Just Another Day

Yesterday I received an email from Disney, one that they send to all the people who are annual passholders. I love all things Disney, although I wouldn't consider myself a complete fanatic. For instance, some of the people that do the pin trading ? They can be a little scary. We are probably going to go to Disneyland tomorrow, as it is a nice all-day activity to get the heck away from the house of hammering. And suddenly the thought hit me, am I spoiling the crap out of my kid? I mean, think about it. Going to Disneyland/Disneyworld is something that a lot of kids dream about, something that their parents hold over their heads in order to elicit good behavior. It's a vacation that many families must save up for, as it involves air travel for most people. Not to mention the fairly steep entry prices. And the price of food. And the price of souvenirs. And... But Mr. Personality? Heck, he goes to Disneyland a minimum of twice a month. It is literally about fifteen minut

-WTF with Wall Street and China and Japan's markets today? One of the reasons I loathe the stock market is because most of the time, what happens is not really based on any kind of data, just "feelings." Ridiculous that our country's financial health is so closely tied to the equivalent of one of those game machines that rate you "passionate" or "cold as a fish" when you grip the handle. You know the kind I am talking about, right? -We are planning a possible vacation, and I have to say I haven't been this pleased about something in a long time. I'm getting a little ahead of myself as it is conditional on something, but it just goes to show how long it's been since we've had a true vacation. Try over five years. Crikey! No wonder I'm crabby! -Did I mention that we have chosen to baptize Mr. P into the Catholic Church? More on that some other time. -There is an online version of my local newspaper, and they have just begun

I got to go out to lunch yesterday with my sister and a mutual friend. We decided to go to the Cheesecake Factory. They have a ginormous menu and we were all hankering for a big slice of fat and sugar, er, cheesecake. We sit down and are immediately given bread and butter. So far, so good. Minutes go by, then twenty minutes. We are craning our necks around, trying to catch the eye of every server we see, with not much luck. We are dying for a drink, and we finally flag down a mysteriously roving bartender to please, please get us something to drink. Finally, we get our iced teas and as we had indicated that we had gotten no service up to that point, figured he would pass it on. Silly, silly, us. We wait another fifteen minutes before I am elected to go find a manager. I find my way to the front, and patiently wait to even ask the hostess for the manager, as the place is hopping. He arrived and I, ever so politely and with a smile, said that we had been waiting forty minutes for

I was talking to a friend the other day about how it doesn't seem like we will be able to have another child. And honestly, I'm working on being ok with that. I was trying to explain my dislike of having a large gap in between children, using myself and my sister as an example. There are five and a half years between us, and even though we are close now, it couldn't have been more opposite while we were growing up. I was the rather unwelcome intruder, my sister told me there was no real build-up to my birth, or a big discussion on how she was going to be a big sister. To her, it seemed like one day she was ruler of the roost, and the next there was a loud, colicky newborn to interrupt her life as she knew it. The main thing I remember is that we always operated in completely different spheres. We were never developmentally anywhere near each other. I was in grade school, she was in middle. I was in middle, she was in high school. And with her being so much older, sh

We have eight various devices around our house that tell time. Some of them, like the one on the microwave and the one on the stove, are mere feet from each other. And yet, if I were to look at each one of the time-telling devices, not one of them would tell me the same time. For instance, the clock on the stove is telling me it's 9:19, but if I look at the DVD clock, it says 9:15.Why, at my house last year, we celebrated New Year's on seven different occasions in the same night! We took a little breather, and off we went again. And at this rate, I will get to turn 36 no less than eight times in the course of the day! I'm a gal who likes a good party, but even that is a bit too much for me to handle. Sometimes, depending on the circumstance, I will deliberately choose the clock which I want to go by, knowing if it is "faster" or "slower" than the real time. If I am enjoying my alone time when Mr. P is at school and Hubba-hubba is at work, I will ig

Today's question was inspired by a post from my good buddy AC over at Raindrops . Do you prefer color or black and white photography? Now, now, no waffling either.

So, we are now in the "Year of the Pig" according to the Chinese lunar calendar. And I, my friends, was born in one of the pig years. It is supposedly the year of the Golden Pig, although technically there is no such element associated with the Chinese astrological signs. It might be just "metal" but "golden" made for a much catchier phrase. Yeah, year of the Metal Pig just doesn't have the right ring, does it? In my misspent youth, I used to avidly read my horoscope, and let me tell you, Pisces horoscopes are damn boring. Nothing big ever seems to happen to a Pisces. No, the flashier Leos and Scorpios and such lead much more dramatic lives, it seems. The poor fishy just sort of floats around, waiting for someone to feed it or something. The daily horoscopes, when I used to read them, never applied to me as it always mentioned work and lovers, of which at the age of 12 or whatever, I had neither. Then I stumbled upon Chinese astrology, which s

Welcome to the Chinese New Year Edition of Pointless Points Trivia, where the points don't matter! That's right, just like my daily horoscope (which says I should seize the leadership opportunity that will present itself at work today) they just don't matter! What is the name of the grand celebration that takes place about fifteen days after the day of the Chinese New Year? C'mon, you know you want those thousand points!

All right, so I was too lazy to do it yesterday. But this week, I have a special treat for you. Dead Can Dance is one of my favorite bands. Look past the odd name, it really has nothing to do with the music. In fact, one of the things I like so much about them is that their music sort of defies categorization of any kind. They go from almost acoustic rock to African tribal rhythms to mournful Celtic ballads in a fell swoop. Their music requires you to listen, it doesn't really follow your normal pop song formulas. If you are in the mood for something unique and a little "out there" then these guys are for you. I have seen them in concert twice, the last one with the Los Angeles Philharmonic backing them up at the Hollywood Bowl. They blew me, and everyone else attending, away. They sound so wonderful, so powerful in concert that you are completely overtaken by the music. The two leaders of the band are Lisa Gerrard and Brendan Perry. Lisa, originally from Aust

I woke up last Sunday morning feeling bad. Not bad in the way that anticipates people whom I don't particularly like visiting my home, but bad in the way that signals much impending physical discomfort. Although there was a bit of the former in there, as well. I have known Hubba-hubba's parents for nearly as long as I have known Hubba-hubba. He lived at home for a goodly portion of our relationship, so my interactions with them were more numerous, obviously, than if he had lived elsewhere. And somewhere in that forced proximity, I learned too much about them. Too many things that they did or failed to do. I wonder if my feelings for them would be different if I hadn't spent so much damn time with them. Nah. The problem with them is that they are small people. Not small in stature, necessarily, although to know that someone as small as Hubba-hubba's mother produced as large a person as him never fails to astound me as to the intricate wonders of DNA. No, they are small i

I know, my friends that you will forgive my absence. Today found me in the ER, an IV hooked into the crook of my left elbow, with a saline drip. Somehow, despite my best efforts, I became severely dehydrated. I feel better now, but still not one hundred percent. But, good enough to type a quick Friday Poll! Which type of chocolate: dark, milk, or white? (Yes, I know white isn't really chocolate, but cut me some slack, will ya?)

I am sooooo sick. Waaaah. I am barely able to sit upright. And you know when I don't take a shower in over 48 hours that there is something very wrong. Sit tight, hopefully I'll be coherent soon.

So, my house is not too far from being Mother-in-law clean. That is a special kind of clean, isn't it? It isn't "everyday clean" which is a sort of misnomer. It doesn't fall under "friend" clean, which is wiping down the counters and the bathroom, probably a vacuum. It certainly isn't "family" clean, which is whatever I get to before they get here. Could be bathrooms, could be dusting, could be nothing. No no, Mother-in-law clean is sparkly. It is not having any clutter of any kind. It is getting on your hands and knees and cleaning the spilled yogurt off the carpet. It is cleaning the walls and doors. It is pulling out goodness knows what that is/was from under the bed. Mother-in-law clean is a pain in the ass. *Oh, and to add to my pain, Blogger decided today to switch me to the new one. Foo on you, Blogger!

Did I tell you what happened on Wednesday? I don't think I did. The day started off very wonderfully, I had a playdate set up with the lovely Amy and her two cuties. Although she has left the blogosphere, I have been lucky that she has stayed in touch. I heart Amy! So there were our boys, playing and mucking around in the sand as boys are wont to do. Something about pirates and ships and big sticks being needed. It sounded cool. Another little boy comes onto the playground, and he has a soccer ball. Our two pirates decided that a soccer ball would be a nice addition to their festivities, and proceeded to snag it. "No, no," I told Mr. P "only if he lets you have it. You can't just take it away from him!" The little boy's father said it was ok, and we chatted for a minute or two. Then, the father asked if I had a black Honda Accord. Well, yes, I do. It's flat, he kindly informed me. Curse words danced in my head, but I managed to thank hi

This isn't about what you think you should have, it's what you want to have... Chicken, fish, steak, or veggies?

I say that because not too long ago, my MIL called our house. And talked to me. And asked me what she has done wrong, because she wants to see her grandson, and if we don't all talk about what is wrong, then how can we fix it? I give the woman major points for that. It takes some balls to call up your DIL, whom you may or may not have fond feelings for, and ask to open up a dialogue. You may remember, or not, some posts where I have written about my MIL and all the accompanying baggage, here and here come to mind. Trust me, those aren't even the really awful things they have done in the past. I could probably begin a whole other blog writing about the times they have mistreated myself and their own son. So. Apparently we are having them over on Sunday, which is fine. It seems that my FIL, who has had major health problems in the past, and a current diagnosis of bone cancer, will be having an operation to try and remove the cancer within the next month. My blackened hear

There is Hubba-hubba, sitting with Mr. Personality, reading him one of his favorite books. It happens to be one of those Baby Einstein books, which I usually abhor for their bad poetry. I believe they were all written by the founder of the company, and even though she has a degree in English, you can tell that poetry was never her forte. Anyhoo, there they are, snuggled together. Hubba-hubba: She finds a fox/and then a beer... Me: A what? Hubba-hubba: (horrified) Uh, I mean, a BEAR, a bear /but can't see an elephant anywhere. Me: Is this some not-so-subtle way of trying to tell me something?

Allrighty, for those of you who were nice enough to hazard a guess on the meme, I borrowed the foible of #9 from my sister! For some reason, she refuses to see movies that are sad or have an unhappy ending. She has missed out on some great movies, but that is how she rolls... So congrats to J , Chris and Hope for being correct! And, have you noticed the lovely pink button on my sidebar that says "Sunshine's Designs?" Well, that is the website of none other than Sonia, who has also has a fabulous post about her brother and how he dealt with the death of one of his best friends at her personal blog here . Sonia designs and sells shirts and such with Swarovski crystal designs on them, check them out and perhaps you know someone that might enjoy getting something cute! Thanks to all of you who were so kind and voted for me for the Share the Love Blog awards! All my bloggy friends are wonderful people, I am glad to know you! And, I really think I do know you, because

My husband pointed out, with more than a little exasperation, "My God woman, they can see the video for themselves! They have eyes! Stop typing every thing you think is funny!" I decided that since I am technologically challenged and am unable to to a voice-over (which would really be something) I will just leave the video and song to speak for themselves. Sorry, Hope! Anybody who attended elementary or middle school in the eighties may remember the "nuclear bomb drills" that we did at school. Well, at least we did them in the school I attended. There would be this most awful-sounding alarm, and then we were required to, if I remember correctly, go underneath our desks. Fat lot of good that would have done in case of a real nuclear attack, but we as kids were rather ignorant of the facts. All we knew was that the adults in our world were afraid of the "Cold War." We also didn't know exactly what that was, either, but it sounded really bad. This

I'm not done talking about global warming, because unless you are living underneath some sort of rock, you had to have heard about the global warming report issued by the United Nations. This is not a drill. Although I have to admit, I am tired of trying to convince people who don't want to be convinced. It reminds me of an old joke, and I've written this before, but it bears repeating. There was a flood, and an old man was stuck on his rooftop. He said, "I am putting my life in God's Hands. If it is His will that I survive this flood, He will show me a sign and save me." An inner tube floats by. He sees it, but insists that God is going to save him. A boat with rescuers tries to persuade him to get in, but he knows that the Lord will reach out His hand. The floodwaters continue to rise. A helicopter swings by, a rope dangling for him to hold. He will not grab it, and remains steadfast that God will save him. The water finally rises, and unfortunately, the man

Well, I must give off some kind of vibe. Apparently a weird one, because I have been tagged, twice, once by the beautiful Pendullum and by the incredible Megs to do a weird things meme. Ok, well, two weird things memes, if you will. Oddly enough, Pendullum's was six things and Meg's was five, so I'll go for a total of eleven. Then, Robyn had something where she said things about herself, one of which was not true, and her readers had to try to pick the untruth. She named me as someone who has not done that particular meme. Are you ready for a challenge, my friends? Why, that sounded rather dramatic, didn't it? Try to pick the one weird thing about me that isn't actually true. This should be interesting. And here you thought your weekend was going to be boring. 1) I hate black tennis shoes. On anybody, not just me. 2) I rinse of every single can of Diet Coke that I drink with water, then rub the top with a piece of paper towel. You know, the germs and stuff.

This is what I see when I look out of my bedroom window. This is my favorite view, and I tend not to look out the kitchen windows very much because I mostly see other people's homes. What is your favorite thing to look at from the windows of your home? *And, on another note, I have some shameless, shameless pimping of myself to do. The lovely Michelle at Fluttering Butterflies was kind enough to nominate me for the "Best Writing" category in the Share the Love Blog Awards contest being run by Heather at This Woman's World . If you would be so inclined to vote for me, pop over here . With the likes of the excellent blogs I am up against in that category , I would actually just be happy if I got more than the one vote submitted by myself! There are lots of other categories to vote for as well, with Michelle herself being nominated for "Blogger I'd Most Like to Meet" and Karla's Untangling Knots for "Blog I'll Never Stop Reading,&q