Judges get to talk like that.


Photo 2. I’m way more clearly in this photo. See me? Behind the kale? I cropped (oh, an unintentional, but awesome garden pun) out the rest of the photo, but you can follow the link to see the whole thing.

If this is going to be the most highly rated Rachael Ray show of all time, you need to tune in on March 6th and watch it. If for some reason, they air me not in obscurity, there is an antidote. Rubbing sand in your eyes will rid you of this vision.

Jesus Can Suck It

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With Ash Wednesday almost over I’ve made no Lenten promises. Just as well. In no way, large or small, have I been the sort of reflective, repentant, renunciationitive* Christian my parents and community of worship has taught me to be during this finite time each year.

I didn’t go to church for ashing (sloth). My diet consisted of potato chips, ice scream sandwiches, chocolate, and soda pop (gluttony). I ruminated over hawt Mz. Molly freezing her ass in Rockefeller Center (envy). I overly enjoyed the visage of my sparkly daughter in her sparkly hippster hat (pride). I stole kisses from an unwilling 9 YO boy (greed). I pinched the hubster’s behiney while he did dishes (c’mon who wouldn’t lust over all those clean dishes!).

AND THEN – I dropped $3.04 and the F bomb at Sonic. Ignoring the fact that the fam is on a spending freeze and I shouldn’t even be enjoying Happy Hour, I wanted an iced tea. We nearly hit 90 degrees today! When it came, I asked if the car hop brought sugar. “You should have asked for that when you ordered.” What? I just tipped the bitchette a buck. She can’t give me some damn sugar with a smile? “I’d like a packet of sugar,” I insisted. Clearly unhappy, the carhop walks away in a manner I’m sure my parents recall from 1985 or so. Not that I would ever have rolled my eyes at a dorky adult who couldn’t order right. The car hop returns later with pink packets. Pink packets! Is she TRYING to give me Alzheimer’s? “No thanks,” I say. Then as I turn to back up I say “I just wanted some fucking sugar” to the slushy grins of my children. Rooster plucking mother trucker! (WRATH ALL OVER THE PLACE.)

You know, I haven’t eaten red meat today. That’s always a good Lenten promise. Okay. Phew! I feel all better now. I love you Jesus!

* Okay, I made that word up because I love alliteration. It just goes to show (internal rhyme) how much I suck at Lent as I ignore all the rules.

Begging Your Pardon

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Daddy-o’s thought for the day for February 19th:

One who forgives an affront fosters friendship, but one who dwells on disputes will alienate a friend. Proverbs 17:9


From childhood I was taught to seek Jesus in everyone. The result is that I’m easy pickings for spare change requests. Earlier this week I was accosted at the grocery by a guy who wouldn’t shut it on his beg. This guy wouldn’t let up. He stood there blah blahing while I loaded the groceries from my cart to my car. I finally said, “That’s enough. I have $2 you are welcome to all of it.” I also gave him a banana. He walked off without even returning my cart as people usually do when I give them cash. That’s was definitely NOT Jesus nor even a friend.

Later I received a real-time communication that read, “Shouldn’t you be out raising chickens or saving the world or something?” I’m paraphrasing, but that’s the gist. The writer immediately slammed the virtual door upon making this quip, leaving me no chance to reply. Well, looky here. I haven’t blogged since Daisy died and it’s not because I’m in mourning (though that really SUCKED). I’ve been living my not so fabulous life.

The past week, this life has required two souls to execute it and so the Hubster has helped as my right handed man – Mr. Right in all the right ways. Today as I was buried under Girl Scout cookie boxes, the Hubster attended church services for me. He summarized the sermon for me in part:

[The sermonizer] preached about “sodomy” as “inhospitality” in sacred ancient texts, not ass sex. Jesus didn’t talk about sex, he talked about the poor and the sick.

Other than this being HI-larious, as are most things the Hubster says, I am reminded of the myriad ways I’ve been inhospitable this past week. On the other hand, a friend delivered the most thoughtful apology this weekend. An apology shouldn’t have been required had I been more heartfully hospitable. More indication that my friends are way more awesomer than I – except for Wampus. He’s a snark and I can’t wait for the chance to slam the virtual door after I cut him to the quick with my quick wit. If only I had one.

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.”

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.

But We’re Happy Now?

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I decided to quit my job. I thought on it for a couple of weeks. I floated it past my buddies. Then I called two “colleagues” with my firm decision. I thought about what I was going to say and I have to admit, it was perfectly positive. There is no way that I would leave with bad feelings. It would be the best quitting EVER.

My boss is without a doubt my favorite boss ever. She’s a muckety muck in her field and has a vision that can’t be beat. Because I like her personally, I care about supporting her in that work. What I like about her as la jefe is that she’s interested in allowing people their own process. I don’t do well being told what to do, when to do it, how to do it (just ask my dad). She’s never even bothered to define my job.

The job has no tangible benefits – no health, no retirement, no nuthin’. There’s no money in the job. There’s no upward mobility. There’s no prestige. It can be frustrating as all get out. In fact, it feels an awful lot like my VISTA days. I’ve been pushing this rock uphill for two years now. My family is the lucky recipient of my lack of ambition and my abundance of vision. It’s time for me to “get a real job.”

The quitting went well. We had a normal meeting. It was all good news. Things are taking a turn for the better with the project. YAY! And then it was time for me to quit. “My working on this project and your paying for it out of pocket is enabling the University to not have to act while simultaneously hurting our families.” Doesn’t that sound great? It’s so much better than some of the lesser charitable things I was thinking.

She looked at me like I kicked her kitten, agreed with me that the University is taking advantage, and complimented my work. My resolve weakend. Did I mention that I admire this woman and she’s been a great boss for seven years (two years on this project and five years in a previous position)? “What would happen if I left?” I said thinking that she would say a position would be created and the University would do a spousal hire as were the whisperings. Instead she said, “Nothing.” We are being noticed for the work we’ve done and money is finally coming in, she pointed out. “But the bones are here for great things and the fun part of fleshing it out comes next,” I said thinking about the board of advisors we’ve hornswaggled into working with us and remembering what fun it is seeing them. Then with less resolve, “I’d be leaving things on good footing and ready for blastoff and the spousal hi….”

So I stayed, releived that I didn’t have to cancel the kids’ music lessons, sell the car, clip coupons. Did you realize the economy is tanking or has tanked? Thank God I have a job – even one with no benefits. We may be in a depression, but we’re happy now. Right? Yes, we’re happy because I have the best job ever.