Showing posts from December, 2005

2005, Try to Not Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out

So it looks like I am the only loser who is around this weekend. I'm fine with that, really. I spent so many years living it up that being able to spend time with my son in my nice warm and cozy home makes up for the lack of social opportunities. If I tell myself that enough times, do you think I will start to believe it? I can't remember the last time that Hubba-hubba and I went somewhere for New Year's Eve, as his current occupation pretty much requires him to work that night. I mean, I suppose he could take it off, but the powers that be frown on that a bit. And since it is a night he normally works anyway, they would have really been less than appreciative. So, as everyone else is yukking it up, think of me, feverishly working on a hopeful blog semi-redesign. I might not even make it til midnight, if the last few days has been any indication. What better way to ring in the New Year than in my comfy bed, curled up underneath my blankies? If I tell myself that enoug

I Feel a Pulitzer Coming On...

So as part of my newfound mission to explore and examine the most hard-hitting and important issues facing us today, I will tell you a dilemma I was faced with on Christmas. You see, I was planning on wearing some knit pants and a long, cable-knit sweater. So you get the picture that the outfit was not exactly loose and free flowing. I put it on and looked at myself in our bedroom hallway, which has not just one but count them, 5 full length mirrors. Mind you, this is courtesy of my closet doors being composed of mirrors, not just some ego trip on my part. Thus I am able to see myself in triplicate most of the time, and at angles rarely dreamed of in front of a single mirror. Then, I saw it. One of the most maligned things in our society, the Visible Panty Line. I gasped in horror. Not just at the VPL but at the size of my butt as well, but that is a story for another day, my friends. I of course own thong panties, but I don't really wear them that often. If I am working out

Bloggy Randomness

I am in constant fear that I am plagarizing every time I write an entry. If I get a really great idea, I always think that I have subconsciously stolen it from someone. Many times I get a "jumping off" point from someone's blog where they said something that made me think about a particular topic, and if it is really close, I link. But I am usually too lazy to go back and check, so sorry if you've ever read my blog and thought, that bitch stole my concept! Hubba-hubba and I have discussed writing a travel blog about SoCal and things to do with kids, but we are just too wussy. I almost always write my blog at night after Mr. Personality is in bed. Almost always when I am laying in my own bed, I think of a wonderful way I could have worded a sentence that is 100 times better than the one I published. I can count on my hand the number of times I have actually gone back to change it. There's that lazy thing again... I try not to post too much about politics becau

Happy Happy Happy

So, in light of all the controversy surrounding this current holiday season, I wish you a Merry Christmas, Happy Chaunakah, Bountiful Kwaanza, Wonderful Winter Solstice, or whatever other holiday you happen to want to celebrate. I hope that all of you area able to spend this time with people that you care most about, I know that I certainly am. My blogger friends, you truly are a special bunch, and I hope you know that through all my sarcasm and kidding, I love you dearly. I may not post again until Tuesday, it remains to be seen how quickly I can recover from this weekend. In case any of the holiday merriment leaves you semi-comatose in front of the computer, I will leave you with a few of my favorite posts that many of you have probably not had the time to search my archives and find. Which really, I can't believe you haven't spent all of your free time doing so, but fine, I'll make it easier for you. Domestic Drama Not for the Weak of Heart It Wasn't the Hair You

Well, Don't Get Your Hopes Up

So the other day I was perusing my site stats, and I noticed that someone had Googled "just another day blog." Ever narcissistic about my pecking order on the search engines, I popped on over to see the result page. Quelle horror! I am one of quite a few "Just Another Day" blogs. As I stalked each and every one of them, I discovered I was not even the first one to thusly name my blog, and am therefore unable to label them copycats. Drat! Here I was thinking I was some kind of trendsetter. When I first began this endeavor, I mulled only for a short while on the title, and it actually used to be called something else. Mel would be the only person who would have been aware of the title, and I used it for such a short period that I am positive she does not remember. And really, why should she? The title actually refers to one of my all-time favorite songs by Oingo Boingo, and it seemed fitting, for at that time just getting through each day was a bit of a challen

Holiday Hide n' Seek

  So I'm feeling silly today! Let's all play a little game. Mr. Personality decided to do a bit of extra tree-trimming all on his own with a common household item. Who can be the first to find it?  Click on the picture to enlarge it.

No Surprises Here

So why can't I be like those people on television whose loved ones cover their eyes and lead them tenderly outside? Then, once outside, they reveal a new Lexus or BMW, replete with large red bow almost as half as big as the car itself. I seriously want to know who gets a brand new luxury car for Christmas. And then I want their phone number so I can be their friend.

Ding Ding Ding Ding!

So, I have finally reached my 10,000th visitor. Please take pity on my excitement, as for a while there, I thought that my pinnacle would be 1000. OK, so as far as I can tell from my completely free (read:crappy) Bravenet counter, the person who actually hit fits this description: Direct Hit Dec 18, 2005 05:07:33 PM Windows XP Internet Explorer 6.0 'Fess up! Who were you? If you let me know who you were, I might have a bitty surprise for you. But then again, why didn't you leave a comment on my previous hilarious post? Hmmmm, I'll have to think about it... PS- Is it just my screen or is that stupid Blogger thingy in a large box to the left instead of spreading across the top? Anybody know how to help with that? I haven't edited my template or anything like that recently.

Hubba-Hubba, W.D.

So I think I have written before about Hubba-hubba's propensity to believe utterly nonsensical things when it comes to illnesses and the body. It is sometimes hard for me to remember that this is an extremely intelligent, well-read man. A man who was accepted and attended (however briefly due to my unexpected pregnancy) a well-known law school. If you told him that the way to get rid of a wart was to soak it in jello, then rub brown sugar on it, a tiny part of his remnant reptilian brain would respond and take over his rational thinking. Yessss, the reptilian brain would hiss. It makes sense, jello to soften the wart and then brown sugar to exfoliate it off. Yesss, this seems like it would work. I am always trying to fend off strange pronouncements that come from nowhere but out of his ass. Case in point: Hubba-hubba was on the couch, watching our son maniacally bounce and run and twist his body into impossible positions. Mr. Personality had also been extremely emotional thi

Have You Ever Skulked for a Cookie? I Have....

So inspired by Mel's post about Christmas cookies, I began thinking about the cookies that my mother has traditionally baked at this time of year. Jelly fingerprint cookies, Russian tea cookies, sugar cookies, macaroons, you name it. The problem with my mother is not that she is not a good baker. In fact, she is an excellent baker. The problem is she doesn't bake enough! As a working mother of two, I am sure that baking cookies and such was one of the first things to get tossed out in favor of other activities. Which was actually a shame, because my mom and I never baked cookies or anything together. The only thing we did that even comes close is making pancakes on Saturday mornings. But at Christmas, which is by far her favorite holiday, she would devote an entire day to baking. And when I say day, I mean from early in the morning until late at night. Usually she requested that we stay out of her way if we were at home, or even better, that we leave and hang out with

Stupid Gina Tricks

- I can crack my lower spine just by tensing my leg muscles when I am sitting or laying down. - I know the lyrics to almost every song I have ever heard. - I can guess almost all the answers on Jepoardy!, but I always miss the Final Jepoardy! question. It's very annoying. If I was ever on the show, my strategy would have to be answer almost every question, thus leaving me able to bet 0 and still win. -I have an uncanny ability to judge rate of speed+distance, something that serves me well driving in SoCal. -I can almost always pee on command. Perhaps not a lot, but something. -I can make spatzle just like my grandmother. -I can lift one eybrow independently of the other. -I never use bookmarks, I can always remember exactly where I left off. And of course, not one of these wonderful talents can make me money in any way, shape, or form. Tell me some of yours!

The View From Here

  So this is a picture of what I can see when I stand at the sliding glass door of my bedroom. This view is one of the reasons we bought this place. This is the first place I have ever lived where I didn't have other houses or buildings looming in my vision, rather than a sweeping vista. Most people here in SoCal consider this a "poor man's view" as it does not contain even the slightest sliver of ocean. It is in fact facing the opposite direction of the ocean, thus giving us only city lights and mountains. But if you can see even a speck of ocean in your view, you can charge an extra twenty grand, easy. The more ocean, the more your house is worth. Until we hit the lottery, this will have to do. 

I Have Been Known to Stay for 24 Hours, and They Didn't Want Me to Leave

So the problem has been that I have always, even as a young girl, (or should I say especially as a young girl) taken things personally. Tiny things, big things, important things or ones that are truly inconsequential, it doesn't seem to matter. I will always perceive something as a reflection of me, not of the other person or people. Oh, I have gotten much better over the years, and I think to this point except perhaps with my family, no one could probably be able to tell. But there is always a teensy part of me that whispers, "What did I do wrong?" Which is what happened with the party. Looking back on it, there were probably only two people who I feel in retrospect bailed just because they felt like it. The others had quite legitimate reasons, but that wasn't the way I saw it Sunday. I mean, I had great food, decor that had people impressed, I even had a freaking magician. And not a crappy magician, either, thank you. I had a kid's corner with toys for al

Party Poopers!

So the party went off without much of a hitch, thanks to my Association President, who was willing to cancel her date and stay with the plumber until 1030pm on Saturday night. I think I need to send her a nice card, don't you? Anyhoo, I have a question that is just torturing me after yesterday, and I just have to ask it.... How long do you stay at a party? I mean, if you are invited to the birthday party of a good adult friend, how much time do you allot to spend there? 3 hours? 4 hours? Perhaps 5? I am dying to know and will explain a bit later.


So today was the main set-up day for the party tomorrow. Have I mentioned the party is being held at our clubhouse? The clubhouse has just been remodeled with lovely Pergo flooring, new carpet, new taupe paint, crown moulding, the works. Compare it to its old look of circa 1971 brown stained shag carpet and broken pink window blinds, the improvement is nothing short of astounding. Of course my mom, my dad, Hubba-hubba and I are running around like the horribly cliched headless chickens. But really that is what we most resembled, so I am going to use it. At one point while standing by the sink, my mother exclaimed that there was some water on the floor. Somebody must have spilled some water from the refrigerator or whatever, we reasoned, and mopped it up. After a loooong morning, we sat down at my house for lunch. The clubhouse is all of a minute's walk from my place, and after doing some last minute grocery shopping and cake picking-upping, we pushed to finish our tasks. Mo

Just Call Me a Red-Blooded American

So not too long ago, I was perusing a favorite website, . Clark is a millionaire who has a radio show and quite an extensive website devoted to helping people save money. I also have a link on my sidebar as well. His site is worth at least one visit, you are sure to learn something you didn't know before. Unless you are some big financial know it all, and then you should just get your own radio show. I was reading some tips, and he had one that suggested in order to save both money and our natural resources, stop washing your clothes after each wearing. Perhaps wear the clothes a couple of times before tossing them in the hamper. He also mentioned that the obsession with washing clothes seemed to be a peculiarly American trait. Poor Clark, he's never met me, has he? I would say that the shortest amount of time I could wear a piece of clothing without even considering a washing would be an hour. I don't know what it is about me that makes me incapable

Sticky Fingers

So, my friends, I've got nothing. Well, nothing except that I have discovered so late in my life that a glue-gun is a strangely hypnotizing little appliance. I am not what I consider to be a crafty person at all. But, I am in the throes of last-minute tasks for my sister's 40th birthday party on Sunday, and I needed to gussy up a red satin cape so as to make it emphatically clear that my sister is the Queen. I was a virgin glue-gun user up until about an hour ago. I had no idea what I was doing, and in a move quite unlike myself, I didn't read the directions before I started. So here I am trying to glue these rhinestones onto the collar of this cape, and glue is drying in gossamer threads everywhere I turn. Add that some of the rhinestones were just a bit too small to keep me from burning my fingers now and then, and I got a little flustered for a moment. I finally got into a nice groove, and the collar looks quite fab. Other than the fact that I could not for the life

One of the Longest Days Ever...

So one day about a week before Mr. Personality's first birthday, all seemed well and fine at the Gina household. About an hour after Mr. Personality awoke, however, Hubba-hubba noticed him doing some repetitive grunting noises. As he was at that time non-verbal, we just thought it was some new sound he was experimenting with. After about an hour of it though, we began to think something might be wrong. As new parents, we tended to be a bit paranoid about even the smallest things, and I had already given the free nurse advice line provided by our HMO a huge workout over the course of that first year. We tried to reassure ourselves that it was just our imaginations. Then Mr. Personality refused to eat. He didn't even want to drink. The grunting got louder and more steady. Mr. Personality didn't seem to be in pain, but had rather a concentrated look on his face. Hubba-hubba didn't like it, and insisted that we take him to the emergency room. As I was buckling him

Is There Such a Thing as Too Much Customer Service?

Scene- int. Grocery Store that shall remain nameless. Characters: -A frazzled Gina, hair in her unkempt bun, as she only has about a half hour to pick up a ton of groceries. -Many too many different store employees Gina, pushing shopping cart hurriedly, goes into fruit section. Store Employee: HELLO, how are you? Gina: Fine, thank you. Store Employee: Is there anything I can help you with? Gina: No thanks, I’m good. Store Employee: OK, just let me know if you need anything. Gina: OK, thanks very much. Gina goes down snack aisle. Store Employee: HELLO, are you finding everything ok? Gina: Well, yes, thanks. Store Employee: Let me know if I can be of assistance. Gina: OK, thank you. Gina goes down yogurt/cheese aisle. Store Employee: HELLO, is there anything I can help you with? Gina: (annoyed by this point) No, I’m all right, thanks. Store Employee: Just let me know if I can help you find anything. Gina: Thanks. Gina goes to butter section. Store Employee: HELLO, can I help you

Sunday Soapbox

So read this and be very, very afraid... I have strayed from my normal blogging pattern in order to spread this as widely as possible. It is true that the GAO is one of the most trustworthy institutions we have left in this country. So what do we need to do to hold the government to accountability? If you conduct online banking, would you be satisfied with just a verbal assurance from the bank that your transaction went through? Of course not, you would want some kind of transaction verification number, something so that you can track what is happening to your finances. We do not even have that with our election ballots. If you don't think that people are corrupted and corruptible, that people in power will do all kinds of nasty things in order to keep their power, then I've got some prime real estate in New Mexico I think you'd be interested in.

Christmas Randomness

So Hubba-hubba is a certified grinch. I am not sure if it has to do with the fact that he is the fourth of five children or what. He was beyond ignored for almost his whole life, so that's gotta be it. One of the first years we were dating, I attempted to get him in the Christmas spirit by doing a "Twelve Days of Christmas." For the twelve days leading up to Christmas, I gave him different wacky presents. It sort of worked, but didn't particularly carry over to the next year. Or the one after that... The home that I grew up in did not have a chimney. We had a wall heater. So when I asked my parents how Santa managed to deliver our presents if we had no fireplace, I think I flummoxed them for a second. The best they could come up with was that Santa had a special key for all the houses that had no chimneys. I was naive enough that I bought it. Since we have been married, I don't think Hubba-hubba and I have exchanged gifts. We were trying to recover from ou

A Cruel Hoax? Or Just Entrepreneurism?

So not too long ago, we were at The Marketplace . You see, we here in the OC are much too haute to have anything as lowbrow as a swap meet. No, we call it The Marketplace, and anyone who is delusional enough to bring dirty old engine parts and set them on a blanket expecting to sell them is run out of town. All sorts of interesting things are available at the Marketplace. Socks, table linens, hair products, pet products, custom rock fountains, previously owned BMW’s, and art are all on tempting display. You can also buy jewelry there, from homemade earrings to plantinum rings worth thousands. I happen to love jewelry, and even if I am not necessarily planning on buying some, I usually like to stop and look. But even though we were towing him in our SUV sized Radio Flyer wagon, Mr. Personality was getting restless in the last three quarters. My sister and I were trying to hurry, so stopping and looking at frivolous things for myself was just not in the cards. As we rushed down the

Things Mr. Personality Refuses to Eat

The skin on an apple Ground meat of any kind Melted white cheese Chocolate milk Lima beans (but really, who likes lima beans anyway?) Asparagus French fries Lettuce Garlic bread The crust on any bread Olives Artichokes Pizza, except for the crust (go figure) Any rice other than white rice Black beans Mustard Chicken in breast form Steak Peas Sweet potatoes Potatoes Turkey Pork Ham Sour cream Guacamole Mayonnaise Any cold cereal other than Crispix (but I've never given him the sugary kind, so he very well may like that stuff if I gave him a chance) Chocolate cake Onions (good boy!) Pickles Cabbage Soup of any kind Eggs Bacon Oh, no, I'm not raising a picky eater or anything over here. I think if he could live on bread and butter, he would. You try feeding him this stuff "at least 15 times" so that he can learn to like it. Let me know how it goes.