Happy Birthday Country Girl!

I couldn't find a Maker's Mark Cake, so have a geek sweet!

Happy Birthday!!!

Photo Credit:www.flickr.com/photos/chantastic/1590993819/sizes/m/

I Got the Music in Me

A couple of months ago I looked at Hub - gazed lovingly at him without a trace of The Stink Eye, I'm sure - and said, "We never go to concerts anymore."

It seems like we used to go to plays and musicals and concerts all the time...back in the days before we had a house and before he ran his own business and life was less complicated.

We could barely afford it back then, but we managed somehow, and it was awesome. We've seen some damn good shows - Elton John, John Mellencamp, KISS.

Yeah, that's a strange combo, no?

Anyway, as luck would have it, Hub and I were at a fundraiser about a month ago and won tickets to see Chicago in concert. I saw them decades ago and the band members were pretty old then. I can't imagine what they look like now. Hell, I don't care if the roadies wheel them out in iron lungs, I'll be there!

Then Wynton Marsalis and the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra (JLCO) made a stop in Huntsville last week and we were lucky enough to be there.

It was a pretty damn good show even though Wynton (he let's me call him that) didn't play any solos. The second half of the show was a performance of original music composed by a member of the JLCO. Check it out: http://www.tednash.com/portrait.html

THEN, on Friday morning, I got an alert from Ticketmaster that Van Morrison - VAN THE MAN - is coming to Birmingham, Alabama in May!

The bad news? Tickets for the good seats cost $373.00. EACH. This does not include dinner with Van, cooked by Van and served on solid gold plates...by Van. Good Lord in Heaven.

The cheap seats went for $85 each - I bought tickets priced somewhere in the middle. But, hey, how many more American tours can Van have left in him? I'm fairly certain he passed away in 1982 and his manager had him stuffed, mounted and sent back out on tour.

Also, Hubster and I danced to "Have I Told You Lately" at our wedding...(cue the "awwwww")

THEN I found out Green Day tickets went on sale Saturday morning. I've been dying to see Green Day since Dookie.

Got tickets? Check!

Even though we're going to have to stand in the pit with 1,000 people half our age, I'm almost as excited to see Billie Joe Armstrong as I am to see Van.

Hey, Live Music! We're baa-aack!

Real quick...before the Friday Funny...

We haven't had a recipe in a while so here. The Not Nice Kid came home from school a couple of weeks ago raving about this Chex mix. Never could remember what was in it, so I finally got hold of the grandmother who makes it and we made a batch last night. Lovely, just lovely.

Mz Suzy's Chex Mix

3 cups each wheat, rice and corn Chex
1 cup of something...nuts, oyster crackers, cheese bites, whatever
2/3 cup vegetable oil
2 pkg dry Ranch Dressing
2 tablespoons dill

Preheat oven to 250. Combine cereal and add-in. Mix oil with dressing and dill and pour over cereal mixture. Spread on a cookie sheet. Place in oven and turn off. Leave in oven until cool and crisp. Mz Suzy freezes it in snack bags for school.

This Made Me Laugh

The longer you look at it, the funnier it gets.

If you've been hangin' here...

...then you know that a couple of months ago, Cary Grant picked me up in a bar.

(Here's where you get all pissy about the fact that Cary Grant is DEAD, and I haven't been in a bar in forever. Details, details. I HATE it when people mess with my editorial license.)

It was actually the liquor store, and he was actually a Golden Retriever. And he's still here. Sleeping in the floor at the bottom of my bed. But y'all....this is the most elegant, regal and composed being I ever met. Ever. Bar none. He is a King.

Last week I broke down and took him to the groomer...who asked me, "What's his name?" My reply? "Technically, he's not my dog. But he's been technically not my dog for six months so in spite of newspaper ads and signs in bizneses and FaceBook...we call him Red Dog."

And that's what they put down. Red Dog. And they did a lovely job.

So, Sunday The Nice Kid was picked up from a weekend Baptist retreat. I am not Baptist and my children attend Catholic school but...I'm keeping my mouth shut here. I married into the clan.

We are on our way home, in the rain. Coming down the back country road that leads to our house and there, right in the middle of the road, is this small dog. That's all I got...small dog. And he/she/it wasn't moving. So we stopped, to let the dog get out of the road, and...............IT RAN UNDER MY CAR.

Oh, y'all. Where I thought I had "sucker" branded on my forehead? APPARENTLY, IT'S WRITTEN ACROSS THE FRONT OF MY CAR.

The kids get out, fish around under my car and pull out this very small dachshund.

I hate fucking weinie dogs.

I know you all have them and my best friends have them but...no. Ain't doing no weinie dogs in The Institution. Ain't gonna happen.

So we bring the dog home and care for him. He is SO cold and SO wet and SO miserable. We feed him and wrap him in a blanket and carry him around and...I hate yappy dogs. Got on the computer and posted a "found" ad in the paper.

Okay. He wasn't THAT ugly. And he ran around the house and jumped in your lap so he wasn't THAT ugly. He was young...not long and weenie...and interested in EVERYTHING so he wasn't THAT ugly ;)

This is NOT going to happen.

I made The Nice Kid get up, and we started knocking on doors. Down our road, then down the road where we found the dog. No one knew him.

There's a new neighborhood on the way to our house, so we pulled in and The Nice Kid and the dog got out and started walking down the street and knocking on doors. Not their dog. I am following, with my flashers on.

And at the end of the street comes...this mom. With a four-year-old son. Knocking on doors. Looking for their dog.

The little boy started running when he saw us. We had his puppy.

This is good.

The Kaiser Visits D.C.

I should have known it was going to be a strange trip when:

Three fully decked-out German military officers sat down behind me at the airport gate. One of them - the oldest man, with enough brass on his epaulets to choke a horse - threw himself into his seat and banged his head against mine.

So I did what any gracious host (this is my country, after all) would do, I got up and moved over a seat.

Twenty minutes later we boarded the plane. I took my window seat on row three, and here comes the German cavalry, stopping at row three and filling the empty seats.

Great. Now I could see that the younger one (40-ish) beside me, who was well over six feet tall and consuming every square inch of space, only had two two brass shoulder knobs.

Across the aisle from him was Kaiser Headbutting Wilhelm of the four brass knobs and beside him, against the other window (this was a really small commuter plane) was a three-knobber.

Then the stewardess piped up, "Because of ballast issues, I need someone from rows one through nine to sit behind row ten."

Of course, nobody moved. We all travel a lot. We've all had to sit across from the toilet on enough flights that we know better than to make eye contact with Sky Hostess. We were staying put.

Fortunately for me, Captain Two Knobs either decided to impress his superiors by sacrificing himself for the common good, or just wanted to get the hell away from his traveling companions for a while. Either way, I wound up next to an empty seat.

And no barrier between myself and the old, grey, mustachioed Kaiser.

We got up to cruising altitude, took off our seat belts and I started to stretch into the open spot. The Kaiser looked at me, and I wondered, "Does he think I'm using space his government paid for? What's his problem?" So I looked at him and smiled and said, "Das ist gut." Yes, it is good that I have an open space beside me, thank you, thank the German taxpayers, and I intend to take full advantage.

His eyes lit up. "You speak German?" I said, "Ein Klein" and indicated a tiny amount with my fingers.

"Are you the woman who had to move because of me?"

Oh, Guilt. You are a cross-cultural bitch.

"I did not have to move. I wanted to move. More room for you. More room for me. No problem."

This seemed to appease him, and up came Sky Hostess, "Would you like a drink?" I asked her what kind of bourbon they had on board and she left to check. Meanwhile The Kaiser is looking at me like I've just donned a rainbow clown wig.

Dude, don't German women drink whiskey?

Drinks served, The Kaiser leaned over and asked if we could share the tray table of the vacated seat. I said, "ja, ja" and went back to reading. But out of the corner of my eye I could see Kaiser Baby staring at me.

I couldn't figure out if he thought I was angry because he head-butted me, or if he thought I was a freak for drinking bourbon, or whathaveyou, but for the next two hours he kept looking at me. I REALLY want to ask him what the fuck his problem was, but I didn't because they are our allies and I didn't want to be THAT American, so I kept my mouth shut.

The plane landed at Dulles, I jumped off and ran for the train because I was meeting someone.

I caught the train just as it was departing, put down my bag, turned around to grab the rail and - D'OH - The Kaiser and Company are right behind me, invading my personal space again.

This was getting a little ridiculous. I looked at the guy who is my age - Two Knobs - and gave him the international facial expression for "WTF?" He just looked back at me, total poker face. Damn unemotional Germans. So I turned again and there was Wilhelm, staring at me.

Now I was really freaking puzzled, I was tired and looked and felt like hell. I'd had enough of this guy, whatever his problem was.

I bolted from the train, RAN up the escalator, then up another escalator, sprinted through the tunnel and made it to the final security door between the terminal and the baggage/ground transportation area.

I pushed through the door and turned to hold it open for whoever was behind me and...you guessed it...the Boys from Berlin had matched my speed, step for step and were right behind me again.

W. T. F?

I was actually paranoid at this point, and considered that they were intentionally following me...which of course they were because there is only one way out of the airport. Duh.

So finally I got to the last tunnel, leading outside to the cab stand and rental car shuttles.

Halfway down the tunnel, just because I'd developed - in 90 seconds - an elaborate conspiracy theory, I turned around to see if they were still behind me.

There stood The Kaiser, at the top of the tunnel, watching me walk out. Two Knobs and Three Knobs must have been sent to fetch the luggage.

I still have no idea what I did or said to this man.

Maybe I look like his dead daughter? Eva Braun? Some woman he banged in Warsaw 20 years ago?

It's still bugging me. Scheiss.

Slow train...

...coming.

City Girl is out of town, doing grown-up things. I told her i'd be on top of things while she was gone.

To quote the 14-year-old?

Fail.

Do NOT mess with me...

...you will not win.

We've all received that email about the mother of the bride who buys a great dress for the wedding, only to find out the father of the bride's new (young) wife has the same dress and intends to wear it. So the MOTB wears it to the rehearsal dinner. The moral being "don't mess with women," but if you think about it, it's more about "don't mess with experienced women."

That would be me. The 53-year-old mother of a nine-year old.

She plays a couple of club sports, besides the school activities. Basketball season is winding up, and for two of the last three weekends we've been in play-offs. In the regular season play-offs, we played a team that was VIOLENT. The refs "spoke to" the team twice, and they had three girls foul out. THREE. Fifth graders. (Keeping in mind my kid is a 4th grader, playing up? She ain't the biggest apple on the tree.) At one point during the game, #23 (a tall, elegant child) turned and looked into our stands and mouthed, "F**k you." After the game, where we had parents from OTHER teams yelling for our team and specifically...for #23 to get OFF my kid...we left bruised, sore and victorious. With a BIG ol' trophy. (One of our parents was on the phone to the director before the game was over, and #23 was punished IN PRACTICE. She ran laps for an hour. And, according to her coach, showed no remorse. Bigger problems than basketball there.)

Then, this weekend was the Final Four. And Saturday, we were playing The Mean Team From Hell again. It's been two weeks and my kid still has shadows of the bruises.

And The Mama was prepared.

I still have (took me three hours to find it, but I did) the original 8mm video camera from when The Nice Kid was born nearly 15 years ago. It is NOT palm-sized. I took it and a full-sized tripod, and off we marched to watch The Not Nice Kid's team take on TMTFH, in the semi-finals. We were ready.

The camera set up nicely on a lower tier of the bleachers. I popped out the screen, and maneuvered up and down the court, following the play. Did a decent job of keeping my mouth shut. But later in the game, I had moved down to talk to a friend and #23 got cocky again. And I yelled at someone sitting by my camera, "Make sure you keep that camera on #23!" One of our team siblings did, zooming in and out and tracking ALL the action.

I missed a lot of the mouthing off between the parents, and my kid hit the floor and came up crying more than once. She is her father and grandfather's child...they are born this way. Me? You want this ball? Here, I'll give it to you. No WAY am I getting competitive about no BALL. (The Nice Kid, on the other hand, plays a lot of sports with great ability and no drive...she's mainly checking out how she looks in that little skirt and are we going to LaHacienda to eat after the game? ;)

We won. Got great t-shirts about Final Four something, and went to LaHa to celebrate. Then Sunday? When we walked into the gym for the final game? Turns out, The Director has received some emails about someone videoing the game the day before. Complaining emails. About parents taping things, and that's not right, and various and sundry other complaints about the treatment of their UNBRUISED children. (I jerked my kid off a soccer field once for spreading her hands and going, "What?" to the ref. Anyone argues with the ref? It's gonna be the coach. You play and keep your mouth shut.)

Still did a good job of keeping my mouth shut. Wondered why, if your child's not doing anything wrong? What difference does it make if someone tapes the game? But, as I explained to The Director after we won the Championship...

That camera hasn't worked for five years. And I don't use that tripod because it's so big and bulky.

It's all in the presentation ;)

Happy Pi Day

Today is March 14.
3/14
3.14...159265.....
358976323846.....

Hey, Einstein!
Go Smarty!
We're gonna party
like it's yo' birthday
Drink ein Glas Schnapps
like it's yo' birthday
Do math, don't stop
like it's yo' birthday!

Wooo!!!

Geeks rejoice! Finally, a holiday you can related to.
It has nothing to do with Cupid or Hallmark or green beer.

It's all about the Nerd Love, Brothers!

Thanks to the helpful folks at PiDay.org - your one-stop-shop for all things Pi - you can now send Pi Day e-cards, dress appropriately for Pi Day and chat with other people who are celebrating Pi Day and Einstein's Birthday...at home...all alone.

So dig into a big ol' heapin' helpin' of Pi today!

Because, really, what else do you have to do?

Friday Funny

Simple answers are the best ;)

My dad had a stroke last week. Went into the hospital on Wednesday, came home Friday with partial paralysis. He'll be fine.

Except he WASN'T so on Monday when the home health nurse got there and he was still in excruciating pain, she called the doctor and sent him back to the hospital. Leaking hematoma on his right hip. This can be fixed.

Except, this is NOT a pleasant person. Cranky. Hateful. Ill-tempered, and being sick doesn't improve his disposition. He has in his mind that being an 80-year-old diabetic entitles him to the occasional illness but the rest of us are thinking, "YOU put up 25 damn bird feeders. Now get up and fill them yourself." ;)

My sister called yesterday, totally outdone. "Where are you? Are you coming to the hospital today?" Yeah, I'll be there. I have to go buy Grouch some boxer shorts...what do you want?

"Go to WalMart," she instructed, "and buy a toilet brush."

There was a slight pause before I pointed out, "It's a hospital. I'm pretty sure they clean the toilets FOR you."

"I KNOW that," she yelled in my ear. (Being a nurse, she thinks she knows everything ;)"It's for Daddy."

Now, I'm no genius but I DO know when to shut up, so I just waited. And sure enough, she explained. Turns out? Grandaddy's feet are itching. And since most of his right side is partially paralyzed, he can't scratch them. So my sister has been standing there scratching the bottom of the man's foot. For a while. And everytime she stopped? He yelled at her.

Y'all...WE FOUND A TELESCOPING SCRUB BRUSH! No lie. Blue oval scrubby thing, with a white plastic handle that TELESCOPES. The Little Kids were tickled to death and went flying into that hospital room as if they were carrying gold. A telescoping scrub brush!!

I know we took a picture but it's not on my phone so it must be on one of the kids and I'll post it. You can thank me later for not using a picture of the brush in actual USE.

Bleah.

Kiss that girl's feet...

That would be City Girl and you shitty-ass people TOTALLY missed her birthday last month. For shame, for shame.

This is the point at which you throw sticks and stones at MY sorry ass but...I'm working on it.

Two parents in the hospital and numerous hysterical (really) stories and...I will survive. Or prevail. Or kick some dumb driver's ass. ;) Or just figure out how to use this notebook I bought today so I can talk to y'all because you are the only sane people I know.

Noodles. Jenness says I need noodles ;)

Bin Workin' It

The Dude Abides Big Time

My teenage-like crush on technology has reached the point that I can't watch a live television broadcast without following along on Twitter or a live blog.

State of the Union addresses are SO much more interesting when random, crazy-clever bloggers make observations about Joe Biden's hair plugs or the depth of Sen. Robert Byrd's catatonic state, while the Prez drones on about serious stuff.

The same thing goes for pop-culture events.

So here are what I think were the best Oscar Tweets from last night:

*I bet when George Clooney heard Jeff Bridges thank his wife of 33 years, he probably really missed his dead potbelly pig.

*I couldn't believe they stuck Lloyd Bridges in the balcony & then I realized he's dead.

*@GaryJBusey I hate watching the Oscars. I'm always scared that I'm going to turn up in the "In Memoriam" segment.

*Mathew Broderick should be presenting Best Short.

*Oh, Sam Worthington your glasses make me think you're imperfect and therefore accessible.

*And now Black Eyes Peas is gonna come out and do a big dance number with Oprah and everyone in the audience will join in....

*Lot of beards on the red carpet this year. No, I'm not talking about George Clooney's date.

*Molly Ringwald: Not so pretty in purple.

*She has to keep thanking people or the bus will explode!

Okay, so maybe you had to be there....


Editorial Comment: I've said it before and I'll repeat it until she goes away - Kristen Stewart is a talentless freak. Not only is she not Bella, she can't even act like she's an actress. I understand being shy, but can't you ACT like you aren't?

Friday Feel Good

Confessions of the Culturally Inept

The other night I was at dinner with coworkers and bosses.

Just to put it into context: I was there with a peer, my boss was there with a peer, their boss was there and his boss was in attendance. The entire departmental food chain was breaking tortillas together.

Boss's Boss (Boss Squared) starts talking about the latest episode of Modern Family, quoting from the program, cracking himself up. My boss and his peer join in. Finally, Boss Cubed joins in.

Peer and I sat there staring at each other.

(I've tried to watch Modern Family, on several occasions. I just don't think it's funny.)

We nod and smile and try to participate, but every time Boss Squared asks me, "Did you see the XYZ episode?" I have to admit that I haven't. Eventually he catches on (Peer gets off scot free) that I don't watch the most amazing sitcom on American network television since Seinfeld.

Says him. To me, that's like comparing Miley Cyrus to Bach.

They're both (technically) music, they were/are both popular in their respective times and they're both...okay, so the comparison ends there.

But one is genius and the other is popschlock (copyright CG2 2010).

So Boss Squared and Boss and Boss Peer start grilling me about other "genius' shows:

Boss: Do you watch The Office?
Me: I love The Office - Ricky Gervais cracks me the hell UP. Did you see him host the Golden Globes?
Boss: Um. No. The American version.
Me: Ah...Not so much.

Boss Squared: Chuck? Do you watch Chuck?
Me: I've seen Chuck. It's pretty good.
BS: You've "seen" but you don't "watch"?
Me: Um...Not so much.

Boss Cubed: So, CityGirl, what DO you watch?

An awkward silence.
Really awkward. Awkward and lengthy.

So I sit there. Replaying in my head what Hub and I watch when he isn't playing Call of Duty and I'm not reading or working.

Old reruns of Doctor Who. I can't admit to that.
BBC America: Top Gear, The Graham Norton Show, Cash in the Attic. Nobody watches that.

Lately, we've been watching The Ovation Channel - A short-lived BBC4 show from 1990 called The Book Group and a CBC show about a Shakespeare festival called Slings and Arrows. Which is really, really good actually. And "the best music show in the world," Later...With Jools Holland.

Also, I can't wait for season two of Glee! (squee!) to begin.

Dork. Dork. Annnd Double Dork.

Boss Peer: I know you watch Big Bang Theory. (I love this woman. She is actually my sista from anotha mutha)
Me: YES! YES! I watch Big Bang. I love the Big Bang.
Boss Peer: *snicker*
Me: Okay, for once the double entendre was completely unintentional.

Jesus take me now.

So, peeps, what do YOU watch? Can you help me become less dorky through television?

My George Carlin Impression

::tap, tap ::

Is this thing on?

Well, hell-o, Kids!

No, an earthquake did not recently rock northern Alabama rendering CG1 and myself internet-less, although that excuse is completely believable.

Life, it seems, is the natural force interfering with all things social, technological and Interwebs-related.

Building on the "Life..." theme, I offer the following observations:

1. If you are killed by a wild animal being held...captive... in captivity? I do not feel sorry for you. If your mother raised you to earn a living teaching said wild animal to perform humiliating circus tricks for the entertainment of humans, I do not feel sorry for her when your sorry ass gets pwnd by an Orka.

2. I confess to having cheered loudly for Canada against the United States in the men's hockey gold medal matchup. Hub said I'm unpatriotic. I said that I prefer to support the team with the most to lose. I mean, c'mon ice hockey was invented in Canada...it is their national passtime. Besides beer drinking and moose tipping, eh? :: grin ::

You know how it hurts when when Japan beats the U.S. in the World Series? Oh, wait. The World Series is played only among North American teams...My bad. Well, it would hurt, trust me.

3. I am glad I stopped boycotting Inglorious Basterds because of the intentional misspelling. It is a GREAT movie. Typical Quentin Tarantino, but Brad Pitt is funnier than homemade dog shit and Christoph Waltz, as the evil Hans Landa, is unbelievable. If you haven't seen it yet, it is available on Dish Network for $.99 this week - TiVo it!

4. Yes, TiVo is a verb, as are DVR and FedEx. Says me.

5. I dragged my fat ass to the YMCA on Sunday and enlisted. I didn't stick around to actually swim, but I joined. I thought I'd lose at least a pound just by writing a check...no such luck.

6. I want a LeWhif! Check it out: www.lewhif.com