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This and That…

Biden did it… Why can’t I??

As coincidence would have it, I’ve been trying to work the F-bomb into my everyday life. As a reformed religionist, I’ve decided it would be empowering to assert my right to use words of all lengths, including the 4-letter variety.


Years of religion and parenthood have had me mentally saying one thing, but verbally spewing another. Though I’ve perfected the art of euphemism, inside my head I swear like a sailor. Now has come the time to semi-merge my thoughts with my tongue. I will no longer remain profanely repressed!

However…. This is harder than one might think.


I’ve become an astute observer of others and how they work it (the F-ster) into their sentences. Kudo’s to Biden, THAT was a good one! I wish I were as smooth.


As Biden demonstrated, there are daily opportunities to work the f-ditty into my daily vocab. I work 40 hours a week, I am a parent of a teen aged daughter, I have dogs who the dog whisperer could not whisper to…. there are opportunities! Alas, it is a struggle. .


On a typical day….


Mentally: FUCK!

Verbally: DAMN-IT-ALL-TO-HECK

Mentally: Damn-it-all-to-heck?!? Really?!? That was fucking weak. Try again!


(next chance to let it drop)


Mentally: FUCK!!!

Verbally: Frickin Hell!

Mentally: oh jeezusfuckingchrist! It’s f-u-c-k.


(next chance)


Mentally: FUCK!!!

Verbally: That was really….. Fff…

Mentally: You paused! Why are you pausing?!?

Verbally: Fuck*choke*ed up

Mentally: What was that? You choked on the word! You fucking wussy!


It’s not easy….. fuck no, it’s definitely not. Perhaps I will just keep with my euphemistic ways… After all, as my daughter once oh-so-wisely told me, “Mom, we KNOW what you’re reeeeally saying….”

Leaving the Nest…. without going splat!

“Oh gawd, she’s not ready!”

Last Christmas my sister gave me a beautiful incense holder. It was a tall wood tower that you lifted off of a platform. In the platform was a small hole where you’d place the incense. Once lighted, and the tower in place on the platform, the incense smoke would stream out of the holes located on the roof of the tower. Lovely. Well, it WAS lovely, until I went away for a weekend leaving my 17 year old daughter in command!

I noticed it right away. As I walked in the door and placed my bags down on the living room floor, my peripheral vision and the eyes in the back of my head were all a flutter checking the place out and narrowing in on the table which holds the incense burner. I walked over and KNEW something about it was askew, but since it was newly acquired I couldn’t quite figure out what was missing….. Then I saw it! I turn to Sonora and ask, “What the heck happened to the top of my incense burner?!?!?” To which she calmly replied, “It sorta burned off….”

This is the first time I found myself uttering inside my brain, “Oh gawd, she is not ready….” A thought I’ve been repeating, like a mantra, several times since what is now referred to as the ‘incense incident’.

My heart races… the panic has set in…. it’s the last inning and while it appears that team Competent Parent is ahead, the inning is not over with yet…

The realization that my BABY girl is months away from being legally old enough to vote, buy tobacco, get married, get divorced, rent a house, work full-time, finance a car, get a tattoo, or bungee jump out of the nest WITHOUT parental consent…. is enough to make me hyperventilate, let alone question if I’ve really done a good job in the life-prep-work called parenting. I find myself throwing at her “last minute” tid-bits of “life lessons” that has her no doubt convinced that I’m preparing to change all the locks the moment the clock strikes midnight on her 18th birthday….

The race is on to impart all of that knowledge that must have slipped through the cracks. I mean, if I never properly taught her to light an incense (SONORA…. you BLOW OUT the fire on the end of the stick!!!) what else have I neglected to share?!

Perhaps I should prepare a Final…. A test she must pass in order to earn her 18-year-old-I-am-an-adult-and-don’t-need-no-mamm’s-signature status? I think this is a good idea!

I will quiz her on candle lighting, dishwasher loading, turning off the oven remembering, do not spill bleach on the carpet technique-ing, and how-to-keep-your-animals-alive multiple choice questions….

Oh gawd, she’s not ready!!

Optomistic Lemming

There’s a great scene in the movie ‘(500) Days of Summer’ where a split screen demonstrates the intersection of expectations and reality. They meet and right when it seems as if they might merge on the same path, they often go their separate ways…..

And so it was with the expectation and reality of my New Year resolutions: They did their meet and greet and almost hung out for a week or two;  though, I suppose it would be more accurate to say that they just discussed getting together. They met at the threshold and exchanged numbers, but reality is screening my calls.

What I’m trying to say is, I’ve not been sticking to my New Years resolutions. Hell… I can’t even remember what they are!

Statistically speaking, I am a lemming. Scan the Internet for various New Year resolution stats and you’ll find that around 90% of all optimistic reolution-ers do not follow through with keeping their resolutions. People can talk the talk, but to walk the walk would mean exercise and that my friends holds the number one spot on most resolution lists (exercise more)…. which means it’s not going to happen!

You might think the blog entry ends here, with my weeping whimper of defeat…. BUT NO! I’m going to go and review my list of resolution’s and come up with a plan-o-action. BRB!

I’m back.

Shit.

This is not going well.

Don’t believe me?? Please join me in taking a little look at the dueling Expectation Vs. Reality of my 2010 New Year’s resolution’s:

In the left corner, you will see Expectation, weighing in at 121 lbs., very svelte… yet curvy and optimistic. In the right corner…., please say hello to Reality! Reality weighs in at 133, remarkably curvy…. less svelte, but still optimistic.

Expectation and Reality shake hands and they’re off!!

Expectation:

Walk the dogs AT LEAST 4 times a week!!

Reality:

I’ve walked the dogs four times….. in the last three weeks.

Expectation:

Cook a REAL dinner at least once a week!

Reality:

I just loaded my freezer with frozen dinners.

Expectation:

Lose 10 pounds

Reality:

Make that 13 pounds, since I’ve gained three pounds since writing the list!

Expectation:

Read more…the old school way!

Reality:

I’ve put a stack of books on my bedside table. They need dusting.

Like I said before: shit.

I AM NOT A LEMMING….. I am NOT a lemming….

To be continued…

Why New Years Resolutions Suck Godzilla’s Yoo-hoo

The clock struck midnight and my mind was a flutter: a new year… a clean slate…. now what??

I knew that the New Year’s celebrations brought with it the moral obligation to complete a promissory note of self improvements to be done in 2010. I decided to be like Scarlett Ohara and put it off until the next day. January 1st came and went, as did  January 2nd through the 15th. I did my best to procrastinate writing my perfunctory glorified to-do list because I knew I had to come up with something good and different. I did not want to write the same-old-droll-boring-crap resolutions that I always write. Actually, I would have been happy to leave my unwritten list in a resolution’s purgatory had it not been for my boyfriends little nudge to get it done. And now that it’s been written, I’ve been cursing myself for not writing in any loop-holes!

What did I come up with? Let me show you:

Sandy’s New Year’s Resolution’s for 2010:

1.Walk the dogs ATLEAST 4 times a week!!

2.Cook a REAL dinner at least once a week!

3.Lose 10pounds

4.Actively submit articles for publication with the goal of having one published each month.

5.Read more…the old school way!

A nice little list, yes?? NO!!No, it is not a nice little list. It was while walking my dogs IN THE RAIN that I decided New Year’s Resolution’s are timed all wrong.

Let’s think about this,shall we??

What are typical New Year’s Resolution’s? Dieting, budget better, quit drinking, quit smoking, save money, take a trip,go back to school, change jobs,volunteer more…. I’m sure I might be leaving out some obvious choices, but these are good enough to prove my point. My point being: January is a stupid month to start any of these listed items!

Dieting? What about all the Christmas candy that played gift filler? Am I to just toss it? Do I save it for next year’s pre-season brouhaha’s? Or, do I save it for Halloween and hope the kids at my door are so candy hungry that they overlook the happy fat guy with the red suit on the wrappers??No! It’s sacrilege to toss Christmas candy…. for it is written…. (somewhere) that tossing Christmas goodies is sinful, unless of course it’s a fruitcake (which is mandatory re-gifting).

Better budgeting? Two words: Tax season. There is nothing like starting a race at the finish line of your last race to put a kink in your stride. And do you really think taking a grown-up security blankie away during the tax season is a great idea?Banning security blankies (i.e.: cigs and wine)during January through April is just mean. Give it back mommy, give it back!

The bottom line: timing is everything, and for New Year’s resolutions the timing is just plain wrong. January is a suckie month to start anything that is not cold related. Build a fire in January! Drink some hot cocoa in January! Buy a sweater to hide those extra holiday pounds in January! However, no, no, NO…. do not start your resolution’s in January!

AND just like that…. it came to me, the beautiful loop-hole I was looking for. It occurred to me that when I wrote my New Years Resolution’s, I did not state if I were talking about the calendar year or….. the FISCAL year! So now it seems as if I have given myself an extension…. because given the choice of starting in January or waiting until July,I think I’ll choose July!! 😉

Honey, Honey…

When I was growing up, my parents would often reference a 1980’s movie “Fatso”. Perhaps you’ve never heard of this movie? For some, it’s a cult classic about eating, being a part of an Italian family, and watching the lovable Dom Deluise. In one scene, Dom’s character calls his support group over to help him through a crisis. They all gather in his living room and the conversation begins to drift deeply into talking about food. All during their erotic food talk, they are each drinking the hot water with lemon that they are allowed to drink on their diets. Pretty soon the lemon is not enough to satiate their cravings and the Dom character asks his brother for honey. His brother reminds him that the honey is kept behind lock cabinet doors, indicating it is off limits. In an “I mean business voice”, the Dom character orders his brother, “Junior, get the honey!!!” Chaos, mayhem, and the inevitable food orgy ensues…

My parents loved this scene and would often expound upon the “get the honey line” The running joke between my parents would be to suggest that this, or that, food item would be better with a little honey.

Today, after coming home from the vet with my newly labeled “overweight” dogs… I found myself thinking that same line. As I mentally went over what the vet had told me were acceptable snack items:

Carrots, plain. Apples, plain. Canned pumpkins, unsweetened….

I found myself saying, “Poor dogs… I bet this would taste better with a bit honey on it.” But they didn’t laugh…. perhaps they haven’t seen the movie.

I felt I should cover my dogs ears while the vet was expounding on the reasons behind why they were not an acceptable weight. When she leaned down and explained how my dogs had fake wastes, accentuated by their larger than recommended chest section. OUCH! Lola, the heavier of the two, seemed to take all of this in stride, until without even slowing down, or issuing a warning, the vet stuck a thermometer up her butt. Um, the dogs, not the vets.

Lola looked at me with a, “are you kidding me?? are you f*cking kidding me?” Sort of look…. and I thought,”well at least it’s distracting her from all this weight talk.”

It’s embarrassing to answer the questions about my dog feeding habits. Yes, I fill up their bowl whenever it is empty. Yes, I feed them scraps off of my plate. Yes, I will give them treat after treat… because it’s fun to throw it at them and watch them catch it mid air. My dogs eye/mouth coordination is da bomb!

Feedings will now be limited to one in the morning, and again in the evening. The vet suggests that this will be harder on me, the owner, than it will be to the dogs. Yeah, tell that to Lola when she gets her 2 a.m. munchies!

We are now signed up for a small town doggie version of “The Biggest Loser”. My dogs had their weight recorded, their before pictures taken, and instructions on their new diet. As I held the diet plan in my hand, my inner competitor kicked in and I had thoughts of donning spandex and an in-your-face Jillian Michaels like attitude. “I said give me 20! Now lay down! Roll over, repeat!! You’ve got to want it dog!! Roll over, repeat!! You’ll be running laps dog!! Do you want it?!? Do you want it?!? How bad do you want it….”

Ok, maybe she’s not that much of a bitch, it’s been a while since I actually watch the show. But, from what I can remember, she was pretty scary!! More than likely I will channel Bob Harper and just cry WITH the dogs and help show them their true potential… that seems more like the dog way.

Meanwhile, I give the frozen carrots a shot. The vet made the mistake of saying that they can eat these throughout the day. It sounds a bit like the Atkins diet, where you get the unlimited amount of veggies. I take two frozen carrots out of the bag and toss them in the air. My dogs do their magic and in a synchronized fashion they both catch the frozen carrots mid air…. then…. simultaneously they both spit them out! After a little sniffing, they give the carrots another try. They decide like them. I toss them another…. then another… boy, this is fun…

Color Blind….

Have you ever lost something, like…. um… your keys?? You try and retrace your steps and places you might have left them. You close your eyes and picture your kitchen counter and that dish towel that you tossed, ever so carelessly, onto it. “Ah-ha!”, you run to the counter…. lift the dish towel…. and….. it’s…. not there. Hmph! You close your eyes again, this time remembering how you plunked down onto the couch and you vaguely recall the sound of something dropping…. “But of course! Under the sofa!” You then run over to the sofa, get on your hands and knees, and peek under….. but…. nothing.

And so it goes….. you seemingly can SEE your key in your minds eye every single place you can think of imagining it at.

Tell me that your brain does the same thing. Please, let me not be the only one who has a brain with a sick sense of humor!

I bet you think this mind spew is about my losing something again. But it’s not. It’s about colored paper.

Supervisor: This is to be printed out on Goldenrod, you’ll need to print it again.

Me: That’s not Goldenrod?

Supervisor: No, it’s Buff… you need to print it on Goldenrod.

Me: Oh….

Supervisor:
Goldenrod has orange hues in it.

Me: Oh….

And now I’m back to cursing my joke-playing-minds-eye. The copy room is loaded with paper, none of which is labeled. I’ve not memorized the names, nor the shades of each stack of paper. Once they are stripped bare of their wrapping, I am lost as to their identities. When I see them all together, I can , with some effort, distinguish the subtle variations. But, when they stray from that room, like today, my mind cant seem to tell them apart. I feel like I’m going to have to make a cheat-sheet color wheel, like a Mary Kay consultant testing for skin tones… I’ll whip it out, hold it to the paper, and whisper, “yesssss….. this one, no…. wait…. this one! This one is a perfect match. We have ourselves here a perfect shade of Astrobrite Cosmic Orange.”

Meanwhile, I will just have to fake it. I will learn to read my supervisors face… watch for the disapproving facial twitches that suggest my hand move one level up to the next shade of paper…. slowly bringing it down, hoping beyond all hope that I’m not mistaking Merry Mango for Melancholy Melon.

Working class dog…

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

It’s my dog, the quiet one. She doesn’t whine loudly like the other one, she’s a bit more subtle. Though, just as persistent as the other one… the one with the loud voice.

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

She’s back, like a 9 month old, who can only give you garbley gook and crying. Though, to be fair, there is laughing too.

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

I think it would be easier if she could talk. But, unlike the 9 month old, she’ll never grow into her words. As a result, I’m left to counting down my list of things she might want…

“Outside?? Do you want to go outside??”

“Hungry, are ya hungry girl?? Hungry??”

“Walk?? Do you want to go for a walk??”

Though, I never… under any circumstances…ask about the walk, unless I’m ready to commit. Because, of course, they ALWAYS want to go for a walk. We can come home from a walk and they’ll want to go for another walk, with as much enthusiasm as if they had not been for a walk in a month.

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

I checked her food, it’s fine. Her water, fine. That leaves only two things: play time or walk time. The fact that I am running low on energy and have already had a glass of wine poses a big problem. The lack of energy suggests that I could easily not have enough strength to manage two dogs and the glass of wine suggests I might lack the coordination.

The only option left……. house cleaning.

My dogs only leave me alone under one situation. No, not sleep. No, not eating (duh). No, not while I’m talking on the phone. All the afore mentioned situations are not immune to the interruptions of either one of my dogs. The only way…. ONLY way…. I can assure not one interruption is if I’m house cleaning. What the frick? If I want total cooperation from either mutt, I need only pick up a dish, a dusting rag, a vacuum cleaner, or get to work with some kind of scrubbing and all of a sudden my attention whore dogs decide that they need to give me my space. If I had a husband, I would swear that they were in cahoots. But I don’t, so I’m baffled.

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

I’m devising a new plan. I’m wondering if they will catch on if I were to sprout a third arm, a mechanical one, complete with dusting rag and unending movement….

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

Strippers and Boxes

Part One: In Between Days

I’ve moved again.

I hate packing and moving, but I’m damn good at it. They say practice makes perfect…. and yeah, I’ve had my practice. When I was a child we moved a lot. We moved so often it made army brats look sedentary. It made witness protection hide-ee’s look exposed. It made Harold Hill* look like he had an office job. In all of my childhood life, I think the longest we stayed anywhere was for a total of 3.5 years.

(*Music Man…. You know?? 76 Trombones? Gary Indiana? Oh gawd, tell me you’ve seen this musical and are not devoid of all culture!!)

This go around it happened fast. I had not really been looking to move, though I had my peripheral vision alert to any great housing deals. About three weeks ago I found one.

I do not like chaos, nor do I like that “in-between” feeling that goes along with moving….I like to feel settled. It was the motivation to get through the chaos and in-between that lead to my frenzy style kick-arse move.  Sonora and I threw together boxes, purchased big black bags, and went to filling them up with our “things”.  During this time, if it broke… then that meant one less thing to move and unpack. I’m shocked that my subconscious didn’t trip me and send some of the heavier and over-loaded boxes flying… I sort of wish it had!

When, finally, the house is clear… the cleaning starts. This is wear the nostalgia decides to join in and hang out for a bit, watching with you when you see the “wear and tear” created by your occupancy. No, we didn’t trash the place like a rock star… it was the everyday living that inevitably leaves a mark. The house was an older one, no doubt seeing a slew of tenants through out the years. Which dent, stain, or planted bush did they leave as their fingerprint? As I vacuumed, dusted, and scrubbed the hell out of the place… I came across Sonora and my fingerprints. A stain created on the stairs when I took a glass of wine up to my room a little sloshed over the side along the way.  I was tired and vowed to clean it up the next day… but never got around to it.  How many times did I go up the stairs and think to myself that I should take care of that spot, only to reach the top and forget about it once again. Sweeping resulted in a pile that summed up my very existence: dog hair and coffee grinds.

And so it went, through every room I cleaned, I took note of our fingerprints and had flashbacks of the days we spent occupying the house.

It is anxiety that joins in with the wait for the phone call from my old landlord to tell me when he’s going to arrive for the final walk through. The final walk through is a very private show and tell, where all your deeds are laid bare for the perceptive eye. The clean oven either reveals that I am exceptionally great at cleaning, or I don’t really cook. The patch walls reveal that either I have a bad aim, or I tend to drink while I hang pictures. The amount of holes patched in the wall also reflect a certain amount of indecisiveness and could even hint to my being a bit of a commitment phobe.

But what about the strippers? The titled indicated there would be strippers floating about this blog. Ah, yes… true. I did brazenly pull in the audience with the lure of strippers.

Part Two…. Silicone Valley

I want to be a cool girlfriend, truly I do. When I found out that my boyfriend of eight months was to going to be going to a strip club for an up and coming bachelor party… I thought to myself, “Sure, I’m cool with this… it’s a guy thing. It’s been happening throughout the ages.”

I envisioned my coolness with practiced repartee:

Boyfriend (BF for short): Going to a strip club for a bachelor party.

Cool Girlfriend (CGF for short): Oh how fun!

BF: If we find one that doesn’t serve alcohol they strip all the way and get totally naked.

CGF: Oh wow, you’ll get to see bush… or lack there of, since I’m sure they’re all pristinely shaved for your viewing pleasure. LOVELY! I’m excited for you!

BF: They give lap dances, though I probably wont get one.

CGF: Wow! You mean you’ll get to have a firm and naked body, that is not mine, wiggle her shaven parts on your manly parts? Oh JOY!! That will be brilliant, no doubt!

(Well, I’m not implying that my body is firm… but I can get naked.)

BF: I’m not really into that sort of thing, I’m just going to hang out with my friends.

CGF: I totally understand. You have to do it for your friends…. take one for the team and all. It’s in the name of matrimony and commitment! Enjoy! I’m so excited for you. Here, the first lap dance is on me. But if she’s totally naked, where do you stick the dollar….

Like I said before, I really wanted to be the cool girlfriend. REALLY, TRULY, and FOR REALS.  But… I just didn’t have it in me to be happy about his ogling breasts other than mine. I tried to psych myself up for it. Persuade myself into the cool way of thinking. But damn it, it just had me thinking more of the ogling, parading, and soliciting that would surely make up the evening.

My advice to the men who go out and participate in the bachelor party traditional debaucery: If your girlfriend is uncool like me, cut her some slack. You got to go and do your thing DESPITE your girlfriends distaste of the whole event. You got your free pass of indulgence under the guise of the almighty Bachelor Party. I’d say that’s worth a little bit of kissing up the next day!! My gawd, you just spent an evening staring at other womens nether regions! Suck it up and play nice with the woman who lets you stare at hers for free!!

Drive-in, not out!

As we drove past the pay booth the sign read something about $15 per car containing two people and $20 per car containing three or more people.

No limit…. did you catch that?? I do believe that if you read between the lines, this is an undeclared challenge!! How many people can you fit in your car?? Think: clown car. Think: sardines. Think: if I fit enough people in my car, this is only costing me fifty cents to see a movie!! Friggon hell, that’s even better than Redbox!!

The reason that I give this five stars is NOT because of the state of the art equipment, because frankly there is none…. but because this is just plain old fashioned relaxing fun.
Here is my Top Five reasons why you should load up your car with lawn chairs, blankets, boom box, snacks… and take the drive to Lakeport Auto Movies:

1. It’s like having a picnic AND a movie!
2. You see shooting stars
3. You get fresh air
4. You can pretty much set up a mini living room in front of your car, minus the remote.
5. They have a FM station you can tune your radio to, for those who are anti-AM

IF you truly want to see a certain movie in all it’s movie glory….. go see it at an indoor theater. However, if you’re looking for a great night out with friends and family, this is a fun option that you might keep in mind!

Another Blog….

And here I go again….

I’ve got plans… but they still are cart-wheeling around in my head and have not settled yet. When they do, you’ll be the first to know! Writing is what I do, though it’s not what I’ve been doing lately.  I miss it.