The Redneck Button

Posted for CountryGirl who is at the beach this week and whose vacation - as you might suspect - is not going as planned....


We need a better class of tourism.

Went to buy a bathing suit yesterday. Not that I'm going to be SEEN in it, but I put it on under a cover-up and then sat under an umbrella on the beach all afternoon.

We were standing in the checkout line and there were these little bins full of all this...stuff. Stuff for your kids to whine about while you're waiting in line and stuff you give in and buy just to SHUT THE LITTLE DARLINGS UP. There was one checkout girl and about nine people in line, but we were all on vacation and not being pissy or anything. And one of the bins had these plastic packages with these big red buttons in them. The label said, "Redneck Button."

The Not Nice Kid (of course) picked up a package, pushed the button, and this voice from my hometown screams out..."GET OFF THE CELLPHONE, DICKHEAD!"

No lie.

There was a frozen second and then...everyone in the line CRACKED UP. I mean, it was SO unexpected and SO out of place and...we just lost it. As my face turned a scarlet color not found in nature. I turned around to face the counter when I heard this buzzing sound behind me and I whirled around and screamed, "DON'T YOU..." only to find myself staring at a wide-eyed six-year-old I'd never seen before holding a fake machine gun. NOT the redneck button and DEFINITELY not my child.

Everyone fell over laughing again.

We told the story over and over again...you can take the rednecks out of the country? But you can't take the rednecks ANYWHERE.


Editorial Note: I am seriously considering converting to Islam - just for the bathing suits. Seriously - even *I* could wear the swimsuit in that image. - CG2

A Bad Year to be a Celebrity

Great Googlymoogly it's a bad time to be a celebrity.

This dying shit, seriously, has got to stop. It is freaking me out.

If I was Sandra Bullock - my choice to play "me" in the Lifetime Special movie of my life - I'd be hiding under the covers right about now.

Did you see where Billy "OxiClean" Mays is dead? The strangest part of about his death is the Internet rumor that WILLIE Mays died yesterday. Hubster nearly had a come-apart.

BILLY. BILLY Mays passed away.

So many celebs have recently gone on to that Great Soundstage in the Sky that I'd forgotten David Carradine died just a few weeks ago. And it seems like Natasha Richardson died years ago ...Talk about morbid overload.

Does anyone remember that Bea Arthur passed away last month? IMHO she deserved a lot more posthumous attention than she got. Surely a little, tiny bit of media time spent reviewing MJ's contribution to the arts, could have been spared for Maude. I'm just sayin'.

And what about John Updike? I realize that winning multiple Pulitzers isn't as glam as the Moonwalk, but c'mon - his passing deserved a bit more attention than it received. He was, back in the day, the most written-about author of his time.

I could just hear the Young Turks at CNN Headline Mindmelt yawning at the news, "John Who? Didn't he, like, write that gross book about slaughtering animals?" No, Dear. That was Upton Sinclair, but nice try.

Something funny (funny "odd" not funny "ha-ha") did circulate through text and email immediately after Michael Jackson's death.

A guy who works for Hubster got a text as we were all talking. He read it aloud in astonishment:
"Did you know that James Brown, Aliyah, Left Eye, Static Major and Michael Jackson all died on the 25th of the month. They were all black. Weird."

I thought, "Okay...More performers HAVEN'T died on the 25th, than have....But still...Don't forget Eartha Kitt, she died on Christmas."

It's always the old-timers - the best of the lot, in my opinion - who are forgotten.

Friday Funny - Late Edition

Stupidity Breeds Contempt: A Genetic Tragedy in One Act

I don't know if familiarity really does breed contempt, but I DO know that STUPIDITY breeds contempt.

I told CG1 last night that I was not going to post about this. That I was only calling her to tell her about the argument I'd just had in the Walmart parking lot. That I was so NOT proud of myself.

But you know what? .... I'm still not proud of myself BUT ......I have had, Had, HAAAAADDDDD IT with stupid/lazy/ignorant people. I'm done. DONE holding my tongue. At least for now.

I bite my tongue and bite my tongue and BITE my tongue around people who:

1) Have no concept of personal space while standing in line at The Store. Bitch, BACK OFF.
2) People who are too FLIPPING lazy to go park in a parking space after dropping their obese relative at the front door of The Store. They just sit there. In the fire lane. In front of the door, BLOCKING everyone else's access.
3) People who are too IGNORANT to put the grocery buggy/cart in the designated buggy/cart FREAKING RETURN in the parking lot. They must think the carts magnetically migrate FROM their random parking spots TO the return - by MAGIC.

So you knew - YOU KNEW - that at some point, the bloody stump of my much bitten tongue (that never wags at ANYONE except Neighbor Asshole and that's ONLY when he taunts my dogs) would EVENTUALLY take on a life of its own and LASH OUT when it'd had enough.

You KNEW that some bitch would, someday, walk her buggy/cart RIGHT UP TO my front fender, look at me - while I am IN the car - and leave it there. Leaving it touching - or at least within a fraction of an inch - my fender.

I could not have backed out of that parking space without the cart 1) rolling sideways into my bumper and scratching it or 2) being pushed into the car beside me.

Let me be clear. This person walked over a space - she wasn't beside me - walked past the car between us, over to MY car and placed the cart between my car and The Car Beside Her.

THE CART RETURN WAS IN FRONT OF HER CAR. And over a space. It was kiddy-corner from her car. It was CLOSER to her car than I was.

So I GET out of the car, lock it behind me, walk over, take hold of The Cart, look at her and say, "You know, the return is less than 20 steps away." DID NOT EVEN MENTION that it was, in fact, closer to her than my car was. Did not yell. Just offered up a statement of fact.

"Uh, MA'AM, I have a CHILD in the car," she shouted.
"Well you aren't setting a very good example for that child," I responded in kind.
"YOU...." But I cut her off.
:: snap :: "People like you just piss me off. The cart return is RIGHT THERE."
"Well," she huffed, "people like you piss ME off."
"GOOD! Then maybe you'll remember this the next time so you can avoid meeting MORE people like me."
"I HAVE A CHILD."
"Just because you can't keep you LEGS together is not an excuse for rudely leaving your cart wherever the hell you like."
"Well, I'm sorry you're such an angry bitch."
"I wouldn't BE an ANGRY BITCH if people like YOU would just put things where they belong!"

She drove off.

It must be said, that when she first said she had a child, I looked into the car and saw it was a one-ish year old. Like, sitting up in a car seat, but not old enough to talk. That age. Child had not a clue what was transpiring outside the car. The air-conditioned car.

Undoubtedly, The Woman got on the phone and told everyone she knows about the crazy lady who ATTACKED her at The Store and how I wanted her to leave her baby in a hot car to DIE... And they're all tut-tutting and tisk-tisking and I DON'T CARE.

And let us understand ONE THING. And I wish I'd have thought of it as I was standing there.

The Woman had to get the child from The Store to the car... somehow. She either carried the child or she used THE BUGGY to transport him. The child was most likely in the buggy already - or worse yet, in her own damn arms. She didn't HAVE to put the kid in the car first. She COULD have unloaded the groceries, wheeled The Cart and the child the the return, left The Cart where it belonged and carried the child ten steps back to the car with her. THEN put him in his seat.

The fact that she cannot figure out the ORDER OF OPERATION involved in transferring small humans and Walmart Shit into her vehicle without breaking the rules of buggy etiquette IS NOT MY PROBLEM.

Oh, wait, BUT IT IS my problem when she parks the buggy alongside MY CAR so that I can't pull out without hitting it. Then *I* have to get involved. In HER situation. I have MY situation under control. I don't want or NEED to get involved with you.

I'm sorry, but I AM NOT SORRY. Send all the hate mail you want. I DON'T CARE.

This post is for the .001% of you who ARE, in fact, bothered by lazy, stupid Bubble People who walk around in their own FREAKING Bubble Worlds, not caring one WHIT about inconveniencing every other human around them or damaging their property.

"La, la, la...it's all about me...la-la-la." Etiquette? Protocol? Isn't Protocol, like, a cholesterol drug?

I UNDOUBTEDLY burned, in that 30-second exchange, every Karma point I had in the bank. I'm back at zero. I'm probably in negative double-digits at this point. No more $1,000 slot machine jackpots, no more green lights all the way to work, no more winning wicked cool prizes on blogs. I'll probably get audited next week.

But you know what? I FEEL BETTER. I have been nice, and turned the cheek and HELD MY TONGUE for so long...but I feel better now. And I KNOW you can't just go around saying whatever the hell you want, correcting people and telling them off whenever you like. But sometimes, just sometimes....

Anyway, MAYBE the next time Lazy Bitch wants to push her buggy up into someone's car, she'll think twice. MAYBE she actually learned something yesterday and will figure out The Order of Operation before Lazy Bitch encounters another ANGRY Bitch.

Ahhh. Yeah. No.... Probably not. ::sigh::

Image Credit: A damn funny site.

Pay It Forward

You might remember the story I told last Christmas about driving up to the window at Starbucks, only to find that the guy in the car ahead of me gave the cashier $20 and told her to pay for the drinks of the next two people in line - Merry Christmas and Pay It Forward!

I recently came out - inexplicably - $20 ahead on a travel expense report.

So when our new Thank God and All The Saints mattress was delivered shortly after that trip, I tipped the delivery guy the $20 and told him to buy himself and the underling/schlepper in the truck some lunch. I hoped he'd be kind to the kid. Pay It Forward.

Visiting the Fancy Schmancy Blog earlier this week, I was tickled to pieces to find this entry:

"Yesterday, while I was snooping through the blogosphere, I found that Rhianne of For The Easily Distracted was doing a post about paying it forward.

'The first three people who leave a comment on this post today will receive a little surprise from me. The only catch is that you have to pay it forward to three more people. You don't have to have a blog to do this, just promise to keep it going by surprising three more people however you'd like.'

I thought it was a really neat idea and to my surprise- there were only 2 comments posted on her blog so far. I quickly chimed in and left a post and shortly after I received and email from the lovely and talented Rhianne informing me that I would be receiving gifties from her and her Bo-hunk! Yippee!

So now it is your turn to participate. If you are willing to pay it forward to 3 people, and want to receive a surprise gifty from me, simple leave a comment and the first 3 people will win!"


Well, guess who commented and guess who won a prize - Me, a-me, a-me-Me-ME!

Predictably, it is now your turn, dear Blog-thren, to comment, win, and pass it on.

In the spirit of following the rules - which I HATE to do - we'll award prizes to the first three commenters. BUT don't run off (R-U-N-N-O-F-T) if you are commenter number 4...or 10...or 17. You never know when CG1 and I have something up our sleeves and might randomly pick additional winners. :o)

C'mon all you long-time lurkers! This is a most-excellent opportunity for you to reveal yourselves. Pittsburg, Illinois? Sterling, Virginia? Walnut Creek, California? I know you're out there! Step right up and (maybe) win a prize!

Now I ask you: What could be better, on a boring, hotter-than-the-hinges-of-hell old Thursday, than to win a prize and get the opportunity to bring a little excitement and joy - more than usual, I mean - to your readers?

Okay...yes...a day off, a massage and a pitcher of margaritas would, in fact, be better. But you're on your own there...There's only so much I can do, spreading-the-love-wise.

PS - Click the image for a little toe-tappin' lagniappe.

Say it ain't SO!!

Just got an email from The Small Batch website (yes, I'm on it's BFF list) and can you believe it...THEY'RE OUT OF KNOB CREEK. Bottled the last batch until November. What's on the shelves is IT.

I've never been in withdrawal before.

A funny thing happened on the way to the Forum...

...I came within half an inch of wringing that idiot's neck. In fact, I was SO pissed I called City Girl and TOLD her why I was pissed so that I wouldn't forget. She has tactfully chosen not to REMIND me but let me reiterate...I was pissed. I remembered.

This past weekend was full...really, really full. A golf tournament member-guest. The neighbor across the street's heart attack. A tonsillectomy. Father's Day. A wedding I didn't make. Junior tennis circuit. A party or two. And to top it all off...IT'S HOT AS HELL HERE. So no matter what you do or where you go...you are soaking, wringing wet at least 50% of the time. It's amazing how hot a car can get in 10 minutes.

So. Tonsils Thursday. Basketball practice Thursday. The Big Boy couldn't make the surgery because after all...it's just tonsils. And OH YEAH...he has to take off Friday to play in the golf tournament. I understand. So my mother went with us just in case we had any issues. We came home, the patient went to bed and I hovered. It's what Moms do. Except we have some very dear friends who moved to Denver a couple of years ago and every summer when they come home we have a night where everyone goes to the Mexican restaurant and has a REALLY good time. And this was the night. But the patient was happy and sleeping comfortably and The Nice Kid/Babysitter was texting her heart out so...I left them here and went to have dinner with my friends. Lovely time. Came home, gave The Not Nice Kid her pain medication (for the first time in her life) and she freaked out. Danced on the ceiling. Kept me up until the wee hours, being weird. Won't be dosing with codeine anytime soon.

Friday? The super-neighbor across the street had a heart attack. He had a stroke six weeks ago and a motorcycle wreck ten days ago at which point they found some sort of irregular heartbeat which lead them to find two blocked arteries so now he's walking around with two stints. And Friday, when it was only 96 degrees, he decided to go mow the lawn and the next thing we knew...we were in the emergency room. All afternoon. He's only 75 years old so...wanna climb some mountains? I got home in time to iron a shirt and show up for the golf party at the country club. A lovely time was had by all.

Saturday the golf tournament continued. Yes, it was hot. They rode in golf carts 'neath hundred-year-old oak trees while a young-something in shorts brought them beer. One of the top golf courses in the country. On the river, so there is a breeze.

Do you know what Frogg Toggs are? FT's are clothing and accessories designed for sportsmen. Keep-you-warm for winter fishing, keep-you-cold for summer golfer/tennis/etc. Saturday? The Big Boy took every FT in this house, excepting one towel. He rode around in a golf cart on the pre-described course, while The Nice Kid played tennis on clay courts. It was, and I quote, 103 degrees on those courts and she was moving the entire time. I was sitting, but it wasn't much cooler and there wasn't a shade tree for 20 miles...but GUESS WHO HAD THE FROGG TOGGS? Yep. We nearly died. We THOUGHT we were dying. It was HOT.

And when it was finally over I came home, to the air conditioning. The Big Boy came home, took a shower and then went to take a nap. Long about then I remembered...we were invited to dinner tonight. At the home of one of the most stylish people I know and OH YEAH. I had volunteered to make the bread. So I started making bread but I had messed up the starter and I had to chunk the first batch and start a second one and the OVEN IS ON during all this debacle and I made two batches of yeast bread and one big skillet of cornbread and since THE OVEN WAS ON it was HOT AS HELL in the kitchen. Just like it had been HOT AS HELL on the tennis courts for four hours.

We were supposed to be at dinner in 45 minutes. I had no shower, no ironed clothes and the bread was still in the oven. It would have been nice to have had some makeup but...shower got first priority, only...I COULDN'T GET IN THE SHOWER UNTIL THE BREAD CAME OUT OF THE OVEN. And the clock was ticking and I WAS HOT and...

...The Big Boy got up from his nap, took a shower, put on clean clothes and walked down the steps and said, "Will you sew on this button for me?"

He still has no idea what the hell hit him. I blew up. I didn't sort of blow up...I exploded. I was so hot and so tired and so dirty and so unready and so harried and so...sick of his shit...I exploded. And his dumb ass was standing there, holding his shorts for the next day, looking at me like I was insane.

While I looked at him the exact same way. I think I'll write a book. Something about opposing sexes and planets or such.

National Harpoon's Vacation

It had to happen sometime: I've hit the proverbial and literal wall (walked into a door frame this morning).

So much is going on that I'm really just half-assing everything to get through another week...and then another...and another until I finally reach the end of July and head home for a week-long break.

"Home," for those who don't know or haven't guessed is Chicago. I used to be coy about naming the city that bore me because CG1 and I USED to be anonymous. Until we were outted in a local magazine. Now we don't actually care.

Back to the story: I loooooove to go home to visit.

"Visit" being the key word in that statement.

There's nothing about the city - and metro area - that I don't love... EXCEPT the months of January, February and March.

Christ on a bike it gets cold. I mean, freeze your eyeballs to the lids, hang onto ropes strung between the buildings so you don't blow away, snowmobile-suit as fashion-statement cold.

Or as meteorologists say, "Brrrrrr fucking cold."

So what'd I do when I moved away? Landed somewhere that provides the perfect conditions to give a person heatstroke four months out of the year. If you'd like to know what Alabama feels like in summer, wrap yourself in a wet wool blanket, turn the oven up to 400 degrees, open the door and sit in front of it. Now try to breathe. Nice, no?

Now that I've experienced both extremes I can't decide which is worse: Nostril Icicles and shoveling ten-tons of snow or Chronic Nether-Region Heat Rash.

But I'm going to Chicago in July, which is lovely. A little hot, a smidge humid, but no wool blankets.

Sister is scheduled to birth a new nephew in 8 days, mom turns 65 in a couple of weeks.

So sister, being the uber-organized masochist she is, is planning a pool party for mom's birthday.

Let that sink in for a minute: a group of 65-year-old women (none of them Sophia Loren or Raquel Welch) splashing around in the pool. There will be no burning those images from my brain. Ever.

Is there a point to this rambling nonsense? No. I warned you that I'm in half-ass mode.

Pickled Garlic Seed Goodness

One of the Country children - TNNK - had her tonsils removed yesterday, so CG1 has her hands full. However, because she looooves her peeps, she left this post with me to be used in her absence.

Okay, I did it. Re the garlic seed post(s) from the last week or so? I did it. And while I would LOVE to say I did it out of righteousness or superiority or...some such nonsense, the truth is that I did it because I found this jar.

Y'ALL! Oh, Y'ALL!!!! I was actually in WalMart minding my own business and avoiding wacko fat people speeding around on scooters hunting for unnatural food when...LOOK AT THAT JAR! Is that not the coolest jar you have ever seen in your life? Ever? (An aside here...if you've known about this jar for a while and you didn't tell me? I hope you get beriberi.) So I bought two sets of them...eight jars...and came home and got all justified.

The problem with getting justified around The Institution is that...things don't go according to plan. The recipe calls for one cup garlic seeds. I eyeballed my pile...OH, WAIT. Garlic seeds are in a cluster on what I guess is a garlic flower and...in my experience...they don't come off. So I got the kitchen scissors and CUT them off without realizing until it was too late? Garlic works on your eyes and nose just like onion. I was SQUALLING and then The Not Nice Kid came in with red eyes and tears running down her cheeks asking WTF? Sorry, honey. Mama was giving Martha a run for her money.

Anyway. I eyeballed my pile of seeds and assumed (get that? assumed?) it was close to four cups. I was wrong. However, I mixed up four cups worth of stuff and followed procedure and then it said...let sit at room temperature for 24 hours. Cool.

Only we got up yesterday, the day that would have been 24 hours, and turns out the basketball Parent Sheet that says..."Sheffield Playdate 9 a.m." didn't explain that...11, 2 and 4. O'clock. Games. So I got up and left, fully expecting to be home by noon so that I could do the picklin' only...I left at 8:30 and walked in here at 5:30, after having spent a major portion of my day in a hot gym. (The part I DIDN'T spend in the gym involved margaritas and THAT DIDN'T HELP.)

So there sat the seeds.

This morning the guilt got to me so...I delved in. Only because I had misjudged the volume of seeds, I needed more liquid. White wine and white wine vinegar only I was out of white wine vinegar so I used triple13...like fertilizer. White wine, white vinegar and water. And THEN, because I had diluted the mix, I put a sprig of rosemary, one of thyme, a red pepper and a bay leaf in the bottom of each jar.

When I first boiled the seeds they were bitter. When I tasted them today...they weren't. These have the potential to be LOVELY only...WHAT THE HELL DO YOU DO WITH PICKLED GARLIC SEED? First thoughts involve a heavy potato salad. Deviled eggs. Probably a lot of things into which you'd put capers. Pasta salad.

They have to sit for a week. Then we'll see.

Battle of the Dogmas

Compliments of our friend at Profound Incite. Thanks, Rich!

Letters from the edge...

My little brother, his wife and two kids are in Virginia for my sister-in-law's brother's wedding. Since they were that far anyway, they're spending a week in D.C. Keeping in mind that if they ever got a divorce, my little brother's out of here and we're keeping the SIL? She provides us with great material. Excerpts from his emails.

Cast of Characters:
The narrator...my 45-year-old brother
His wife, my sister-in-law
Her sisters: Sister One, the oldest, and Sister Two, the middle child
My niece and nephew, Kid One (male) and Kid Two (female)

Drive 11 hours to Richmond, kids do fine. SIL needs to stop about every two hours for whatever the kids forgot to buy at last stop.

We arrive and go to first party not bad, this is at the best man’s house, names John, has a 68 year old house cook/maid and she ran her mouth and of course got into it with Sister One and dressed her up and down. S1's husband was fit to be tied. His helpers at his farm have been working for his family since 1850 or so. One girl Kid Two’s age. No boys, Kid One spent the evening on the front steps asking when we could leave.

Second day golf in the AM pretty good, Friday night party pool side, host said kids could swim. Kid One fell in by mistake and sat by the back yard, no boys, asking when we could leave, Kid Two found swim suit and stayed in the pool. SIL and S1 got into it as S1 felt kids in pool inappropriate. SIL told her to shut up. Went back to hotel, took kids to bed, SIL and rest of wedding party went to bar; SIL and S1 got into it because S1 didn’t think SIL paid Sister Two's daughter, Niece Two, enough for summer help. Now S1 didn’t know how much SIL paid but she knew it wasn’t enough. SIL told S1 to mind her own business.

Wedding day, played golf with brother in laws, went well. Returned to hotel, lady jumped all over S1 because the sister of the bride parked van in wrong place. S1 was just standing there minding her own business and the lady just goes off. We laughed until we cried. Wedding ceremony lasted about two hours. Four different people spoke. Forgot S1 fell over pews preparing to speak at rehearsal the night before. Made it fine at the wedding though. Wedding planner crawled all over me because SIL and S2 sat on wrong row. I went down and made them move. Wedding planner not very nice.

But it’s finally over.

Two days later:

(SIL) Still doesn’t know left from right. We are driving through DC traffic and I have given her the GPS. Now this is my computer with a map listing all the streets and a big red arrow this is us moving along. We are coming up to a T in the road I ask left or right, silence, I ask again, silence, I look over she has both hands in the air, apparently to separate which one she writes with and yells left as I turn right. Stop the van in six lane busy road and get out and walk around to passenger side and there she sits. I ask her to move over and drive. I take GPS she takes wrong turn but I can see the hotel on the screen and we are on a parallel street heading the same direction. This is more than she can stand. We turn into hotel parking lot and she is totally amazed.

Other things. Kids on vacation lose their hearing.

Kid One can say “dad quit kicking me under the table” and everyone in the restaurant can hear him.

Kid Two can say “dad quit pulling my hair” to get quite a bit of attention herself.

I am going to find the closest Wal-Mart and visit and beat the stuffing out of my kids as apparently this is the only place that still allows that type thing.

Well, headed to spy museum and other places me and kids ready to go need to find SIL she went to get directions and is lost again.

If It's June, It Must Be Christmas

People tease me about being organized.

Okay, so I'm a little beyond your run-of-the-mill "organized."

Truth be told, I have OCD tendencies. It's typical for someone with GAD. I've always been like this. My mother has the same thing - which is why we can't be in a room together for more than 30 minutes. It is our genetic cross to bear.

Anyhoodle, Christmas has always been a bit of an issue for both of us.

My mother starts Christmas shopping in January for the next year. Her Christmas cards are addressed at Halloween.

Me? Long about, oh, NOW, I start obsessing over Christmas: Christmas shopping, Christmas cards (the fact that I blew off Christmas cards last year was HUGE), Christmas baking, Christmas decorating. Baaahhhh!!! Too much to do!

Note to Hobby Lobby: the fact that you start dragging out Christmas trees on July freaking Fifth does not help people like me.

The responsibilities and - dare I say it? - chores associated with a traditional American Christmas celebration are enough to drive even the least obsessive person past the brink of fresh-baked, twinkle-lighted, Rockwell-esque insanity.

Mid-June marks the beginning of, "Oh SHIT, Christmas is right around the corner! Wasn't it JUST Christmas? What happened to St. Valentine's Day? And Easter? Did I miss them? Ohshitohshitohshit...I need to start working on Christmas projects NOW!"

I kid you not, I had that EXACT thought/panic attack yesterday.

This year's stress is partially self-induced. Not just because this is my own little problem in my own little head. No. I've compounded the already touchy issue by deciding that I am going to give hand-made gifts this year, whenever possible. (The guys won't get sewn/knit goodies, because I am not yet talented enough to crochet Home Depot gift cards - but I'll get there).

Last year, thanks in small part to the fact that I spent Christmas Eve with my (only) two cousins, and I bought small gifts for them - but due in LARGE part to Hubster's rapidly breeding family - I spent Two Thousand Dollars on Christmas.

Remember that we have no kids, and Hub and I didn't buy for each other last year. I spent TWO GRAND on immediate family and all their children. My MIL refuses to draw names for adult gifts, so we have to buy for every sister and BIL, and their children, and now their spouses and children. And the "Steps" - don't forget the step-parents.

I swore in January that Christmas 2009 would be either 1) Handmade 2) Hard Candy or 3) spent on the lam in Mexico...but that was before H1N1.

So, I've spent the last several months collecting sewing patterns for aprons and market bags to make for the family womenfolk. You don't want an apron? Tough shit. Regift it.

According to The Plan, I'm going to use up a large chunk of my fabric stash - in which I've invested thousands of dollars over the years - thereby freeing up room in the spare bedroom for an actual bed, AND avoiding the spending of fresh cash on store-bought gifts nobody really wants or needs anyway. How the hell many candles can you give a person?

The Plan is perfect. It's nearly ev-il in its perfection.

Except for one, small, detail: I have no free time.

Because I tend to obsess, every minute of every day is consumed with the Big Job, helping Hub with our business, blogging ::grin::, housework, yardwork, cooking/canning/freezing and errand-running. I don't "do" free time.

So let's review: I now have patterns, fabric, a plan and six months in which to execute Operation Handmade Holiday from Hell.

I should sell squares to you all, so you can guess the date on which I'll SNAP and run blindly, wildly, through Stein Mart, snatching up random tchotchkies to throw at people on Christmas Day. I could take a percentage of the winnings and apply it toward Xmas 2010: The Holiday From a Padded Cell. In which I do all of my shopping online....

PS - If any ONE of you comments that I'm missing The Reason for the Season, I will hunt you down and beat you to death with a Yule Log.

A Food Fix For Friday...

...before we get cute.

Another one of The Best Ideas I Never Had...these are just plain hotdogs, but we do this with brats and most sausages. (Obviously it wouldn't work with sausages in casings, but everything else is fair game.) All you do is lightly score the dog in a circular pattern from one end to the other. Just to break the skin. It gives you much better texture...the inside cooks, as opposed to just heating up; the oozing fats crisp up nicely and the entire thing just...works. A trick we all learned from the late, great Johnny Hamm.

THEN...the harvested garlic heads, for the Pickled Garlic Seeds. We'll see. That road to hell and such...

Oh, HELL no

Wonder what's got me fired up this morning? Here's a little hint:

"Why Bosses are Right to Distrust Women Who Don't Want Children."

W. T. F.

Full Disclosure: I do not have children. At various points in my past - and for long intervals - it would have been entirely inappropriate for me to have had a child and so I actively avoided pregnancy. When all the stars did finally align and my life straightened out, it turned out I couldn't have children - probably was never able even when I was spending a freaking fortune on Pills. To all you Pfizer stockholders out there, You're Welcome.

I also never felt that deep maternal spark that drives women to crave, to absolutely need children. I understand that I am in the minority, that many - if not most - women who can't have children feel horribly cheated and go to great lengths, at great personal risk - financial, medical, emotional, marital, you name it - to have a traditional family. I totally get that. I don't share it, but I get it. The point is, Hub and I chose to accept that we would not have children and we're fine with it.

This woman's argument is that women who choose not to have children are less responsible at work, turning up late and hungover. Really? Because the majority of women I've worked with over the last year have been childless. And on the two occasions when someone has shown up wildly hung over? In both cases they were mothers. Clearly having passed a placenta does not render you immune to The Demon Rum.

The author of this article also profiles childless-by-choice women as less loyal, less organized, less able to deal with crises, selfish and less generous.

Really? Maybe things in her society are completely backward from the society in which I live, but around here childless women are no less likely to work late, come into the office early, work through lunch, fight fires, organize office get-togethers, and remain loyal to an employer. And, believe me, they are no more or less likely to participate in office bitch-fests.

The uncited "research" to which she refers states that in the workplace, the childless woman is seen as odd and cold.

Apparently it did not occur to anyone involved in the research that childless women are not odd, they are different from what the "researches" and author apparently are accustom to.

You probably don't know many Buddhists. Are they odd or can you just not relate to them because they're different from most people in this predominantly Christian country/context?

You probably don't know many people who play the bagpipes. Because they've taken a less traveled musical path (than the more common pianists and violinists) are they odd or are they able to hear beauty where you only hear noise?

You probably don't know many women who own their own businesses. Do they contribute less to society because they have bucked conventionality and struck out on their own?

If a woman gets to a certain age and thinks, "Oh, crap, I'd better have a baby now or I'll miss out." - what are the chances that she's going to be a really great mother? She's having a baby because she's afraid of missing the boat. So after 9 months is she automatically gifted with "an essential humanity" because she's given birth, even if she had a child for selfish reasons?

What about women who have kids because they just think they're supposed to? I know plenty of women who have had children because they fell in love, got married, and were told by society that the next step was a family.

So they did it because they were supposed to, not necessarily because they wanted to. Are they More Human than women who understand and accept that maybe they might not make a great parent and decide to remain childless? Which is more humane? Which is more compassionate?

My childless colleagues and I don't go around screaming, "Discrimination!" when we have to cover for someone with sick kids. It's life. My life is different from your life, which is different from the next readers life.

So here's MY question: Why does this person feel it necessary to publicly poke a sharp stick at childless women? What is her motivation? If anyone in this scenario is lacking an essential humanity, it is her.

Hump Day Place Holder

More About the Menagerie

So it has been firmly established that I have two, moderately large dogs. One is an angel straight from All Dogs Go to Heaven and the other...can be Cujo when the mood strikes.

Cujo...er... Mimi (I might as well use her real name - no need to protect the innocent as she is and always has been as guilty as Lizzie Borden), is part Lab, part Shepherd, part obnoxious-random-hound and part neurotic schizophrenic.

But I love her. She's my dog. My Pupper Girl. She infuriates me as only my canine-self could.

So anyway, Meem has never been a jumper. She's been and done a lot of things, but she's never jumped on people. Never jumped a big puddle, never jumped a ditch.

And never jumped a fence.

Her brother, Cliff, is a digger. When he found us, we had to install electrified cattle wire along the bottom of the fence around the yard so he wouldn't pull a Hogan's Heroes on us.

Once we were sure the "message" was sent with the cattle wire - indicated by loud yelps - I proceeded to expand the utility of said wire to block off areas of the yard where I didn't want canine explorers to venture.

Mimi never jumped the wire. Cliff jumped back and forth all day long...mocking us. Meem watched him. Completely mystified. For seven years. "How does he DO that?" You could see it on her face. For SEVEN years.

Actually, she reminded me of my little sister who, in kindergarten, was feared to have a 'deficiency' because she couldn't hop. She could jump. Two feet? No problem! One foot? EEERRRGGH. (Happy ending, she turned out fine).

So two weeks ago we replaced the no-longer electrified wire with a cute little 24" picket fence and I'll be damned if Mimi - now in her twilight years - didn't look at it, take a step back, and glide over that bitch like she was National Velvet.

Then she did it again. And again. She hasn't stopped doing it for TWO WEEKS.

I can't tell if she's proud or demented.

Does she think she's a horse? Can that happen? Can dogs forget they're dogs? Do dogs get Alzheimer's?

She does eat grass...and carrots...and likes to be brushed.

Holy crap, my dog thinks she's a Shetland Pony.

Never a dull moment with this one.

When I was younger, and acted up, and my mother would put the Mom Curse on me by shaking her finger and chanting, "You'll see! Some day you'll have one just like you! And then you'll know the trouble you cause!"... I never thought The Curse would be fulfilled by a dog.

Didn't I call her "my canine self" earlier in the post? Mm-hmmm. My mother would be pleased.

It's probably time to go back to school

It was supposed to be the start of summer vacation last week but, nooooooo. We ran ourselves ragged and it was HOT and every time we got somewhere we had to hurry up and get somewhere else. In the heat.


So middle of the week is Music in the Park and hey! Let's take a break. Soccer camp in the morning and then a leisurely picnic under the trees. This is a plan.





(An aside here. There are currently 14 (five adults and 9 kittens) cats residing in various structures on this property. One of them is mine; the others, thank you very much, are courtesy of people who feel the need to dump their unwanted animals in the country. I have news for you...this is NOT 1920. Most of the abandoned animals will die miserable deaths; a significant portion of them roadkill. The ones who turn up here? JACKPOT!)

We decide to take the three motherless kittens who are old enough to leave, to the park with us. Fixed up a nice little cage (actually a chicken cage but if you've been following here for very long you know...this place is NOT the haven for chickens that it is for cats) with a beach towel and some food and a water container and...off we went.

(Another aside...of these three kittens? Only one has a name and that's because that cat has SPUNK. Little, feisty and full of fire. Right in the middle of taking on the 120 pound lab (and winning) she would come crawl up on your feet and stare in your eyes and just cuddle right up. This cat is COOL and we didn't want her to leave but....we think they write newspaper articles about crazy cat people and it's possible we are fast qualifying.)

We spread our blanket and laid out the food. Hauled in a BIGASS cooler because there are three kids and one of me and...the kids insist on having cold beverages and THAT TAKES UP SPACE that could be better utilized by MY beverages. So I bought a big rolling Cube. And filled it UP. We set the cage close to us and it took about 30 seconds before the kittens did what kittens do...attract people. Whether you like cats or not? Kittens are cute. So pretty soon we have various and sundry people oohing and aahing and holding the kittens and the music is good and the beverages are cold and The Mama had made an awesome layered sandwich and it was a nice place to be.





(Aside #283...There was a group of kids there from some...daycare center, I guess. And the woman in charge kept turning her back, at which time the kids would all come running to see the kittens. AT WHICH TIME the woman (not really) in charge would come bustling up screaming, "Fleas!!! Those cats have fleas!!!" and herd those flea-carrying KIDS away. And then two minutes later, the kids would be back and the woman would be scurrying around in the park screaming about fleas. It was sort of like The Wizard of Oz on drugs. It's a good thing the wine was cold.)

So in the midst of all this nirvana, the kittens started playing on a tree. And then they started climbing the tree, and all the people started freaking out. But ME, knowing it all, just rolled my eyes. "It's a small tree," I said. "And they're CATS...it's what cats do: climb trees." Sitting there all smug and knowledgeable and self-satisfied, while the kittens scampered about in the tree and I had another glass of wine.

And then, plop. Onto a cement edging, went Sparky. Out of the tree, onto a cement curb, where she immediately started thrashing about in the throes of spinal cord injury. My halo dimmed slightly, while I screamed at everyone to "Don't touch that cat!" because whatever was wrong could be made worse. After about 30 seconds the thrashing stopped, the kitten rolled over and...stood up. And then fell over. And then stood up and fell over and finally we realized...it's her back right leg. Or hip. But it's NOT her spine.

Wrapped her in the hem of my shirt and held her the rest of the expedition.

Only, we were there a while and as I've mentioned: the wine was cold. So time comes to leave and we get to talking about it and the only logical NEXT step is...a trip to the Mexican restaurant. WE HAVE AN INJURED CAT. And IT'S HOT so the cat can't wait in the car...but animals aren't allowed in public places and we all know this so we did the only logical thing to DO when you've had a bottle of wine: we put the cat in a purse. And we went and ate and met some friends and had chips and salsa and margaritas and picked up ANOTHER kid to come home and spend the night and in the end...it all worked out well.

Only guess who thinks she's moved in and rules the roost? Yep. Sparky. All 12 ounces of her, sitting on the back of the couch with her totally healed back leg...attacking all moving creatures regardless of size or life-form.

Have I mentioned that The Big Boy HATES cats? Absolutely DESPISES them?

And have I mentioned that...THIS CAT STAYS??? We need all the spunk in this household we can get.

Friday Funny

Is that the British/Australian/Canadian spelling of 'talks'?
WTF?

Still, it's funnie....

This is Potentially Going to be a War....

Then again, maybe no one will notice but me.

I'm going to change my name.

I am 53 years old. I grew up in the Deep South with as conservative a background as comes. I have been married for 22 years and have two children from this marriage and we have a life and a place and a routine but...WHY THE HELL DO I HAVE THIS MAN'S NAME?

I mean, it's not like it's a purty name, or a distinguished name, or a meaningful name. There are some names I could see enjoying..."Lancaster" is a pretty name. "Rockefeller" would have nice connotations, as would "Astor." (I've always thought Astor had a lovely ring...maybe it's the flower, though.) Or something French...how cool would "Devereaux" be, if you're from CENTER STAR, ALABAMA?!

Looking around, the family whose name I carry has only been in this area for three generations. They came here and established themselves and had a good life but...what does that have to do with me? They're not related to anyone in this county other than themselves; in spite of the fact that my husband's dad was one of eight kids, there's no one left here but my husband, his parents and a first cousin and his father...who have different last names.

If you divide the county (which is the single longest county in this state, FYI) by natural boundaries...there's a body of water that runs north to south. And I am related to most of the people on the east side of that creek. Been here a LONG time...long enough to have Indian ancestors. (Not the noble Indians, regretfully. The trashy ones.) Long enough to have a place. Long enough to be the person I grew up to be.

So why do I have a different name?

In all honesty, I never really got the hyphenated last name thing. I know a pediatrician here who uses a hyphenated name. I think Yankees do it a lot. THAT makes sense. But me? A Southern mom?

Contrary to what this sounds like, I'm not mad or contemplating divorce or turning into an Anglophile. I just...am startled every time someone calls me by this name, after 22 years. It's not mine. There's a piece of paper on my refrigerator with a quote from a website I can't remember (which you should visit when my friend Brad gets back from vacation and reminds me what it is and I tell you) that says, "We forget at times (isn't it funny how life sneaks up & steals your memory of who you want to be?)"

Sorry, but I'm done. And as soon as I have a spare hour, I'm going to go to the courthouse and find out what's involved and pay the fee and have my real name and my married name, hyphenated, made my legal name. A concession to my children.

It's entirely possible I've lost my mind, but this just feels right. No idea why, but this is done.

Maybe it will be a good day and they'll be giving away free coffee pots for people who change their names. Sort of like opening up a new bank account!

Hump Day Place Holder

Country Girl has an extremely funny post to share with you all, she's just extremely busy with her LIFE.

While I am completely jealous that she has a life.

I am actually, physically, at work today, so you'll get nothing from me - and LIKE IT.

Justice CityGirl

Supreme Court Justice-Elect Sonia Maria Sotomayor and I have an uncanny number of things in common, to-wit:

• We both know enough of a Dead Language to say things like, "to-wit."
• We both wanted to be Nancy Drew when we grew up!
• Neither of us, as it turned out, became Nancy Drew.
• Her father was a machinist/tool-and-die maker. So was mine.
• Her father died when she was nine years old. When I was nine, so did mine.
• She has worked in law offices. So have I. (That she was an attorney and I was a college secretary is irrelevant....)
• Her mother was a telephone operator. My grandmother was an operator.
• We were both raised Catholic and neither attends mass regularly. (So we both - I'm guessing - have Catholic Guilt).
• We both graduated cum laude. (Although one of us walked summa cum laude at Princeton and the other walked vanilla cum laude at the University of North Alabama).
• In high school she was on the Speech team (nerd). I was on the Debate team (nerd).
• One of us is a member of the American Philosophical Society, while the other is a member of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. (Cruelty Prevention is a Philosophy....)
• Neither of us has children.
• We are both "first born females" (relevant) and the eldest of two children.
• We both have ex-husbands (one of us has more than the other, but still....)
• We both have huge soft spots for underdogs
  
• She saved baseball. I watch baseball.
• We both love Puerto Rican food.
• Both our first names contain 5 letters and end in "a"........
  

See? We could be twins!

Spooky, right?

It's (Another) Major Award!

Thanks to Mrs. Gamgee over at Hobbitish Thoughts and Ramblings for pinning a "Kreativ Blogger" award on our virtual lapel.

And...despite the fact that I actively avoid patronizing businesses whose names are intentionally misspelled (Kuntry Kitchen, Fashun Nashun, Kidz Korner) I accept this award in the spirit in which it was given: With a pure heart - sans snark.

The Rules 1. After receipt of the award, you write about seven things that you love. 2. Pass the award to seven bloggers you love, and be sure to tag them and let them know they've won.

Here are seven things I know CG1 and I both love, and links to previous posts about them:
1. Bourbon
2. Good Cheese
3. Mexican Food and
4. Strong Margaritas
5. Gardening
6. Cooking
7. Pearls

Now if that is not the basis for an epic friendship, I ask you - what is?

I now pass the Leg Lamp on to bloggers we've followed for quite a while, and who heretofore have been underrepresented in our blogging...maybe they've been thankful for that. Who knows? We're outing them now:

Mel at Colorful Metaphors
Badger at Make Your Own Damn Dinner
Erin at Out of Character
Alejna at Collecting Tokens
Alicia at Posie Gets Cozy
Joshilyn at Faster Than Kudzu
and Jo at Chez le Laquet

Thanks again to Hobbitish Thoughts for the shout-out. We love ya, Sister!