GONE FISHING

Actually I'll be spending more time with mice and ducks than fish.

Yes, I'm off to Disney World and I didn't even win the Super Bowl.

I am not taking a computer at this point because I don't trust myself - I can see myself stuck in the hotel blogging away while the Magic Kingdom is tapping its toe waiting for me. Because I do suffer from OBD -- obsessive blogging disorder, I must go cold turkey. I will bring some Bloggerette gum to chew on to keep me from getting the jitters.

I'll be back in a week and until then Happy Blogging dear friends and strangers.

It's Just Plain Hard Work

I watched as much of the press conference as I could. I kept an eye on the corner of his mouth to see if he could create another spit bubble as in the debate, but while I was watching none appeared.

I looked for the box strapped on his back only I saw no back shots of the prez.

I did see the smarmy smirk I so dislike.

I heard him say "noo Q ler" numerous times.

I heard the same rhetoric and his all time favorite: "Hard Work." Everything's hard work.

I heard him try to sell his Social Security plan. He never mentioned the millions of dollars drained from that account and put to other purposes, helping to create the situation we have.

We are a nation that lives with debt and no savings, but somehow we'll be able to change our spending ways and create our own SS accounts?

You first, government - how about that national debt we have.? You get rid of it and then we'll talk about creating our own SS accounts.

I listened to him push for the seven deadly, sinful judicial nominees and heard him extol the virtues of Bolton. It takes hard work to be an ambassador. More talk of hard work. That's why Bolton should be approved. He's a hard worker.

I did notice something odd about the prez - he appeared to be wearing mortician-style make-up. An odd plasticky looking face and his tie seemed extra wide and extra red.

It's hard work to watch him on TV. It's hard work not to scream at the TV: Why with the millions of people in the world did this man get elected president??

It's hard work being an American when you are called unAmerican if you challenge a single concept or idea proposed by the prez and his god-awful followers.

And apparently it's hard work for the Dems to find a candidate that will stop the onward marching christian lunatics ( like the Dominionists) and not attempt to hop onto the band of angels wagon train.

It's hard work to read the recent deluge of disgusting anti-Hillary emails that are circulating accusing her of everything from bestiality to multiple homicides when the prez's own perfect-in-every-way wife commited vehicular homicide, and it is seldom if ever mentioned.

How come the bible-thumping theocrats insist on quoting scripture except when it doesn't fit their agenda? Why don't I ever hear "he who is without sin should cast the first stone?"

Or how about:

"For such are false apostles, decietful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ. And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light." 2 Corinthians 11: 13-14 (King James Edition)

Taken from here by author Brandon Alexander Geraghty.

It's hard work to "look for the silver lining" when its always found in the pockets of the wealthy politicians who wear christ on their sleeves but carry hate in their hearts.

Just a few gems I noticed while shopping...


Women’s Lingerie

as opposed to Men’s lingerie?

50 cents each or Two for a dollar

What a sale!

Chicken breats (sic) on sale!

Think I’ll pass. No sic breats for me.

FDS Feminine Deodorant Spray, Delicate Breeze - 1.5 oz - $3.29 (Ask for our case price!)

Um I don’t think so – in fact, I don’t think anyone will ask this question, not even a large group of smelly females.

The Trojan Magnum XL Condoms -- King of the Big Boys.

Larger than the original Trojan Magnum, and a full 30% larger than regular condoms. This Trojan condom is designed for men who feel that current regular and large size condoms are too small. 12 pack $9.90. (Ask for our case price!)

Couldn’t if I wanted to as there was a long line of apparently extra "long" men waiting to ask.

Toddler Hose 99 cents each.

Toddler as in child? Hose as in pantyhose? Tell me it ain’t so?

Large Petite Jeans on Sale

Make up your mind

Sofia Coppola sparkling blanc de blanc in a handy pop-top can $4.99
(Get your champagne in your can! )

I’d rather drink it.

Max Factor Erase under-eye concealer $4.89
(Ask for our case price!)

Well if you need a case of the stuff you might think twice about going out in public.

50% off Off (Insect Spray)
okay okay alright already

Kid's Stools ( only brown left) $2.99
I'll have to pass on this.


WACOM's Pressure Sensitive PEN IS Here! (cordless pointing device) $45.51
Goody goody, I'll take the case price on this one!

The Way to a Man's Heart


I write to him this schmaltzy poem
Tell him to read it when he gets home.

I wait for his eyes to show some emotion
A comment to me about my devotion.

Instead it’s just talk of dinner and such
I get the feeling it didn’t mean much.

So I come right out and deliver the line
“What do you think of this poem of mine?”

“It’s good – it’s nice. I like it a lot
Now what are you cooking inside of that pot?”

After dinner, I wrap leftovers in plastic.
He says: "you know that was really fantastic."

I say, “Thanks, it was only a simple beef stew.”
He says, “Not referring to dinner, but that poem from you.”

There are all kinds of hunger a person can feel
My hunger for praise-- and his for a meal.

The words I wanted were eventually said
But not until he was very well fed.

This Man


Planting the pansies
He is library quiet
The curve of his back
Bent in supplication
To the delicate petals
And tender leaves.

Rough man hands
are gentle tools
that cradle infant roots
and sprinkle soil
like fairy dust.

The pansies
Chubby-cheeked
Flush with color
Are lifted away from
The crowded box.

Are they fearful now?
Will their tiny souls wilt?
How will he comfort them?

Their small perfect beds
Are prepared and ready.
He covers them with soil
A drink before bed then
Tucks them in.

In the morning
The same hands hang
Below the suit jacket
Clutching keys a phone
A newspaper

I watch from the window
Busy day, must hurry
Late for work.
His long, quick strides.

As he walks to the car
I see him stop.
His back bends
Once again to touch
The soulful face
Of one flower.

I love this man.

The Thong has ended but the Malady Lingers On


A recent news article stated that thong underwear is waning in popularity.

I am not surprised. Thongs are uncomfortable.

If you want to go around bare-ass, then I think that’s fine, but almost bare-ass with a string located somewhere in your butt (deep into the crack until it no longer shows) -- I think that’s not necessarily the most comfortable way to walk around. It strikes me as a pain in the ass – which it is figuratively and literally. For me, anyhow.

I do have a friend who swears by thongs. She says you can get used to the “string in the behind” feeling. Since she has quite an ample derriere, one that would make J-Lo’s arse seem petite, I wonder how she removes her thongs, perhaps with tongs? Tweezers? Minor surgery?

Somehow I think that the reason one’s anus is placed deep between two globes of adipose tissue is to protect it from the hyper-activity it receives when thong underwear are worn.

As hiney thongs become less popular, foot thongs (flip-flops) are gaining in popularity.

I feel about these thongs much the same as I do about the previous thongs. In fact, if I see the word thong, I immediately wince. If it isn’t your crack that’s being rubbed raw as in the above, it’s the space between your big toe and your next-in-line-toe that’s getting rubbed red and sore.

The NY Times Style Section reported on footwear thongs going for $400 and more – and still rubbing the toe crack area into blisters. If I were to wear flip-flops, and if I chose to rub the flesh off of that tiny area between my toes, I would choose to do it with the $1.59 variety you can buy at the grocery store.

But, butts or toes, I refuse to wear a thin string in either crevice, no matter what fashion dictates.

Besides, if you really want no visible panty line – you can fix that by going commando. Now we’re talking comfort.

I was just trying to be nice and keep my friends informed about my phone problems...


I didn’t have to think about what I’d write today as my dear friends wrote my post in their emails to me.

Background:

I have a most iffy phone system. I have a land line in the office that has no ringer. I have a wall phone in the basement with a broken ringer so it basically makes a rattling noise but not much more.

I have a cordless in the kitchen that’s attached to an answering machine. This phone is the problem phone. It is nasty and suffers from steroid rage, multiple personality disorder, ADD, PMS and Alzheimer’s. It's also a lazy slut.

This phone , as my grandmother used to say, has no rhyme or reason. It works it doesn't work - who knows why but it works enough not to replace it just yet.

Last week it stopped working. The answering machine stopped working too.

Since I have a group of friends that call frequently and would be concerned that they couldn’t get me, I wrote them an email explaining all the above and encouraging them to use my cell phone which I promised I’d try to keep charged and on my person.

I thought I was being nice to my dear friends when I sent the following to them:
------------------------------
Subject: Phone is Dead

Hi Guys!

Don't know why or how, but our phone in the kitchen is dead which we discovered earlier today...don't know how long it's been not working.I do have one line that still rings but it's in the basement and it doesn’t exactly ring but the bell wiggles if you know what I mean...with the door closed it's hard to hear so let the phone keep ringing.

I will also attempt to keep my cell phone near me but I can't promise.I think we need a new phone and that's the problem but I'm not sure as some truck was mucking around with the telephone lines this AM.Wanted you guys to know ...xoxoxoxo me

___________________________

After a few days of waiting for husband to even look at the phone situation I decided to try to fix it myself. I was somewhat successful so I sent out another group email which said the following:

___________________________


Subject: Phone is better but still sick

Hi Guys, me again.

I thought I'd fixed the damn thing but it still isn't working right...I cleaned the prongs and the outlet and got it back charging. The answering machine part is now working...but the phone might need a battery. I can hear ringing now and get msgs, better than nothing. So that's the update...! xoxoxo

___________________________

I sent that msg yesterday and this morning found the following email replies from my dear friends:
______________________

Subject: Phone status

MB -My phone is working. Doesn’t need a battery but may need it soon. I just cleaned it not too long ago and I also changed the ringer style. Instead of a long single ring it lets out two short rings in a higher pitch. I like it much better now. My voice mail is working fine but was thinking of changing the message.

More phone updates to come by the end of the week.

Love…H

and the next email…

___________________________

MB -I have one working phone but it doesn’t have caller ID and it’s upstairs far away in TR’s room. I have another phone that has a working caller ID and base unit/intercom but the handset/phone itself doesn’t work and I’ve replaced the battery and everything!

I’ll keep you up to date on latest developments as they become available.

Your phone friend, L
__________________-
and the next

___________________________

MB,
If you look at my chimney and see black smoke there is no new phone.

If you look at my chimney and see white smoke I have selected a new phone.

Yours H

___________________________
And they kept it up…
___________________________

MB - I will not be pulling the plug on my phone as I feel there is hope (even after many years of no improvement and a persistent non working state) that the phone will get better with proper rehabilitation and repair.

I had a conversation with my phone right after I bought it and it stated it wanted to be plugged in forever even if it looked like it may never work again. I even think I’ve heard it ring softly today.

Love L.

____________________________
more..

I’m sorry L but your phone told me 15 years ago if it could not survive on battery power alone it would not want to be dependant on having to be plugged in to a wall jack. I’m getting a court order to pull the plug and you can’t be there when I do it.

My phone is an honors student at Riverside Middle School.

All my best H.
__________________

Then a new country was heard from when I got this email:

__________________

MB - here's my update
Actually my phone needed new batteries last summer. I found them at "The Battery Guys" online. They're out of Canada and the service was very sweet, ay? I really recommend them for all your phone battery needs. I still use two wired phones so I am not without service in case of a power failure, one in the lodge and one in the bedroom.

But half the time I keep the one in the bedroom unplugged because I don't like it ringing during sex. The one in the lodge is a little finnicky but it seems to repair itself. I love when that happens. I was getting a very bad buzz in it, it is an old fashioned dial up replica, and I thought it had to be trashed. But, alas, it fixed itself. [MB, maybe your phone will find similar recuperative powers, ay?]

My cell phone reception here in the woods is not reliable so I really do need land lines too. Any of you ever consider dropping the landlines and going completely cell? I guess the jury is still out on brain-damage to the temporal lobe from too much cell phone use. Actually when I talk for any amount of time I use an earphone with the attached microphone and the actual cell phone is not anywhere near my head so I don't have to worry about brain damage, at least not from the phone. I wonder if the earpod causes cancer ?

I just counted the phones in our house: 9! One each in garage, kitchen, music room, living room, my office, J's office, bedroom, lodge, my studio. The ones in my office and the music room have two lines. You may want to jot that number down, 555-555-5555, but we never answer it so maybe you don't need to jot it down. My cell phone on the other hand is a crap shoot. Sometimes it's on, sometime's it's not.

I love it when it's in my pocket and it's set to vibrate rather than ring. Often I actually miss the call because I like the way it feels when it's vibrating and I'd rather have the vibration thing in my pocket than talk to anyone. It's a little like a Shiatsu massage.

Oh yeah, you can vibrate me at 444-444-4444. I'd be most appreciative.

Love G (naturally a guy wrote this...)
__________________
I love my mocking friends who take such joy in teasing me about my phone update!

I can't judge if this interchange will be funny for you to read but I couldn't stop laughing when I opened my email this morning.

And yeah, the latest phone update is:

Seems to be okay in all respects except it refuses to allow Mother-in-law to leave a message. Can you see why I don't want to get rid of this phone? I love this phone!

Thank You Bloggers



I love blogs.

I cruise blogs.

I’m a blogaholic.

I hit NEXT BLOG frequently.

I will race to the computer hourly to check and see what’s going on.

I was previously addicted to email and Googling anything that came into my mind, but now I’ve added blog-trawling so I’m just about doing nothing during the day that isn’t blog related. In fact, I’m just about doing nothing period.

But, I figure I’ll burn out and cool down and get a balance in my life and right now I enjoy reading everyone’s words so much I can’t help being addicted.

This post is in no way criticizing bloggers , the act of blogging, or bloggers who act.

I just want to comment on my observation of two rather unique occurrences in the blog world that I’ve come across.

One is the split personality blogger who uses a blog name and then an anonymous name and proceeds to have long conversations with him/herself. I’ve even found a blogger who writes under a blog name, writes under anonymous and then writes under another anonymous but has given this identity a name. (Might I add that this is not easy to do and I admire said blogger’s ability to take on three distinct personalities and not be obvious about this chicanery.)

As a student of language, diction, sentence formation, syntax, speech patterns etc. I can spot the multi-personality blogger after a while. I start by thinking nothing of anonymous posts until it becomes obvious that the blog-owner is using these alter-egos as a Greek chorus and/or support for his or her statements. Sometimes the alter-ego poster is used as an agitator to drum up blog excitement. Clever!

I may lurk and even smirk but I don’t blurt out, hey you are writing all these comments by yourself. And, who knows I could be wrong in this observation.

My other observation is there are blogs that seem like they are computer generated.

(A certain celebrity who once had an afternoon talk show is an example.)

There doesn’t appear to be a real blogger who blogs back at you – just a post and then a comment section where other people talk. It’s as if the blog is hosted by a very busy owner who has no time to relate to his/her commenters but is kind enough to offer a space for blog-blabbing. It’s like going to a party and the host opens the door but then disappears for the night.

The latter blogs confuse me. Why blog at all if you have no intentions of communicating with your readers? Those blogs remind me of television. It seems like they exist to be seen and nothing else. (I do talk back to my TV though…)

My favorite blogs are the ones that appear to be written by real people with real thoughts, problems, and emotions. I like the silly blogs, the sad blogs, the political blogs, satricial blogs and the recipe blogs. I like finding new blogs by hitting NEXT BLOG but I love my old regulars I try to visit daily.

So I want to take a minute out of my lazy day and your busy day to say thanks to all of you for making life so interesting, for touching my heart, for making me laugh outloud and for making me think.

Much appreciated.

Blog on!

How Not to be a Good Cook

I don’t have all the answers but I have an acquaintance that does.

Ask her any question or no need to bother, she’ll assume an authoritarian voice and explain to you what’s right just for the fun of it. (And, as she is wont to say: there is only one right.)

There is no subject matter that she’ll back off. She really does believe she knows it all. She never doubts herself or her beliefs. She never wrangles with philosophical, political, religious or even moral concepts.

She is completely satisfied with her opinions or facts as she calls them. She’s annoying as hell and avoided at all cocktail parties for she is inebriated with her own self and her own opinions oops, pardon me, facts.

If you were the type to confront her or correct her “truisms” she will walk away and say: “you’re not ready to listen.” This behavior keeps her from ever having to think or ever hear an opposing point of view. Oh that’s right, she doesn’t have points of view, she deals in facts.

She is a true believer and lives in a world of answers only. And she's got them all.

She must be double-jointed as she is quite capable of patting herself on her own back. She will never need botox because her face is nauseatingly serene and smooth from never having to emote, to doubt, to wonder or ask why? All the time I’ve known her she never once has had the occasion to furrow her brow or raise her eyebrows. She wears a beatified expression that looks like she stole it from Mother Teresa.

Her house is immaculate.

Her cooking? Not so good.

The Days of Whine and Ruses

or

Things Husband does that Makes me Crazy!



If you make a lemon meringue pie and leave off the meringue have you made a lemon meringue pie?

No…right answer.

So extrapolating from that point I have to say that if you don’t paint all the trim, leave some spots on the pantry door without paint and haven’t painted the area behind the refrigerator, you have not “finished” painting the kitchen ergo the kitchen is not painted. (whine)

If you say you are running to Home Depot for a paintbrush and will be back in ½ hour and don’t come home for 3 hours and when you do you need a hydraulic lift to get your purchases out of the car, have you bald-face lied or were you just caught up by the seductive merchandising of Home Depot? (ruse)

If you spend half a day in the front garden weeding and trimming and you leave large brown paper bags in the middle of the garden and the chartreuse-colored hose is snaking through the garden and two or three gardening tools are scattered in the grass, does this mean that the front garden looks good now? (whine)

If the two of you are leaving for a friend’s house and bringing the wine plus a few other goodies, and husband says I’m going to bring some beer with us too since it’s a warm day and wife says fine and you both leave the house with bags (wife’s contains the dessert and some snacks) husband has a cooler and another bag, and you get to said house and unpack and realize the wine was left on the counter is the wife at fault? (ruse and whine: he was doing the beverages and I was doing the food.)

If husband says let’s snuggle on the couch and you say okay but run into the bathroom to brush your teeth so that you won’t risk “wine mouth” (see post) and in the three minutes you take to brush your teeth you find husband in a dead sleep on the sofa, is this considered your special time together? You minty breathed and awake, he sprawled on your area of the couch and sleeping? (ruse and whine)

Finally, if husband is tracking mud in the house and wrecking the floor you just washed and the rug you just vacuumed and your pissed and husband comes up to you and hugs you and tells you how much he loves you and how pretty you look (in your sweats and ponytail) is he sincere? (ruse baby --ruse all the way)

Note: Captaingrubby, wherever you might be, this post was created with you in mind.

A Family is the Sum of its Parts


I have been reading some very thought provoking posts on religion and ethnicity yet it's hard for me to relate to much of what I read. That's because I am personally such a mongrel (husband's no better) and if my family got together for a photo, you'd think you were at the United Nations.

Name a skin color and we've got it --from white as alabaster to black as ebony and all shades in between.

Religions? We have everything from Buddhism to Paganism to Judaism to UU to "no-thank-you" in our crazy clan.

We've got homosexuals, bisexuals (we think but we're not one hundred percent sure) and asexuals. Heterosexuals too -- but no transgenders as of this writing.

We've got PhD's and GED's. A lot of workaholics an alcoholic or two and at least one lazy bum.

We've got animal lovers and animal haters. BMW buyers and junkyard specials buyers.

Hair color as blond as platinum and so jet-black you see the color blue in the highlights. Die straight to kink. We've got freckles and snub noses and almond shaped eyes and red eye-lashes.

We go from thin to fat, very young to very old -- have our share of toddlers, teens, even a few princesses and queens. (You know the type..the ones who never offer to help at family dinners or bring a single dish or bottle of wine?)

Growing up, most people thought my sister, brother and I were all adopted. We looked so little alike. Brother with an olive skin tone, black curly hair and yellow-brown eyes; sister with hazel eyes and mahogany colored hair and me with my blue eyes and blonde hair. My father had pink skin, green eyes and bright red hair and my mother had gray eyes with brown hair-- how did this all happen? Hope my mother didn't fool around!

Just in my immediate family we have: French, Irish, German, English, Welch, Algonquin Indian, Canadian, Japanese, Indian as in Calcutta, Swedish, Iranian, Puerto-Rican, Unknown father mystery nationality, African American, Italian, Hungarian, Russian and Southern (just a joke…)

We have folks with thick wrists, big bones and wide shoulders and also fine-boned, long limbed, delicate-featured souls. We go as tall as 6 foot 5 to as small as 4 foot 10 (adult sizing) and the funny part is we all get along. Most of the time that is.

I'm not sure why my family is such a tapestry of people. I think maybe because my great, great, great, grandmother was a "squaw" it might have "tainted" the family line and caused the people who were all one nationality to eschew falling in love with anyone from this impure line where at any point a "redskin" could pop up. (Horrors of horrors -- get out the fainting couch I feel a case of the vapors coming on...)

The African American injection came from a past relative who fought in WWII and took home a German war bride whose daughter then married an Iranian-- whose son married a French/Italian girl.

When we're all together we never talk about religion because each person believes that their god is the best god -- after all who would believe they were worshiping a second class god or say: well my god isn't quite as good as your god but hell, I'm worshiping him/her/it anyhow.

So the "my god can beat up your god" talk isn't allowed at family gatherings. We have an old aunt who tries but we shush her up every time.

I was brought up Catholic and hated every excruciating minute of it and as soon as I could STOP going to church I did and don't go or don't believe in any organized religion but have a strong spiritual side that I do nurture. I do not relate to or pick out one nationality in my muttness with which to identify. Which one would I pick? Most people say I look Swedish which I am not.

My brother and sister are religious -- brother stayed a Catholic and sister went Congregational. Fine with me as long as I don't have to go.

One great thing about my family is the food. When we have a big bash you can't believe the variety of wonderful food we have at our table. I love the different flavors and spices and am hard pressed to pick my favorite cuisine because there is no one cuisine that encompasses such a variety of foods.

One bad thing about our mixed up family is when strangers ask if A is adopted (well yeah she is, want to make something out of it?) or say: You can't be sisters or how could you have a cousin who's black or Indian?

My favorite of all: What is he? Meaning of course, I don't recognize his nationality.

Well, good, and I'm not telling you a 7 generation story of how he came out looking this unique (and by the way this absolutely handsome) -- so if you can't tell what he is, then assume he's American.

A True Story of Three Tales of Woe


I broke my favorite coffee cup when I picked up the cat who didn’t want to be picked up so she extended her paw with its extended claw which caught on the mat which dragged the mat cum cup off the edge of the table and onto the floor where it turned into shards while I nudged the naughty cat out the door with my toe and the door slammed shut before my foot withdrew and now my toe is red and sore and I might have broken the door or my toe, so there’s my first woe.

I did a load of whites which contained something red, a sock stuck in the sheets from the bed, that I didn’t notice till the sheets turned puce when the red sock let loose of that hideous dye - though the sheets were a buy I still have to say I’ve just had them one week and now their deceased unless I can stand white sheets with ruby red stains that will make me insane if I have to see them but the charge is still pending and that’s not fair when the purchase is ending its short life – such strife - so out they go, the reason for my second woe.

Third woe and last, is just taking a bath - a joy I was hoping for with filled tub, music and more when my red swollen toe hits the lavender bubbles with aloe, the doorbell rings so out comes the toe and I sneak a peek out the nearest window and see the wig of an ancient neighbor who's known to be senile but gentle and mild, so I guess I must answer so I swerve to the closet to find some clothes and pull on my robe and run to the door and slip on the floor and bang the dang toe as I say "Hello" and she’s got nothing to sell but is holding my cat, purring and docile and she asks if my cat is lost she couldn’t tell but she found one under her tree and wondered if it belonged to me and hands me the cat when I say yes, it’s mine and she talks for quite a long time until the bubbles are flat and the water is cold and the cat looks at me like see, don’t you ever fuck with me.

Wine mouth

Lucky readers a second post in one day. I’m feeling chatty today.

Perhaps I should put a disclaimer on this post. What I am about to talk about is not pretty.

Wine mouth.

I had it this morning and the first look at me in the mirror as I grabbed my toothbrush was horrifying. Wine mouth for those who don’t know is when you drink red wine, then toddle off to bed without brushing your teeth.

(Ok, come on, do you never, ever not even once fall asleep watching a movie and wake up at 2 am and go into bed without brushing your teeth?)

So as above states, I woke up at 2 am after having a couple of glasses of a lovely cabernet and when I woke up this morning I frightened my own self.

Gross stuff coming…

My lips had a purplish glow to them that was completely unnatural and my teeth were closer to slug gray than they were to white. (Obviously I still have slugs on my brain.)

My tongue was also stained a lovely vermilion.

The stuff of horror movies! I heard my silent scream. Oh no!!!!!!

Those of you who have ever experienced wine mouth know the shame that goes with this self-inflicted distortion. All the forensics point to the fact *you* skipped your regular and necessary oral hygiene.

You look like you spent the night smooching an eggplant or Barney.

Luckily, wine mouth can be dispensed of quickly with your Crest and your toothbrush. If you are lucky, no one else ever sees wine mouth and you can pretend to yourself it never happened. You can then walk into the kitchen with your sweet, clean breath, your pink lips, freshly brushed tongue and sparkling choppers and say a big “Good Morning” without fear of being found out.

Unless of course you read this blog and then you’ll know.

Pride and Prejudice


Did I say I was proud of my state? I take it back.

Yesterday the house performed surgery on the civil union bill and added in the old “marriage is between a man and a woman” clause. Our dearly beloved repub/gov Jodi Rell said she wouldn’t sign the bill without this inclusion.

Straight Anonymous said: I hope that everyone against the bill and everyone against same-sex marriage finds out that all their children are gay. It would serve them right.

I say – hell no. Almost to a man, every gay person I know is smarter, nicer, kinder and a better citizen than the average person.

Maybe it’s because my circle of gay friends are all hard-working, accomplished people who have survived the bigotry and hate shown to them by “doing well” as in doing well is the best revenge.

I am not stupid enough to think ALL gay people are spectacular. But I do know all the ones I know are.

(Just a reminder to my gay friends just how much I cherish their friendship and love.)

-------
Next, I have to say that something has to be done with our new U.S. Secretary of Education, Margaret Spellings.

Connecticut Attorney General Richard Blumenthal plans to make Connecticut the first state to sue the federal government over the No child Left Behind law. Blumenthal alleges that the law is an illegally unfunded mandate among other points.

(Ask almost any Connecticut teacher and you will be told this law is setting back public education and not enhancing it.)

So Spellings responds with calling my state “un-American”?

I ask the same questions our state’s education commissioner Betty J. Sternberg did in reply.

"Are we un-American because we're asking for a waiver?"

"Are we back in the McCarthy era?"

Well are we?

If so I’m sure we’ll soon be hearing:

Are you now or have you ever been a member of any liberal group?

Do you now or did you ever live in the state of Connecticut?

Have you now or in the past ever left a child behind?

Club Med for Slugs


Echrai’s reply on my ant post got me thinking about the year I turned my strawberry garden into a Club Med for slugs.

The slugs were eating my strawberries. They’d gnaw a hole and suck out the juices and let the rest of the strawberry rot.

Strawberries are hard to grow and wonderful on your cereal especially because you have to plod out to get them on an early summer morning - still sleepy-eyed and coiffed in bed-head extraordinaire. Early morning strawberries are warm and dewy and all you have to do is swipe them under the faucet for a couple of seconds and then slice them up for breakfast, that is if you don’t just eat them all right over the sink with the water still running.

Unlike the store varieties (that look like real strawberries only much huger and redder), these smaller pinker versions packed flavor. Let’s see a show of hands, who remembers when strawberries actually had flavor??

Okay back to the slug story.

So the slugs had invaded the strawberry garden and I read, like Echrai suggested, that if you put out a bowl of beer (which I hate to part with because I adore beer) the slugs will come and drown in the beer and leave your strawberries alone.

May I say this is not so. It might be so if you choose a bowl with high slippery sides, but I chose a soup bowl with low sloping sides. Big mistake.

When I timidly peeked at the bowl to see how many dead slugs and more important, how many strawberry’s lives saved – I was stunned.

A bunch of drunk slugs were leaning up on the side of the bowl as if they were chilling in a hot tub filled with beer. They were happy, healthy, drunk and slightly pink where the strawberry juices had stained their lovely see-through gray bodies.

I was out a Stella Artois (all I had at the time) my strawberries were decimated and the happy inebriated slugs were going to give me a good neighbor award.

Nothing like a hearty meal of strawberries topped off with a couple of pints of good beer and a nice place to rest and chat with your friends.

(This post dedicated to Echrai for her beer idea and Spurious Plum for being blogger’s resident expert on fruits.)

Spring Has Sprung!

I know this for sure and it’s not the crocuses nor the daffodils nor even the allergies that drive this point home: it’s the ants. I get them once a year on one countertop and it heralds the true start of spring in my home.

It is the annual event that speaks the loudest; it tells me it’s time to get out the spring/summer clothes from the attic; time to plant the vegetable garden; time to get Advil Sinus and Allergy pills. It is when I know I can start wearing white shoes and when I can put away the car window scraper and the snow shovel. Time to buy the pansies; replace the batteries in the smoke alarms and time to become more religious about poop-scooping.

I am not fond of ants and I can’t help but wonder why they make their annual pilgrimage to my kitchen? Why that one countertop? Why not the cat food bowls that are frequently left on the floor for my nibblers? Why not a countertop near the food? Is there something about the Blue Willow china pattern that turns them on? They choose the area where only my dishes are stored, not the cookie and treat cabinet area.

Of all the places in my kitchen that could attract ants, this one area that they love is the cleanest, non-food, non-crumb area in the whole room, unless, they are coming in for a drink. The sink is located next to this ant-appealing countertop.

Today I had 17 ants.

Tomorrow a few stragglers will appear too but now I’m ready for them. I have stuffed bay leaves in every crevice I can find near the area where they are entering from behind the backsplash of this really, honest to goodness, pristinely clean and soap-smelling area of the counter.

I have gone under the sink and spread more bay leaves and used ½ can of Raid Ant and Roach killer. I have rewashed everything on every counter and swept and washed the floor. I have fed the dogs outside! I will not even attempt to make supper tonight with the thought of an errant ant coming by for a visit. The cats might just be on an enforced fast, if not, that’s the speed in which they’ll have to eat as I refuse to leave a dish on the floor for more than 28.7 seconds.

I really dislike the little buggers but when they come, I know that the nice weather is soon approaching and that as long as they're coming in for dinner we'll be eating out.

What’s with MSNBC?

They have a new “regular” talking head who comments on anything related to child abduction or molestation. Jake Goldenflame, who is billed as a recovering sex offender, and readily admits abusing his five-year-old child, is the new darling of this cable news show. His book, “Overcoming Sexual Terrorism: How to Protect Your Children from Sexual Predators.” is promoted as he royally sits in on a panel of noted, respected authorities on this subject.

Excuse me…?

Yes, child molesters probably do have something to offer – maybe a lot to offer on the subject of child abuse, but his royal treatment and smug “I did it but I don’t do it now though I still have the urge” attitude raises the hairs on my neck.

I don’t even like his name…Goldenflame equals yuck to me.

Goldenflame has also been featured on Oprah and other talk shows. I feel that whatever his insights on child molesting might be, I don’t want to see his face on TV nor do I want to see him transformed into a media celebrity either.

He’s a convicted child molester. He abused his own daughter and other children too. He shouldn’t be on MSNBC’s payroll. He shouldn’t be allowed to yuck it up on TV after doing such horrendous deeds. I don’t want to see his smarmy grin or even imagine what his daughter must feel when she sees her molester’s prime-time full-frame face on the television screen.

And I thought Fox News was the worst. MSNBC is fast going to take over that title if they continue to employ Goldenflame and promote this perv, his book and then thank him profusely for his commentary, congratulating him on being so brave as to give a molester’s point of view.

Eff him.

Things husband just doesn’t catch on to.

White Star champagne is not dry…it is a tad sweet. A tad too sweet for my taste. Every other year he finds an opportunity to buy White Star for an event or treat. One year he buys the wrong kind, next year he remembers and buys something brut, next year he forgets and up pops the White Star again. He sees Moet and thinks good champagne. That thought overrides the million times I’ve told him, “Please don’t buy White Star, it is too sweet.” He also thinks extra dry means brut which it doesn’t. I think we’ll have the White Star problem forever.

Cover food in the microwave. This is another often repeated request which now should cross the line into command. Dear husband insists on microwaving the cat and dog food as he’s sure it tastes better to them when it is warm. He also insists on not covering the dishes which sends cat or dog food particles popping out of the dish and splatting on the top and sides of the microwave. This entails a total microwave cleaning experience which makes the whole process of feeding the animals turn into an hour of scrubbing and disinfecting.

The printed part of the top sheet should be face down on the bottom sheet so when you turn it back the pretty part of the sheet is seen folded over the quilt. I am lucky he changes the bed sheets for me, but I don’t understand what’s so difficult about the above format for bed making? He cannot or will not place the sheet pretty side down – it is a small thing but consistent in our marriage for years.

The power of cinnamon. (Laurenbove could write a book on this one…) He buys spices from the Spice House catalog and they are hand ground and fresh. They are also super strong – much stronger than any cinnamon, for example, you could buy at the grocery store. He also likes cinnamon flavor a lot so he finds numerous ways to use it in his cooking and baking, like the cinnamon flavored chili he made last week. Oweee was it an interesting dish. Now he’s loading it in his bran muffins which I love minus the cinnamon and his French toast will burn all the way down into your stomach lining. Less is more when it comes to cinnamon.

Hot cross buns. This is another, every other year, seasonal problem. One year he buys them for me knowing I love them. I say I like the ones with the raisins but not the ones with the candied fruit in them. Next year I get the simple variety minus the parti-colored bitter fruit pieces. Next year after that, he forgets and back come the candied fruit hot cross buns. Etc. Etc.

Funny Valentine cards. I have told him hundreds of times that funny cards cost the same as romantic ones and I’d rather not get a card that shows the wife in curlers and bunny slippers with some comment about “loving me anyhow” on it. He will always opt for funny and I always give him one with a beautiful verse and a vase of roses, for example. Maybe next year we should buy our own cards.

I know, minor complaints, but I wonder why it is some things he cannot remember no matter how many times we discuss it. Is it a form of passive aggressiveness or is it just a busy guy who lets champagne, microwaving cat food, cinnamon, Valentine cards, bed making and hot cross buns fall though the cracks?

White Anuses and Withered Testicles

I don’t have either.

Someone actually came to my blog after searching for” white anuses”.

I am not sure if I should feel proud or perturbed. I had forgotten I had ever used the word anuses in a post and I’m pretty sure I never waxed eloquent on white anuses.

Actually, my searching friend has peaked my interest. Why would he or she be looking up white anuses? Is it a symptom of a disease or a new trend in body modification? Do albinos have white anuses? Does Michael Jackson have one?

As you can see, I will probably appear on someone else’s blog “search-list” in the future, as I conduct my own internet research on white anuses.

Anyone with information please feel free to educate me or sohelpmerhonda I will conduct a search in the near future.

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I didn’t have to search the net to find out about withered testicles. There it was in my morning paper as I sipped my coffee. One of the signs of a male taking anabolic steroids is, in fact --withered testicles.

Why would any guy ever entertain the idea of taking steroids if he ends up with crinkly little dried up sacks? I don’t care how hot a guy might look on the beach or in the gym with his rippling abs and mountainous biceps if hidden in the jock are two deflated baggies without the zip.

Side effects like paranoia, rage, extreme and quick muscle development – I could see a guy taking the risk. But itty bitty little dry and empty pouches sticking to his thighs? – oh no…

Apparently most men have not heard about that side effect.

And if they have heard about that side effect and continue to take steroids, then they have a lot of balls…or should I say, had a lot of balls.

Today I'm a Proud Nutmegger


Once in a while I am very proud of my state and today is one of those times.

Yesterday the Connecticut State Senate voted in favor of a civil union bill that would extend virtually all the rights and responsibilities afforded straight couples to the state's gay couples. It is expected to be passed by the house too.

Several Republicans voted in favor of the bill and I am very proud of them. The count was 27 to 9, or three to one.

An attempt to put an amendment on the bill to define marriage as only between a man and a woman was defeated soundly.

Marriage rights to all adult couples will be next. But for now I’m content with this civil union bill and my state.

Also, our Attorney General is planning on suing the federal government for imposing the ridiculous brain? child of George Bush, the No Child Left Behind Act. Impossible to enforce, ridiculous in concept and a real step backward for education, our state’s suit will point out that special education children and ESL children cannot pass grade level course work and should not be expected to do so. The only way that can happen is by lowering the standards for all children.

The No Child Act will and has just dumbed down our education requirements.

So Connecticut, even with your impossibly high prices for housing, your dirty mayors and governor and your stinky winter weather, I am loving you now.

But why do we have to pay so much for gas?

Copy this into your blog if you like and customize it to reflect you! (Taken from Mindful Things who took it from another blog who took it from another blog etc.)

Accent: New England accent
Bra size: just right
Chore I hate: Any kind of organization
Dad's name: Paul
Essential makeup: mascara, lipstick
Favorite perfume: Shalimar
Gold or silver: Gold and yellow gold at that, though I will accept rose gold.
Hometown: I can't answer that, I'm in the witness protection program.
Interesting Fact: Housework expands to the amount of time you have to do it in.
Job Title: dilettante
Kids: I have them and love them.
Living arrangements: House
Mom's birthplace: Paris
Number of apples eaten last week: I can't answer this. I already told you I was in a witness protection program!
Hospital stays: births. One FUO stay as opposed to a UFO stay.
Phobias: I worry about my teeth. I dream of teeth. I hate dentists. It's all about teeth for me when you ask about phobias.
Question you ask yourself a lot: Why don't I accomplish more?
Religious affiliation: Zero -Recovering Catholic
Siblings: One sister and one brother
Time I wake up: 6-7 AM.
Unnatural hair color: Platinum blonde.
Natural hair color: Light Ash blonde
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Lima beans
Worst habit: You'd probably say smoking but I say trying to make everyone happy.
X-rays: a bunch
Yummy food I make: Lots of things if I do say so myself. But simple foods.
Zodiac sign: Libra in soul, Virgo in date
I'm adding one here: (says LB)
Favorite (Drinking) Toast: I drink to your health when you're near me; I drink to your health when I'm alone. I've drunk to your health so damn many times, I've almost lost my own.
I'm adding three:
Secret: Mary Bishop isn't actually my real name.
Why not tell it all? I am pretty outspoken and in the past have made enemies and stalkers who have tried to contact me at home. I therefore have to stay a bit anonymous even though I'd rather not. (I should stay anonymous just for the Mother-in-law gene post I wrote a few months back!)
Most adventurous feat: 1600 miles on a Harley in the bitch seat in October.
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There you go Laurenbove. I copy and pasted and answered as I said I would.

Leftovers

Let us all join hands.

The turkey is finished.

I made it and ate it and ate it and ate it. Finally I took the last parts I use for soup and put them in a freezer bag for a later day.

The turkey is gone. The refrigerator seems larger. The animals are calmer and I am dreaming of fish.

I hate throwing out food and I hate eating the same thing over and over.

A turkey goes from a thing of beauty all trussed and crispy with mahogany colored skin and aromatic stuffing to a pile of bones, skin and assorted turkey like crumbs that more resemble road kill than the original Norman Rockwell perfection.

The turkey has flown my coop and Kitchenaid fridge and I am happy.

(Obviously I haven't a damn thing of importance to say today.)

Naughty naughty red pens!

I read in today’s paper that a local town has asked teachers to throw out their red pens and use another color, to place comments upon students’ papers. Apparently parents have complained that all the red corrections and comments are stressful to their children’s eyes. Red, they say, is an agitating and stress producing color


Awww.

Purple has been chosen by most teachers as the new red and will now be used for leaving comments and corrections on students’ papers, though other colors, with the exception of red, will also be allowed.

(Fast forward 5 years from now and reread the above news item only substitute the color purple where the color red is cited and substitute red for purple.)

I guess parents and teachers don’t realize that being corrected at all is the problem and not the color of the pen.

(Yawn. Yawn.)

Love that Red Truck wine.

So we go to dinner and I'm looking at the menu and felt like beef, saw filet mignons with shallots, artichokes, mushrooms served on a bed of sobies.

Sobies?

What are sobies I wonder.

Ask waitress.

She has no idea.

She asks another waitress who also has no idea.

Chef is asked but he speaks little English.

I ordered eggplant.