America: Land of Opportunity

I know I’m supposed to be studying.  Actually I’m on track with my classwork and I simply couldn’t resist talking about this story.

Some people will do anything for money — and we already know this woman has absolutely no pride or self-respect.   I guess if I had 14 children to feed and clothe and no discernable skills, I’d go for this, too.  Octoho…I mean Octomom,  is just one notch nastier than Kate with 8 – let ole Kate pop out a few more and she’d probably do the same. Course she’s put in her time on DWTS and now will be a “reporter” for ET (oh ET how low can you go?)  Then again,  diapers aren’t cheap these days.  These women must do what they must do and who am I to judge?

But the irony of Octomom advising spaying and neutering simply put me in a hysterectomy… no, wait, I mean it put me in hysterics.   The woman has had 14 children – a whole room full of labs wouldn’t be popping out that many pups.    I’m wondering if there is a gyno in town who has offered her a free tube-tying session coz someone ought to spay that woman and explain to her just what all those Huggies and Pampers are doing to the landfills.

PETA often attracts somewhat offbeat people.  Usually they just get nude and talk about fur or they throw things on people — none of which I approve but who gives a fig what I approve? 

I simply wonder some day when the Octospawn grow up how they will feel as they look back on their incubator’s life and the things she did for money. 

Personally, I would think taking some courses, getting a job and hiring daycare would set a better example, but I’m normal that way.  Then again, I don’t have a  uterus that has to be daily duct-taped back up the wazoo from drop- kicking out all those babies.  Talk about things dropping and gravity.  Ugh.

I never particularly cared for PETA – nor do I support them, but I gotta say – they will certainly get the publicity they so eagerly seek with this particular campaign.  As for me…I think Octomom and Kate have both had their 15 minutes of fame and then some.  Sigh…

It’s Not About the Cleavage – Quit Cleaving to It So Publicly



Many of my 11 faithful readers know that I spend an inordinate amount of time on Social Networking sites such as Twitter and FaceBook and then of course you can usually find me around the blogosphere too.  On blogs,  one normally finds a nice picture of the blogger so you can get an idea of whose work it is you are reading.  Those who are concerned about privacy issues (and face it people anyone can find anyone these days – so give it up and get over it) will insert a picture of a nice flower or some other such item as their “gravatar” of choice.  The same usually goes for FaceBook where, much like Cheers, everybody knows your name.

For some bizarre reason I cannot fathom on Twitter the pictures (or avatars) used of many women are just chock full of cleavage; major boobage spilling out the front of whatever and the picture is so concentrated on the “girls” that there isn’t even a face included.  Now if I want to get to know your boobs, well, okay then let’s take a good look.  But frankly, I’m not interested in how squished together your mammaries are, nor do I care how humongous they may be in that little picture.  And here’s the real kicker…if that’s what you portray to the Twitter world, I’m not going to follow you because there’s a good bet you have nothing of any value to say to me, or anyone else for that matter.

My friend Sueanne will  back me up on this as she has attempted to help ladies understand how to handle boobage on her own fashionista blog (with the help of her extraordinary handcrafted jewelry…shop from her, trust me).  And I know we both agree on this point — if all you bring to the Twitter table is your “pointies” – hit the road. 

Really, ladies, I know many of us fantasize about being strumpets with our leather or lace, etc.  But on Twitter where the entire world is watching – kindly cover up and use a little good taste when choosing how we all see you and your assets.  

Class dismissed…I need to get back to tweeting something terribly important…sigh…




We All Know What They Say About Good Intentions…

When I fired Gretchen the Immaculate I just knew doing my own housework would be no big deal.  Afterall I had plenty of time on my hands so I can do chores around the house.  I even thought about it logically (yeah, me logical) and set up a tentative plan of action for when certain chores would be done.

She’s been gone almost two weeks now.  I got the upstairs and the downstairs vacuumed.  I have dusted everything except the family room coffee table – and what hasn’t been dusted has been Swiffered to death.  I have cleaned all 3 bathrooms every few days and wiped down every surface with Clorox wipes.  The kitchen is tidy, the family room is a tad cluttered, and the table next to my comfy chair is a disgrace (but underneath the stuff the wood is nice and polished).

What I’m finding out is this cleaning house stuff is for the birds.  I took it on with a good attitude and told myself I would take pride in keeping my house spotless.  Oh who was I kidding?  There’s 3 days worth of newspapers on the coffee table and I truly don’t care.  There is a pile of books on my table and it doesn’t bother me in the least.  I’m not even sure I made the bed today — although in my defense that bed has been made daily!

A friend of mine on Twitter had links to her interior design friends and I just had to hit those links.  OMG those houses make mine look like a reject in the worst trailer park available.  My house is never going to look that well designed or that perfectly put together and I can live with that — I live in my home; I don’t use it as a showcase.  (Note to self:  don’t visit those sites anymore; they only increase your dosage of Valium.)

I bought one of those Shark steam cleaners for the kitchen floor  – I’ve been spot cleaning this floor since Gretchen left and the Shark is sitting in the corner still in the box.  That’s the big project for Monday – take the stupid machine out, put it together and steam clean this floor!  At least that’s the plan.

It’s about good intentions.  I just need to attack this housecleaning thing a little at a time.  I did manage to get the dining room back in order after Scriber’s Web-inspired collage challenge was finished – man that dining room table was a disaster area for a few days but it looks nice and pretty again.  Just in time to mess it up with my next craft project.  And just so you know I didn’t make up the collage challenge,  here’s my finished project for what it’s worth:

Did u think I would pick any other subject than EmmaLou??

But back to the cleaning…

I don’t know about this kitchen floor.  I’m thinking moving the rug around might work for awhile to hide the dirty spots.  I’ll get around to cleaning it…that chore really is on my list but I just remembered I have some other things to do on Monday…

I Just Wanted to Get Out of the House for a Little While

Let’s talk a bit about why I should stay inside and not venture out into the world without adult supervision.

All I wanted to do was get some coffee and maybe treat myself to breakfast.  It was one of Devoted Spouse’s volunteer days and I felt like going out and maybe even getting some shopping done.

I should have known better.  It was extremely cold, there had been a light dusting of snow the night before resulting in a slippery driveway (shades of the Ice Incident of 2009) but I really needed some coffee.

Now the coffee at that highly rated restaurant Le Bob Evans isn’t the best, but the place is close to home and I figured I would just order twice as much coffee.  So I pull into the parking lot, park my car, and immediately upon exiting my car what do I do?  I slip on the ice — okay fortunately I was still holding onto the car door so I remained upright.  I did, however, have severe heart palpitations and visions of emergency rooms.

I’m inside the chic breakfast place and have been seated at one of their booths — the kind that has a booth on the other side but is separated by this weird type of glass partition.  So actually the tables themselves are connected but the people sitting in the booths are not because connected people would simply be bizarre.  (I’m not sure I even understood that sentence.)

Anyway, I’m sitting there reading the paper and trying to eat eggs and drink my coffee and the guy in the quasi-attached booth next to me keeps making his point to his breakfast buddy by slamming his hands on the table, thereby making MY side of the table shake.   After about 10 minutes of this, I calmly get up from my breakfast and walk ALL the way around to HIS side of the booth, politely interrupt his conversation and gently ask him to stop banging on the table because it is making my side of the table move and is actually quite irritating.  He looks up at me and blinks.  And blinks.  And blinks.  Like I’m a nutcase.  Then he looks at his breakfast buddy and goes back to discussing whatever they were discussing.  I say, “Thank you so much and enjoy your breakfast.”  There was no snark in my voice – honestly.  I even smiled.

I go back to my now getting cold breakfast and open up my paper when the man next to me AGAIN slams the table for emphasis.  Oh for the love of… I got up on my knees in my booth seat so I could look over the partition at him and I said to him, “Didn’t I ask you nicely not to bang on the table?”  Guess what?  It worked.  They even left.  I got to finish my breakfast in peace. Of course my eggs were cold but the table stopped shaking.  A few people were looking in my direction but I figured it was because I was wearing such a stunning outfit, not possibly due to my etiquette busting booth behavior.

As I finished up my breakfast, I remembered a tweet I had sent to the Twitterverse earlier and it dawned on me that I had mixed up the names of some politician’s wife I was tweeting about.  I felt so stoooopid I whipped out my SmartPhone and decided to rectify the situation.  To my surprise my SmartPhone wouldn’t let me tweet.  Really.  It flat out refused to let me send anything to Twitter.  Oh it was all ready to allow me to update my FaceBook page, but I couldn’t send out a tweet.  SmartPhone my butt… then I realized I was making all these comments outloud.  I looked up and realized the older couple at the booth in front of me were staring at me, and the women at the table on my other side were also watching me.  It was time to leave.  Leaving a generous tip on the formica table, I sheepishly made my way out of the premises and into the relative safety of my car, SmartPhone in hand.

After a little retail therapy at that famous establishment Target, (and a little more ice skating), it was time to get back to the peace and quiet of my own home.  I arrived safely and thought — I’ll back the car into the garage (which is still a little too full of “stuff” to actually park my car there) so I can unload all my goodies from the trunk without having to walk across a slippery driveway.  Good idea.  Until the sun got in my eyes as I was backing into the garage and I accidentally backed into Devoted Spouse’s tool cabinet.  Yikes.  I also grazed the snow blower.  Yikes squared.  The good news?  I totally missed the motorcycle…but not by much.

All I wanted to do was get out of the house for a little while…not wreak total havoc on the world.   Next time I get this bright idea maybe  I should just stay home and clean up the craft crap room.

Do We Have to Recap 2009?

It’s that time of the year.  Turn on the news, read a paper, open a magazine, surf the net and on all these various media you will find an endless litany of the Best of 2009 or the Worst of 2009, who died, who married, who divorced, who wasn’t married but were living together and now aren’t, who had babies while wed, who had babies while not wed, who had babies with other people while engaged to someone else, who adopted another child from Senegal or Ethiopia or heaven knows where, and an announcement that the Duggars are pregnant with their 57th child and Octomom may want more.  Tedium ad nauseum.  And of course we can’t leave out the infidelities but then  I’m so sick of the likes of John Edwards, Tiger Woods and Charlie Sheen that I can no longer find words.    Gah….

Some people have issues with the Holidays — I have issues with end of year reviews.   While I am a student of pop culture, and I will even admit to occasionally reading Perez Hilton for celebrity gossip, it gets tedious having to listen to the long recitation of which celebrities died this year and who was in and out of rehab for this drug issue or that bout of alcoholism and if I see one more story on Susan Boyle’s antics or Kate and Jon I may have to gouge my own eyes out.  Note to Kate:  honey do something with the hairstyle in 2010.  This reverse mullet thing you got going on is so not working.  So we have the media version of the Christmas newsletter – as if we haven’t been paying attention all year long and need to be reminded this is the year Michael Jackson died.  And what’s truly awful about the end of year reviews is my mute button isn’t working right.

You see (as I mentioned in a post a long time ago) we have this home theater in a box system (yes, I know it’s cheap, Greg, get over it) and when you hit the mute button it only sends the sound down a notch or two — those of us with good hearing can still hear the commercial.  And, frankly, I’m about at my wit’s end with the  “My name is Ram and my tank is full” commercial to the point that I wouldn’t buy a Dodge Ram if you paid for it and delivered it to my home with it’s flippin’ tank full.  How about the weird Dos Equis guy?  What is with him?  I would definitely say no if he tried to friend me on Facebook.  And I may resort to sticking a screwdriver into my own ear if I am subjected much longer to the inane boy band singing about their *&^%&^ free credit report.  So if I can’t fully mute some of these Best of and Worst of and Memorable Moments of 2009 I may have to check myself into some type of rehab.  Gah…

I know 2009 was a strange, unhappy, unsettling year.  Wars, poverty, job losses, retirement funds tanked, tsunamis, earthquakes, floods.  Al Gore gained 1,000 pounds and blamed it on global warming when it was just his carbon footprint getting bigger from heating up too many frozen pizzas in the microwave.  Obama got the Nobel Peace Prize while in the midst of  two wars. The Balloon Boy saga took 2 1/2 hours out of my life I’ll never get back.  Worldwide,  2009 was bizarre.  In fact, there were many times I struggled to find something humorous to write about. If it hadn’t been for the strange eating habits of EmmaLou, Golden Destroyer, my own stupid human tricks, and the ridiculous time I had this past year with every stinkin’ appliance in my entire house,  I might have had fewer posts.

Heaven knows I had to resort to laughing at myself much of the time because after the “Accident of 2009″ I had 10 months of absolute hell, often wishing I could just curl up in a ball and die.  But it’s difficult to curl up into anything when you’re swaddled and wrapped in a shoulder sling for months on end and you have a broken back that is not diagnosed for 3 months.  I did manage to find humor in my own situation — having Devoted Spouse help me pull up my pants was some hysterical stuff.

So hang in there, the good news is the year is almost over.  We won’t have to put up with the Best and the Worst and the Most Memorable Moments too much longer and I’m sorry; I just subjected you to a few of my own. Perhaps 2010 will be a much better year for all of us – at least that’s my prayer.  I’m also praying for a new ottoman that EmmaLou won’t chew to bits and pieces.  I need to put my feet up in 2010.  Sigh…