Just Another Day

I am rather famous for being sick on New Year's, and this year I have upheld the tradition. Luckily for me, Hubba-hubba always has to work New Year's Eve, so I am spared the agony of buying expensive tickets to fancy events and equally fancy outfits, only to be so ill that I can only lie in bed. So here on the West Coast, I have a little less than an hour to go until 2007 replaces 2006. I was going to do a list of anti-resolutions. You see, with New Year's resolutions, we tend to set the bar way too high for ourselves. For me, it is so much easier to just admit and embrace the underachiever that I am. So the anti-resolutions would have the beauty of being so easy to attain, that achieving anything above them makes me look a thousand times better than if I had established lofty, noble goals. But my friends, I am too sick and too tired to make this list, but I'm sure that you can let your imaginations run wild. Happy New Year!

I was tagged quite a while ago by Dr. Sardonicus from Pole Hill Sanitarium . This is later than promised, but here it is! 1. Find the nearest book. 2. Name the book. 3. Name the author. 4. Turn to page 123. 5. Go to the fifth sentence on the page. 6. Copy the next three sentences and post to your blog. 7. Tag three more lucky souls. The nearest book was behind me on one of our leather cube end tables. Actually, there were two, one on top of the other, and I chose the top one. The Smartest Investment Book You'll Ever Read Can you tell this is one of Hubba-hubba's? Daniel R. Stolin is the esteemed author. "If you decide to open an account with Fidelity Investments, just do the following: -Invest 70 percent of your stock allocation in the Fidelity Spartan Total Market Index Fund (FSTMX). -Invest the balance, (30 percent) of your stock allocation in the Fidelity Spartan International Index Fund (FSIIX)." And now that I have totally put you to sleep, just remember that

There is going to be a movie made about your life. Who is going to be cast in the role of you?

I need you to promise me something. If I ever in my life reach a point where I cannot deal with the truth, whatever it may be, about my child(ren), please shoot me. I mean, I can sort of see how it would be tempting to blind yourself to what is going on with your child. Your child is of your DNA, they are perfect, they are little copies of you. Whatever flaw or behavioral problem or whatever is often seen as a direct reflection upon you and your lack of parenting skills. I get it. About a month ago, Mr. P's preschool teacher pulled me aside and mentioned that Mr. P seems to have "sharing" issues. I thanked her for the information and got in my car. But, having a little alone time to digest what she had told me, my first instinct was to deny it. To think that perhaps the teacher didn't know what the hell she was talking about. Then, I moved on to anger, who did she think she was, anyway? Of course he has a problem sharing, he's four! In a class of all boys,

I don't know what it is about makeup that turns me into a little girl again, circa 1979, when I would go into my grandmother's bathroom and try on her Avon products. I don't know exactly how I could sneak the fact that I applied blue and green eyeshadow, as well as rose-colored lipstick to my face, but she never said a thing. I would put it on and immediately scrub it off, even though she never expressly forbade me to use her cosmetics. And hey, they were right there in the medicine cabinet, so what was an aspiring actress/model to do? I don't know many eight year olds that are capable of such self restraint. I certainly wasn't one of them. My parents were strict, but for some reason, they allowed me to wear makeup at a fairly early age. Perhaps I was very insistent, but I remember applying cotton-candy pink lipstick in eigth grade. It may very well have been for a "special" occasion, but still. I'm not sure that if I had a daughter, I would le

I am sitting here the day before Christmas Eve, and I don't know if I got to all of your blogs to wish you a happy holiday or even if you just use the time to take a few days off and relax, I hope everyone enjoys themselves and stays safe. I wanted to leave you with my favorite Christmas song. I have read that it is one of the hardest Christmas songs to sing, with it's operatic soaring and high notes and booming orchestra. Of course, leave it to me to like the carol that is the most complicated. I searched high and low on YouTube for the best version, and I think this is the one. Despite the horrible sound quality and the weird sounds that get picked up by the mic in a few places, this is just simply beautiful. He doesn't try to give it all the flourishes and grandstanding that a lot of the other (women) singers usually try to do. And, even if you don't believe in the religious aspects of Christmas, I dare you to not like this song! ;) Some things have happened tod

I have the most wonderful news. My good bloggy friend Karla at Untangling Knots has just given birth to a baby boy! Now, not only is the birth of any baby a special and joyous occasion, this one I think is a teensy bit more than most. You see, over a year ago Karla was blessed with a daughter, only to have to lose her within seven hours of Ava's birth. The post that announced the news of Ava's death was one of the saddest things I had ever read, which is on this * blog. Both Karla and Mark were so strong and so brave. I don't think I could have ever gone through something like that with as much grace and beauty as those two did. She tried again to get pregnant, yet lost the baby early on. But yet, here is their baby boy Nathan gracing the world, and I could not be any happier for them. They truly deserve all the happiness in the world, and this Christmas has been made extra special for me now that I know that Karla will be holding her son on Christmas morning. Please g

There have been a few mysteries rattling around my life, and within the past week, all of them have miraculously solved themselves! Mystery 1- Mr. Personality had told me weeks and weeks ago that at school, he had dressed up as an angel and someone had taken pictures of him. I assumed it had been for the Christmas pageant, but they only had little tinsel halos, not the wings and robe he had described. Putting aside my momentary suspicion of possibly odd Lutheran rituals, I dismissed his story as the imgaination of a child who eats entirely too much starch. Then, on his last day of school, there was a present wrapped in paper addressed to us from Mr. P. Totally ignoring my insistence that all presents be opened on Christmas, I tore open the wrapping paper to find a photo of Mr. P dressed, of course, as an angel. He had a feathery halo, equally feathery wings, a candle, and white and gold robe. They had even gone so far as to stand him in front of a stained glass window with light s

As seen at APL's and Chichimama's , the following is the first sentence of the first blog post of each month in 2006. From doing all this copying and pasting, I have learned a few things. One is that I likely need to work on making my first sentences actual sentences. That might be helpful. Secondly, I need to make them more dramatic, you know, hook the reader with the first line. Because if I was just someone surfing around and read some of these, I would click on "Next Blog" sooner than you could say, well, next blog. Also, I used to begin each post with the word "so" and figured it was a pretension that impressed only me, so I stopped. Without further ado: I was laying on Mr. Personality's bed, reading a book as he occupied himself on the floor with some toys he had found under the bed in a storage bin. So, ok, today is the first day of NaBloPoMo, and this is my official first post. Awkward. The lovely and talented J tagged me to do this, an

I watched the woman in Trader Joe's carefully selecting her organic apples and placing them in her cart. She moved on to free-range chicken and picked up some tofu. She had a nice figure and was meticulously dressed. Obviously, this woman cared about what she puts in her body. As I was leaving the store, I saw her climb into a huge white Suburban. Well, is there any other kind of Suburban but a huge one? She apparently doesn't care about the fact that she is polluting the earth, wasting limited resources, and contributing more than her fair share to global warming driving herself around in that hulking gas guzzler. But hey, she supports free-range chicken, so maybe she feels like she is perfectly justified. I don't get people like that.

Welcome to the Christmas Edition of Pointless Points Trivia, where the points don't mean anything! Yes, I know it has been far too long since the last installment, but hey, I've been busy! Now, to shatter your possible ignorance (I know mine was) of the utter commercial origins of a traditional Christmas story, here it is! What is the name of the department store that created "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer"?

This week will find me doing some baking, along with the trusty Mr. Personality as my helper. These scones are one of our favorite things to make. This recipe is one of the best I have ever tried, and easy as well. However, if you are thinking of the very crumbly English scones, these aren't really like that. They are a little denser, "cake-ier" if you will. The wonderful thing about this recipe is how you can put almost ANYTHING into these, and they will tast great. Cranberries and white chocolate chips, blueberries, candied ginger, raisins, or semi-sweet chocolate chips. Almost anything your heart desires. The recipe is also extremely forgiving. The very first time I made this, I forgot to add baking powder. But even though they were a little heavy, they were still extremely edible. The only thing I have to say is that you can cut the sugar to 1/2 cup and be fine, make sure to combine the sour cream and baking soda as the first step, and the cutting of the butter

Awesome Mom tagged me for this, and I am happy to play! 1. Hot Chocolate or Egg Nog? Now lets' think for a second. Hot, chocolatey goodness or weird frothy drink that remimds me of mouthwash? No contest, my friends. 2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? Santa has always, always wrapped presents. What's the fun of just seeing the stuff under the tree? With kids, the anticipation of opening the wrapping is what it's all about. 3. Colored lights on tree/house or white? White and white. Although, with the very cool LED lights, they have some very groovy colors, and next year I may just cave and do like a gold and purple thing outside. Sweet. 4. Do you hang mistletoe? No. I only really have one appropriate place to hang it (IMHO) and that would require taping it to the archway, which would look horrifically tacky. 5. When do you put your decorations up? Whenever I can convince McScrooge to go with me to get a tree. He refuses to take the Christmas s

My goodness, is it Friday already? As for today, I want to know: What do you use on your hair? Gel, mousse, hairspray, all three, something else, or perhaps nothing?

The other day, I was over at Dot's blog , and she had a picture of a rather wrinkly and aged looking Sharon Stone. Sharon Stone did not look good. I made a comment to the effect that even though she did not look like anyone's version of the hot chick she used to be, perhaps we as "regular women" should be applauding her in the fact that she obviously has not been under the knife. Or if she has been, it was so long ago that it has made no difference. And I hope that Dot knows that I love her, and that this post is not in any way meant to disparage her, but rather just my reaction to a larger issue. It seems that when a celebrity has the audacity to age naturally, people don't like it. For some reason we expect, no we demand that our stars look fifteen years younger than their actual age, and for those that try not to succumb to the "fountain of youth" via plastic surgeon, we are all over their asses. If an older woman actually looks her age, we cluck

Well, my day actually did not get better last night. It got worse. Hubba-hubba, who I semi-affectionately dub "Crazy Legs," woke me up at 2:44am. At first, I actually thought he was Mr. P climbing into bed, and I remember telling him, "Dude, get back to bed." Surprise! I was talking to no one. But I distinctly remember looking at the clock and groaning internally. I would be groaning internally until about 5am, which is when I finally fell back asleep. On the couch. And I was up the entire time until then. No half-sleep for me. Just tossing and turning and being uncomfortable. The weird thing is, although we are highly compatible by day, by night mine and Hubba-hubba's sleep preferences differ greatly. Hubba-hubba is one of those people who like to call themselves a "snuggler" but which I like to refer to as "a human straightjacket." He likes to get right next to me and fling some random body part around me. He claims it is for war

Today was a day in which I will have no regrets upon its passing. In fact, it can't pass soon enough, as far as I am concerned. I'm thinking of taking a Tylenol PM and making it pass right now . I am back to being full-blown hypothyroid again, I can feel it. My body is telling me in some no uncertain terms, and it sucks, people. Of all the times of the year for my thyroid to throw in the towel, this is probably not the best. I have no energy, I need ten hours of sleep, and I'm as bitchy as hell. Nice, huh? But enough of that particular pity party, I have bigger and better pity parties to throw. First, I thought the car was going to blow up on me as I was driving it today. The engine light came on. Unsettling, but I can deal. Then, the light that indicates what "drive" you are in (such as P for park, R for reverse and such) began blinking. Yes, blinking. Have any of you ever been driving and see that begin to blink? I never have in my life and it freaked m

Ok, now how original is the title of this post? I know, no one has ever thought of that title before. We decorated our tree on Tuesday, and I thought I would be a bit lazy tonight and do a photo essay on some of my favorite ornaments. My parent's next door neighbor passed away a few years ago, and left his entire estate to my parents. I, being the youngest member of the family and therefore owning the least amount of ornaments, was allowed to take home some of his ornaments, which I cherish more than if I had bought them myself. All except for a very few are glass. I look at my beautiful tree, and hope that somewhere up there, our neighbor is happy with where his beloved ornaments (which he and his mother both collected for years) are hanging. Here are the ones I especially like. They date back as far as the 40's and 50's. I like the three-dimensional feel of the white paint on this one. I just love the shape of this one, and the irridescence of the glitter that is unde

Flats, sneakers, or something with a heel? And for men, athletic shoes or loafers? C'mon, you know you prefer one of those!

As it seems to be my lot in life to clean up after humans of the ahem, male persuasion in the bathroom, I got to thinking about how our bathrooms are just so totally wrong. For men, that is. I mean, for women, it's great. We sit and gravity takes care of the rest. If anything is landing outside of the toilet bowl, I recommend that you get yourself to a hospital as quickly as possible. Seriously. For men when they sit, the same neat solution applies. But really, when they don't sit for er, process number one, the flaws of the typical home toilet bowl become apparent. For one, it just doesn't seem to be big enough, ya know? Process one begins from birth, and even men who have been doing it for years upon years just cannot get everything in there with any seeming regularity. "Intelligent Design" my ass. Perhaps we need to rethink the home bathroom. I have a couple of ideas to improve the odds of the contents getting exactly where they need to be without anyone

We were getting ready for bed, and this exchange occured not so long ago. Hubba-hubba: Is there a reason you keep leaving the bathroom cleaners on the counter? Me: Well, no. Sometimes I am in the middle of cleaning and then I have to go pick up Mr. P, and I just forget to put them away. Hubba-hubba: Well, that's good because I keep having this strange feeling that you keep them there so that you can spray my toothbrush with cleaner. You know, so as to slowly poison me to death or something. I can picture you doing it, just a little each time so as not to arouse suspicion. Me: Don't flatter yourself, your insurance policy isn't that big. (pause) Me: But it really is a bad idea to put those kinds of things in my head, don't you think?

We had been anticipating the events of this past Sunday for quite a while. There had been a big build-up to the Christmas show that Mr. Personality's preschool was going to stage. I had gotten nothing but tiny, confusing snippets of non-information such as, "We took pictures with an angel" and "singing practice is boring" from my son, thus tantalizing me with odd images as well as the reminder that he is defintely a boy. I went to pick Mr. Personality up from school on Wednesday, and I am presented with a child who had almost the entire upper half of his forehead as well as his whole nose raw and bloody. It seems that no one knew exactly what had happened, the teacher thought one of the large play kitchenettes had fallen on him. Uh, yeah, even though I realize that accidents can happen in an instant, it didn't make me feel much better that the source of all the abrasions was a mystery. Trying to get the crucial information out of a four year old only d

I was laying on Mr. Personality's bed, reading a book as he occupied himself on the floor with some toys he had found under the bed in a storage bin. "Mama!" "What?" "Prepare to be surprised!" I am not kidding when I say I started laughing so hard that I almost fell of the bed. *The first time ever that the title is almost as long as the post. And as an addendum to this post, in which almost every single commenter wanted to know what the heck the child was preparing me for- I'll never know. I started laughing, and he gets mad at me when I laugh at him when he isn't deliberately trying to be funny. So he climbed up on the bed and began tickling me. Trust me, it was rather anti-climactic.