Just Another Day

Have you ever bought a new ice cream flavor that you were really excited about? You saw it in the freezer case, and the name of it conjured up such salivation that you HAD to buy it and try it out? Because it had two of your very most favorite desserts in it and how in the world could an ice cream containing both of those go wrong? Oh, but it went very wrong. The chocolate covered pretzels were not present in chunks, but ground up into large-ish sandlike particles. This was a terrible idea because each bite kind of made me want to spit it out because of its extremely granular nature, with no hint of a pretzel taste. Then, some horrible lies about salted caramel being in there. Where the hell was the salted caramel? All I actually tasted and recognized were some inferior chocolate flakes that I have no idea why they were inserted in there. Yes, first world problems FOR SURE. But I just wanted some really good ice cream. You would want some too after hosti

If indeed, Christmas is part of your thing, then I highly encourage you to watch this next video about 10 times in a row.  It never ceases to be funny. And, my dears, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, insert festive slogan here!

I can't tell you how weird it is not to have a running deadline of two posts a day, five days a week. The past year or so of that routine (not to mention the three years with the one blog) left me a bit frazzled, probably compounded by both my daughter's special needs and my family related turmoil.  I am also positive that it affected the quality of my writing.  For a while there, I was just throwing shit up there out of contractual obligation.  And I felt bad, but when the words just don't come to you and you have to go to bed at some point, then a video is just going to have to suffice. I can now sit at the computer and not have to mentally scan everything for suitability in either, or in rare cases, both blogs. So I feel kind of like a college student on summer break, with the memories of term papers still fresh in the mind, but a heady sense of freedom in the short term. Which I'm sure will disappear the next time I look at my bank account. Also, in the sp

No my friends, the title of this post is not a metaphor for anything. Gina fell down, went boom. I was leaving the screening interview for Special Education services for my daughter.  Instead of taking us all the way around to the front of the campus, they had us go to a sidewalk where you had to walk down a grassy embankment to reach the sidewalk that actually leads to the parking lot. And, my daughter, as she is often wont to do, was throwing a tantrum because she didn't want to leave.  Her ability to deal with transitions is becoming markedly poorer, and she had thrown herself down on the concrete. Hubba-hubba had already walked pretty much all the way down the embankment, and she started screaming my name.  So, not wanting to disrupt any of the classes going on, I picked her up and began my descent. You see where this is going, don't you? Yes, because I was carrying a three year old, I didn't have much of a view of where I was stepping, and promptly sashayed

There is no place quite like Disneyland for people-watching. Well, we weren't in Disneyland proper, we were in an area known as "Downtown Disney", or as I like to call it, the "Prelude to Spending Tons of Money." As I was walking with my family, I saw two elderly people walking, arms linked. Oh how cute, I thought.  Then as they approached, I got very confused. You see, the man had a shirt and pants on, but the woman was something to behold. She was no less than seventy, dyed brown hair and plenty of makeup. But that was not what I had an issue with. No, I had an issue with the booty shorts, tank top, stilettos, and the open, ankle-length fur coat she was sporting.  I'm sorry, I don't know how many 70+ year olds can look good in booty shorts, but I do know that this woman was not one of them. She had a weird look on her face, and was having a difficult time walking in her heels, tottering and stumbling a bit.  Perhaps that is why she

I've written about it before, and even though my husband and I have been together for over twenty years, it never fails to annoy me that he hates Christmas. In many, many ways he is a big softie at heart. But Christmas utterly fails to impress him even one tiny bit.  I think it is a carry over from his family's crappy, alcoholic past and he vowed long ago that once his oldest brother drunkenly mistook the tree for a urinal, that Christmas was dead to him forever. I was foolish enough to think that when we had kids, it would get better.  I mean, no man loves his kids more than Hubba-hubba, so I figured he would at least try for their sakes. Nope. I have to nag him to get the Christmas boxes down from the garage rafters, nag him to put up the Christmas lights, and nag him to pretend to enjoy decorating the tree together as a family, dammit. After hearing him grumble about having to take the boxes down this year, I give up.  I think I've been delusional long enough

Dear friends, even I got depressed by that last post, and I decided to delete the melodramatic ramblings of a sleep deprived mother.  Thank you to those of you who left such caring and thoughtful comments.  Lurve you all! I am no longer employed at my blogging job, which brings sadness because I truly enjoyed working there.  I lasted about five and half years, which is about three and a half years longer than Hubba-hubba ever thought it would.  He didn't see blogging as a sustainable business model, and even though my former boss was one of the few who could make a profit from blogging, the economy had other ideas.  I am grateful to him, though, for giving me a chance to work for him and allowing me to actually make some money for something I would gladly do for free. So, here I am. I will probably begin blogging back here more often, because I just can't help but write.  Keeping up there and here was just too much, but now that there is not there any longer, expect to