Just Another Day

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Listen, a bunch of people went and got themselves some snazzy new templates/sites and I just could not bear the sight of my old one any longer. I'm new! I'm hip! I'm a tad bit on the boring side, but so was the old one! And I can only do so much spiffy-ing up in one night, people! Overall, I'm pretty pleased with it, and I am proud of myself for figuring out the sidebar stuff. Now, my template inadequacies are quelled for the time being. * And lest anyone think I did this whole thing by myself, I didn't. I only figured out the sidebar stuff. The rest was just some cutting and pasting. No HTML wizardess over here.

Now, why was I the last person on the block to even know that Blogger was launching a beta version? I wondered why, when I visited people's blogs, I was told Blogger did not know who I was, despite having made a comment on someone else's blog only one minute prior. I keep having to log in separately, and often my comments are left twisting in the ether, never to be heard from again. What, exactly, is supposed to be so great about the new Blogger? Will it give me new templates? You know, the cool kind like everyone else has with the white box in the middle with the colored sides? Will it not lose my posts? Will it actually enable the RSS to work, thus letting me know when people have updated instead of having me think that it has been days since someone's last post? So far as I can tell, the new version lets you categorize. Whoop. De. Doo. I know it's free and all, and beggars can't be choosers. That being said, they're gonna have to pry my cold, dead fingers o

I just read an article about school districts deciding to ban parents from bringing cupcakes and the like to school for their child's birthday. Argh. They have got to be joking, right? There was a quote from one of the principals who said that if they wished, the parents could bring raw carrots for the birthday and that would be ok. Or celery and hummus. Double argh. I realize that nowadays, everything has from Groundhog Day to Halloween has a party at school. But a child's birthday is a special day and I don't agree that by bringing treats into the classroom, you should consider yourself a guilty accomplice in childhood obesity. It makes no sense to forbid certain foods in the schools when all children have to do is go home and eat the very same things. I think if a parent wants to bring a healthier snack, all the power to them, but don't make it a rule. As an apparently clueless mother who just this past Monday dropped off goody bags and cookies to her son's c

When I signed the paperwork for Mr. Personality's preschool, I expected a large packet of information. I was not disappointed, and eagerly read through all of the pamphlets and calendars and various and sundry things that the school thinks I should know. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but the fundraiser packet. My goodness, I thought, school just started and they are already starting the fundraiser? Silly me. This is only the first of at least four formal fundraisers, with probably a bunch of little ones in between. I have never been good at selling things. When I attended school we had only one fundraiser, and that was selling World's Finest Chocolate Almond bars. I'm not even sure there were any other kind, so in those days, people with a nut allergy were out of luck. And I'm sure they were just heartbroken not to experience the pure joy that was the World's Finest Chocolate Almond bar. There were thirty to a box, and I can picture my young self

Welcome to the "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" edition of Pointless Points Trivia, where the points don't matter! Try telling that to AC and Chichimama, who are tied for first place! So, according to one of my favorite books, what are the names of Trillian's two white mice?

I will never quite understand what makes a pinata the focal point of a party. Oh sure, there's candy and little toys inside this mysterious box. That could be part of it. It could be that it is one of the only times we condone, nay, encourage violence on a rather grand scale. What could be more thrilling than attemtpting to whack some crazy dancing cardboard figure, usually in the shape of a beloved character, on a rope with a bat? No matter that I caved to mommy peer pressure this year and got a bouncer, or that the kids made their own custom pizzas, or that I had this totally awesome craft. Oh no, it was the Lightining on a string that got the loudest cheers. The evolution of the pinata has been a long and interesting one. Growing up as one of only five white children from 1st to 8th grade in a class comprised of mostly Latinos has given me personal insight. Pinatas used to be big. Really big. Made out of papier mache, it wasn't necessarily that the inside cavity was

Today is Mr. Personality's 4th birthday. I wanted to avoid the old cliche of "it's all gone by soooo fast" but I'm going to be cheesy and say it anyway. If you like, and if you haven't read it before, I posted his birth story last year. It seems like just yesterday we were dealing with his colicky self. If you have never had a baby with colic, get down on your knees and say thank you right this second. Are you up? Ok. This baby, who pulled a big switcheroo on us by developing his colic almost three weeks into his life, was all that both Hubba-hubba and I could handle. I used to joke that he really used those two weeks to his advantage, because that was just enough time to fall madly in love with him and not go back to the hospital, demanding an exchange. It is not an exaggeration to say that he screamed almost constantly when he was awake, often until two in the morning. Around midnight, desperate, we would get in the car and take an exhausted drive ar

To me, one of the best parts about being a stay-at-home-mom is the way in which I can pretty much look however I want without worrying about frightening someone. Staying in my pj's until ten or eleven is a norm for me. I mean, does a three year old really care that my pants are orange and my top is purple? Or that I just plucked my eyebrows? The usual answer is no. Since Mr. Personality is still sick, I knew I was going nowhere today, and thus gave a rat's ass about what I looked like. After taking my shower, gratefully choosing to not shave my legs, I couldn't decide on the level of hair attention. Should I put no product in at all? The cheaper product, since a public appearance was highly doubtful and why waste the good stuff? I opted for the cheaper product, and for some unknown reason, well, mostly laziness, just combed it through with my fingers and not a brush. I wasn't exactly in a big rush, so I figured I would just let it air dry the normal way and then b

Me and religion go way back. Well, back to when I was an infant, anyway, and was baptized into the Catholic Church. Really, I had no say in the matter, being all of three months or so, and in baptizing me, my parents intended me to follow a straight path of Catholicism, one Pope under God and all that good stuff. Attending Catholic schools from first grade on, I listened to all the Bible stories, and ingested their meanings. I sang with gusto all the religious hymns, indeed my favorite subject besides reading was song practice. Granted, we didn't have it every day like our religion classes, but weekly. "Friends are like flowers" was the song I liked the best, and we didn't sing it at every Mass, to which I was always disappointed. In the 8th grade, I was even chosen to crown the statue of the Virgin Mary during the May festival, tottering up the ladder in my white heels and my white virginal dress. I seriously thought I would fall right there in front of the alt

I have a bit of a dilemma. Perhaps you can help. I want to say right off the bat that I do not dislike Mr. Personality's preschool teacher. While she and I do not necessarily "connect," I have nothing against her. Also, it may be a pertinent fact that the class he is in is comprised of seven boys. Yup, only boys. Not by design, just chance. On the second day of school I was, being the overly anxious parent that I am, early to pick my son up. His teacher's M.O. is to keep the door of the classroom closed until she is ready for the parents to come and sign our children out. So, she opened the door. So far, so good. Then, she rounded back to her young charges who were apparently staging some kind of insurgency, for she shrieked, "GET BACK ON THAT RUG!" Then, realizing she sounded a bit on the shrewish side, toned it down a bit, but with good bit of exasperation said, "I have told you that you DO NOT get off the rug until I call your names!" N

On the morning of Sept. 20, California time, the son of one of my blogging buddies, Melissa , will be undergoing major heart surgery. Please send your good thoughts, prayers, and vibes toward Northern California for Melissa, Evan and their family. Update: The surgery was successful and I want to thank everyone who commented on either mine or Melissa's blog. Now, I wish them the best during Evan's recuperation period.

Hubba-hubba:(cursing as he trips) What is with these laundry baskets all over the floor? Me: Oh, those aren't just laundry baskets. Hubba-hubba: They're not? They look like laundry baskets to me, being full of unfolded laundry and all. Me: What you are actually looking at is a sophisticated yet inexpensive home security system. Hubba-hubba: Ok, I'd like to hear about this "security system." Me: Well, if a burglar were to try and enter our bedroom through the screen door, he would immediately be in trouble, because those two baskets right there form a pretty decent barrier. Then, even if he was able to get over those two without falling flat on his face, with mathematical precision I have triangulated the perfect position for the third basket, ensuring that he would step in it, thus twisting his ankle and giving us enough time to whap him over the head. Or hog-tie him, since he will already be conveniently sprawled out on the floor. Hubba-hubba: You'll use

Because it's Saturday, my son has a cold, and I feel the need to unleash my crabbiness upon the unsuspecting world. Is it me, or is anyone else suspicious of the steeply falling gas prices? I mean, it's not like it's close to the elections or anything, or that control of the House is at stake. Nope, most likely it is just pure coincidence. Pure, sheer coincidence. I read today that leading scientists believe that we as residents of this planet have about a ten year window in which to significantly decrease greenhouse gases. Afer that, things are pretty much toast for a long, long time. Please, please let the next person in the White House not be such an idiot! Is that too much to ask? After watching a "Dateline NBC" the other night on teens and technology, I have decided that they are too immature to handle the power that comes with the technology. From hate websites to slandering fellow students to posting questionable photographs of themselves, they are j

Doesn't two and a half hours sound like an awful lot of time? I mean, in that time you could take a luxurious bath, or perhaps curl up on the couch and read a hundred or so pages of that great book! There are movies to watch, body masques to apply, hair to deep condition! I have discovered, to my great dismay, that two and a half hours ain't squat. Maybe I am too new to this thing called "free time" to know how to effectively plan for it. The second I am in the car, I am mentally going through a checklist of how long things might take if I chose to do them, and trying to prioritize them in order of greatest need. So far, I have spent most of my time sans Mr. Personality cleaning various things around the house. I thought I was going to leisurely peruse the aisles at Target, glancing at my watch and astonished at how much time I still had until I needed to pick him up. I thought I would be perhaps able to meet a girlfriend for lunch, and pretend for a bit that I ha

Welcome to the Barry Manilow edition of Pointless Points Trivia, where the points don't matter! That's right, just like me trying to pretend I am an alt music person even though I love Barry Manilow songs, they just don't matter! What was the song "Mandy" originally titled? C'mon, you don't necessarily have to be a Barry fan to answer!

Today was Mr. P's second day of preschool. The world has not imploded. So far, so good. We decided to enroll him at the Lutheran preschool that besides being recommended by some people, had the even better qualification of being about two minutes from my house. The staff are all very friendly and cheerful, almost a bit too much. I want to ask them if I can have some of whatever they are having, because I would like to be that perky and nice all the time. Eh, well, maybe I'll pass on that one. Cranky and bitter, that's how Gina rolls! Mr. P has officially passed his human barnacle stage and shed nary a tear or backward glance at the semi-sniffling Mom and Dad who stood feeling a little bewildered in the hallway as he chattered to the teacher. We slunk away to lunch, with Hubba-hubba suggesting I order a margarita to soothe myself since I was feeling some major separation anxiety. I declined and implemented deep breathing exercises interspersed with short "whoo"

I was watching the "Dancing With the Stars" season premiere tonight. I was thinking to myself, hey, there sure is a lot more eye candy for the ladies this time and... What? You thought that was my shameful secret? No, no my friends, it is much, much worse than that. You see, after one of the dance numbers, I went into the kitchen for a drink and horrified myself by humming the tune that had been featured. "Oh Mandy" Don't pretend like you don't know which song I'm talking about. If you don't, you have been living under a rock somewhere and I would like to offer you a home. I'll admit it, I like Barry Manilow. Wait, I've got a fan over here, you can borrow it. I realize, it's shocking. Just keep waving it and give yourself some fresh air. I just willingly parted with whatever street cred I had with you guys, but I can't help it. I know the words to practically all of his songs, and there is just something so...well, singable, abo

I never met you. But I will always remember you.

Welcome to the Saturday Night Fever edition of Pointless Points Trivia, where the points don't matter! That's right, just like Hubba-hubba's insistence that he can dance (the mirror doesn't lie, honey), they just don't matter! I figured, it's Saturday night, I'm tired yet bored at the same time, so why not put up a question that will most likely not be answered until tomorrow morning, thus robbing my theme of any relevance? I'm a risk-taker like that, so what the heck... Can anyone tell me the name of the country which officially banned the movie "Saturday Night Fever?" **Wthenrest gets the answer correct with Malaysia! Congratulations on your first appearance on the leader board!

With my brow furrowed in concentration, I would size up the situation. Usually, it looked hopeless, and I knew there was a trap set up, I just couldn't see it. Nervously clutching my red checker, I would survey the pieces already in, and with a sigh of resignation, would drop the checker. My grandfather would drop his black checker in, and voila, game over. He had beaten me at Connect Four. Again. You see, this was a common, common occurrence. My grandfather loved playing games of all sorts, from chess to backgammon to "war" to Connect Four. He always won, and had no compunction whatsoever to allow a six year old to beat him in order to build up her self-esteem. My aunt, having grown up with a father who could beat the pants off of anyone who ever played him in a game of practically anything, allowed her eldest daughter to win at every game, even if she had to lose to her on purpose. My aunt would lose a game of Candyland to her three year old so that she wouldn

This week has been quite hellish, for many reasons. I will fill you in on one that makes me depressed every time I think about it. For my birthday a few years back, my mother put two photos in a double frame for me. They were pictures of me and my maternal grandmother taken when I was around 18 when we took her out to a fancy dinner. She passed away almost twelve years ago. I have it up on the entertainment center, and even though I have never singled it out to Mr. Personality, he looks at it occasionally, but has never said anything. On Monday, he pointed to the picture and asked me who the people were in the pictures. I told him that one of them was me, and that the other was his Oma. Who is Oma , he wanted to know. Well, your Oma was your grandma's mommy. You know, we have talked about her a few times, remember? He pondered this information for a minute or two. Where is she, Mama? Gulping and crossing my fingers that I would explain this in a way that would not traumatize

The co-op preschool that had me eager to take a tour and chide Hubba-hubba on the way up for not remembering to bring the checkbook so that we could enroll Mr. Personality right then and there turned out to be something very different from the picture I had built up in my head. The teacher, although very nice and sweet, was to put it mildly, a bit of a scatterbrain. And while I am sure that she relates wonderfully to the children, organization and structure didn't look to be her key strengths. Another drawback was that the parent meetings are held on Thursday nights, which would mean I would have to arrange for babysitting for Mr. P and that didn't sound too appealing. And well, let me just put it out there that the place was old and run-down and the toys were ancient and dirty and there were weeds all over the play area. There had been a huge water leak on one wall during last year's rains and it had yet to be repaired. The wall was cracked and the paint puffed up an

With a sigh of resignation, I informed Hubba-hubba that I was due for one of the now-routine blood tests for my hypothyroidism that stubbornly refuses to be treated. I cannot blame the doctor, because it is not the doctor's fault that my thyroid is not functioning properly. But dammit, I am tired of just trying to creep up from behind it, I want him to just pump me up and then adjust my levels back down. Anyhoo, I had to go to the hospital rather than the clinic because the phlebotomists are stationed there 24/7 and I like to go by myself after Mr. Personality is asleep. I should have sensed the trouble when the man called my name and did not even glance at me as I opened the door. I stood there as he stared off into space. Finally I broke the silence and said, "You called me!" and refrained from adding an unflattering adjective. After all, I make it a point to not antagonize people with needles. So he walks around to the little blood-drawing stations, still not even

I should be folding laundry right now, but I'm not. Instead I am over here . The irony of this is that for a normal person, they could do this and their blood pressure would drop as they created interesting and beautiful works of art. Not me. Instead, I am frustrated because I can never figure out what color will come next, and why when I want the line to be thick, it is thin. And vice versa. Also, my self esteem has taken a huge blow in that my three year old makes the most wonderful and fascinating things with this, but mine just look like disgusting multi-hued hairballs.

The lovely and talented J tagged me to do this, and I am more than happy to oblige. 1. Things that scare me: Global Warming The Bush Administration Red states (I don't think I could ever live in the South) 2. People who make me laugh: Hubba-hubba Mr. Personality The entire cast of Arrested Development (We just got the Season 3 DVD) 3. Things I hate the most: Corruption Greed Heat coupled with humidity (I really couldn't live in the South) 4. Things I don't understand: How people can be unethical and still sleep at night People who don't vote and/or apathetic about government Math (I can still see the beads of sweat on my Dad's forehead as he tried to help me with Algebra) 5. Things I'm doing right now: Typing Sitting Moving my toes (Well, you asked) 6. Things I want to do before I die: Travel a lot Publish something (and get paid for it!) Be at total and utter peace with myself (Because then I could die and not be upset) 7. Things I can do: Grow plants Calligr