Swimmin Frog

YES WE DID!

2008-11-05T00:33:00.000-06:00

2 things.

2008-09-16T14:30:00.002-05:00

I can’t explain it, but the water bottle that rests atop the cooler in our break room MUST be facing forward so that the label is showing.

I have a piece of graphite (pencil lead) in my palm. It has resided in there since I slammed my hand onto the wrong end of a pencil during a meeting when I was about 23. Whenever I bring this up at a party, I am usually met with someone else that has the same affliction.

Okay, so this isn't my hand nor is it even lead...but, you get the idea.

A picture of a perfectly toned African male hangs in Beaner's apartment.

2008-09-12T12:00:00.006-05:00

I just happen to have a photo of it.

I blame this place...

2008-09-05T10:47:00.008-05:00

Most of my rearing (heehee I said rearing) took place in a little town. I learned a lot about morals, about horses and buggies, about keeping yourself busy and most of importantly...about gossiping from a place in Wisconsin that I sorely miss when I look up at the sky and see airplanes and no stars.

I recently took some shots while passing through and thought I test your knowledge of my growin' up place - since most of you were also reared there.

Small town picture trivia (WOW - that is what I call FUN)!

This old man lives on the side of which building?

Before being donated to the Public Library, which street did the following reside?

What is this?

What building is this lamppost in front of?

Where did I grow up?

I like mine with a little ranch dipping sauce.

2008-09-03T17:12:00.005-05:00

Me: Let’s go to dinner.
Friend: Sounds good. Where do you want to go?
Me: Well there are a couple of places around the corner. Jakes, Houlihans and a new Buffalo Wild Wings which I haven’t been to.
Friend: Yeah, let’s go to BW3s I could go for some wings and beer.

BW3s? Did she just say BW3s?

A few days later at a staff meeting…

Coworker #1: I heard our new office is near a BW3.
Coworker #2: Sure is.

BW3? Did I just hear BW3? For the second time?

Thus began my irritation.

First, there are only 2 W’s in Buffalo Wild Wings. Second, most buffalo only have 2 wings. And, it can’t be merely coincidence that two people in my life would say BW3. There must be something that I am missing.

Thus began my investigation.

I first thought it was just a Minnesotan thing. I asked some native peeps what they called it. Some said, “Buffalo Wild Wings” – well, actually they said, “Buffalo Wild Wings, DUH!” A couple of people said, “Bdubs”, but nobody gave up BW3 as a possible answer.

I inspected the logo. Yep, only 2 W’s. I looked for hidden W’s. Nope. No hidden W’s. Not even a website address containing a W in triplicate.

When all was looking grim, when I was ready to throw in the wetnap, I decided to turn to another famous W… Wikipedia.

Buffalo Wild Wings was founded in 1982 after James Disbrow and Scott Lowery moved from Buffalo, New York, to Kent, Ohio. Unable to find authentic Buffalo-style chicken wings in their new town, they decided to open up their own restaurant first, in Columbus, Ohio, and then one in Westerville, Ohio one year later. Originally called Buffalo Wild Wings & Weck, from which the abbreviation BW3 was created, the restaurant became a franchise with more than 430 locations across 37 U.S. states. The original name and acronym, BW3, was intentionally reminiscent of the acronym TW3 popularly used in referring to the television show That Was The Week That Was, a show of which co-founder James Disbrow was a fan. The company later changed its name to Buffalo Wild Wings, but still uses the short name BW3 on occasion due to the common usage by patrons.

I need a beer and some celery.

What is with this guy?

2008-07-16T09:22:00.000-05:00

WWMacGD

2008-07-03T11:32:00.004-05:00

Q and I stopped at World Market to pick up some snacks on the way to see a movie. Being that it was a Drive-In theatre, snacks included wine and food that complements wine. This was an impulse trip to the Drive-In, so we also picked up a corkscrew to ease the opening process.

We settled into our spot and started getting comfortable. I reclined my seat a bit and used a roll of papertowel as a pillow.

The sun was setting and it was a good time to dig into the first bottle of wine.

UH OH. No glasses. It was then we asked ourselves, WWMacGD (what would MacGyver do)?

In a lightning fast move, Queenie handed me the tools as I called them out.

Empty water bottle.

Corkscrew.

Towel to dab my brow.

In no time I was tearing into the plastic creating a vessel for to partake in my drink.

I produced two lovely glasses.

We enjoyed every sip of that bottle.

We usually have some alcohol during the first movie and then eat some snacks and watch the second movie. You see there are 3 movies back to back when you go to the Drive –In. The first begins at dusk which was around 10pm that night. The second starts around midnight.

Queenie and I fell asleep around midnight.

Queenie and I awoke to watch the last five minutes of the second movie.

Queenie and I left after the second movie.

Queenie and I are getting old.

Queenie Works in Community Television

2008-05-16T18:57:00.003-05:00

Apparently Queenie does not work for Public Access Television. This has a bad connotation - so she says.

She works in Community Television. The television brought to the people by the people. Queenie is one of the people.

She made this lovely gem...

JEM.

Truly outrageous.

Truly truly truly outrageous!

Remember that show? I digress.

I wish Queenie would ask me to be on her TV...

He would have been 21 today.

2008-05-15T15:34:00.002-05:00

He would have been 21 today.

As the big sister, I feel that I am robbed of buying the first round of drinks.

I am not so naïve to believe that it really would be the first round of drinks – the kid grew up in small town WI, but this would be legal and this would be with me.

I think I will go out for a drink tonight and toast using his toast…

“Put your bottoms in the air!”

I miss him.

He would have been 21 today.

Tuesday Titter

2008-05-06T13:40:00.005-05:00

Movies are a huge part of my life. I use them to escape reality. I cite examples from them when trying to prove a point. And I quote them.

These are 3 of my favorites.

"I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that."

::::::

"I apologize to you if I don't seem real eager to jump into a forced awkward intimate situation that people like to call dating. I don't like the feeling. You're sitting there, you're wondering do I have food on my face, am I eating, am I talking too much, are they talking enough, am I interested I'm not really interested, should I play like I'm interested but I'm not that interested but I think she might be interested but do I want to be interested but now she's not interested? So all of the sudden I'm getting, I'm starting to get interested... And when am I supposed to kiss her? Do I have to wait for the door cause then it's awkward, it's like well goodnight. Do you do like that ass-out hug? Where you like, you hug each other like this and your ass sticks out cause you're trying not to get too close or do you just go right in and kiss them on the lips or don't kiss them at all? It's very difficult trying to read the situation. And all the while you're just really wondering are we gonna get hopped up enough to make some bad decisions? Perhaps play a little game called "just the tip". Just for a second, just to see how it feels. Or, ouch, ouch you're on my hair."

::::::

"Luanne, why don't we just go up there and say "This was our last weekend together, and we didn't feel like going to Fort Sumter and touring goddamn colonial homes. We wanted to go to the beach and meet boys and go to wild parties and dance." I mean why can't we tell them the truth?"

::::::

Today's Tuesday Titter is interactive - What? Can she be serious? She is CA-RAZAY! I don't want her to know I read her vomit. She must be kidding.

Oh, people... I am serious!

I need to hear from my ~~adoring fans~~ family. I only hang with the coolest, most intelligent folks, so please ~~present a 1,000 word essay~~ comment using any of the following topics:

A. Why you think these particular quotes are my favorite.

B. A synopsis of the character who spouted these memorable lines and why you think I am much like them.

C. An example of your favorite movie quotes.

I look forward to reading what you come up with.

Crazy People on TV

2008-04-30T15:42:00.001-05:00

I love watching American Idol. I can’t help it. I try to be above it, but something about the preeminent reality show sucks me in to its vortex of talent and Seacrestery.

Last night was one of my favorite episodes - ever! I have been taping (yes people still tape) the show so that I can fast forward through the judge’s stupid banter blah, but last night Seacrest announces at the top of the show that there will be 2 songs per person and the judges won’t comment until the end. Yay.

So, after all 5 belted out their best version of Neil Diamond, Cresty asks the judges for an impromptu first thoughts. Randy was all dawg this pitchy that.

And Paula was all... well, Paula was crazy.

From MSN TV:

Oh gosh, we've never had to write these things down ... fast enough," she began, shuffling through her note cards. "Jason, first song, I loved hearing your lower register, which we never really hear, um ... ."

And that's where it started going off the rails.

"The second song, I felt like your usual charm wasn't — it was missing for me. It kind of left me a little empty."

Indeed.

All six people on stage, including Seacrest, stared blankly (except Syesha Mercado, who wore the furrowed brow of mystification).

"The two songs," she continued, "made me feel like you're not fighting hard enough to get into the top four."

After a smattering of nervous crowd laughter, Jackson finally broke the tension.

"That was just on the first song," he said sheepishly, pointing up to Castro. "Just on the first one."

Simon Cowell closed his eyes and shook his head, and began to guffaw as Abdul's confusion mounted.

"Oh my god, I thought you — I thought you sang twice!" she said.

She explained that she got confused by looking ahead at the notes for David Cook.

At that point Seacrest, who makes his money by smoothing over situations just such as these, pointed to Abdul, saying: "You're seeing the future, baby!" before cutting her off and throwing to Cowell.

Even Cowell gathered himself to help patch up the moment, patting Abdul on the shoulder and asking, as if to speed things along, "Paula, who was your favorite?"

Her reply: Cook (the same contestant whose performance she supposedly noted as having left her "empty").

Kids, listen to your Auntie Paula when she says DON’T DO DRUGS!

Anyway, we are down to the last 5. I thought I would offer some advice (um…because they need my tone deaf opinion that’s why):

Jason Try singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow again. I really don’t like anything else you do. You also say “morn” with your mouth all contorted. I am sure there is an audience for this, but it bothers me. I do like the dreads.

David A. I just want to pinch your cheeks and put you on a stage at an amusement park. You had me at Imagine . You lost me at Sweet Caroline. Your prime audience wears denim stretchy pants pulled up to her breasts with a white T-shirt tucked snuggly into them, a denim bedazzled jean vest with an “I heart Jesus” pin and some support hose. I am not in this group…yet, so I really don’t get you.

Sayesha Go on girl! You are coming into your own with this whole bluesy vibe. Also, I like your hair choice last night.

Brook I would totally buy your record. I think that you need to stay behind that piano and belt out folksy renditions of my favorite tunes. I seriously wept when you sang Let It Be. I do however think you need to be ballsier. You are way too nice.

David C. You sing to my loins. That is all.

Tuesday Titter

2008-04-29T17:01:00.010-05:00

I recently cleaned up my Picture Folder (not to be confused with Picture Pages - do you remember watching that on Saturday mornings?) and decided to pull out some photos that I haven't shared before - well, at least I don't think I did.... I am pretty full of myself.

For instance, I have an entire sub-folder with pictures of just me. ME. Who knew I was so conceited? - Do not answer that!

I get so many dates!

Nice Fillings!

Did I mention that Mom is cancer free? I'm sure I have, but I thought maybe I would shout it again!

Okay, you got my vote!

Queenie took this of Dad's spirit animal.

I dare you not to smile when you look at this one...

Beaner and the JMan are afraid of the Dell's Ducks. Crazy tourists!

And since most of the photos I feature are taken by the Queenster, I wanted to show you one I took last summer. I was so damned proud of this, I gave it to JMan and Beaner for Christmas.

To sum up: I keep a lot of photos of myself on my hard drive, I am a Democrat, Mom has no cancer, Dad is bald, Drew makes me smile, I brag about my photog. skills.

And did someone say Picture Pages??

You may get a phone call from me this weekend!

2008-04-25T16:41:00.003-05:00

I imagine my friends, family and that guy trying to sell me insurance thinking this each time I don't return a phone call.

I think I may spend some quality time with my phone pressed against my ear this weekend since we are expecting snow. SNOW.

Hey, just don't get mad if I am on the can while chatting with you.

Biker Chick?

2008-04-23T09:04:00.005-05:00

To make up for the display of hot flashy embarrassment I put her through the other day, I am pleased to present you:

Mom. A black clad story of motorcycle babeness.

My mom was seriously too cool. I almost didn't recognize her.

Almost.

Her purple magic gloves were a dead give away:

Bad asses!

Tuesday Titter

2008-04-22T14:59:00.009-05:00

Happy Earth day!

Okay, let me explain - Earth day does not make me titter. If I said that it would make me sound...well, like a douche bag. Now, I love me some earth, I just don't claim to be all environmentally conscious. What makes me titter (this is a Tuesday Titter afterall) is my love of these ecards. They are a delicious mix of sarcasm and heartfelt sentiments.

Whith a tag line like, "When you care enough to hit send", they fit right into my sense of humor.

Check 'em out here.

~~~~~

Turn up your volume for this one:

Don't you absolutely love that song?

It makes me hungry for a dose of black beans and cilantro.

Thanks Queenie for the video. I asked you to help get the song on my blog and in less than an hour, you totally delivered. You got some mad skillz!

I am totally the burrito lady (titter).

~~~~~

The last snipit (snippet, snippit...whatever) I want to share with you is my love for purple magic gloves.

I'll tell you more about them tomorrow. There I go teasing again!

Hi Mom, don't hate me.

2008-04-21T08:47:00.005-05:00

My mom had cancer removed from her body last September. They took a section of her colon that contained a cancerous tumor and since they were already in there, they took her estrogen- laden girly guts. I’m telling you this to give you an appreciation of a conversation I had with her when visiting WI a while back.

We were standing around Beaner’s kitchen island chatting it up when my mom grabbed my index finger and guided it to her upper lip. “Feel this," she said tightening her lip so that the bristly hairs jutted against my chubby finger pad.

“Wow, Mom that is quite the stubble!” I replied.

“I know! A lot of changes going on since that surgery in September,” She said shaking her head in disgust.

“A lot?” I asked.

“Yeah, a lot!”

Just then, a moment so perfect opened up for me. I mustered up my best concerned voice and said matter-of-factly, “Oh, like new testicles?”

I waited for her response. The usual one she gives when having to put up with my crap.

But, Mom did not miss a beat. Instead, she shocked me right back. My sweet mom actually mock-itched the area where testicles would be and replied, “Yep.”

That totally made my day.

It made up for having to witness this:

I like to call it…

Mom. A hot flash story.

Mom is seriously a ROCKSTAR! She puts up with me and she beat cancer. I love you, Mom!

Such a kidder

2008-04-20T12:19:00.004-05:00

Hey, remember that time I tried to get you believe that I was on strike just like those writers that make me laugh via their sitcomic genius?

I am such a kidder.

Here is the real deal... I am slowly getting my creative juices flowing again after having difficulty summoning them for a few months (sort of the dry-heaves effect). I am realizing I need this outlet to vomit out anything that is stuck in the crusty recesses of my brain that may cause future insanity.

I am also working with Queenie to design a look for my top pic (Is that called a masthead? I am so very blog savvy.). And guess what, I tried to update my template and the internets stole my old frog on a chair picture, my archives and that pic of my chubby fingers you now see on the left. Thankfully, I was able to get most of it back... geesh.

So, faithful ~~blog audience~~ family... I will return here with some regularity to entertain you soon.

Just in case you want to join the fun.

Just Wondering

2008-04-18T17:00:00.002-05:00

Remember when the writers went on strike that one time and oh my gob, you got addicted to reality T.V. and are now in a 12 step program to beat that addiction (by that I mean there are 12 episodes left of the damn shows you have become addicted to)?

Remember how you missed the ramblings of your most beloved characters?

Remember how you almost cried when they announced that the strike was over?

Remember the elation you felt that one Thursday when Jim’s messy hair made its way back into your living room?

Remember that?

I was just wondering.

Confucius, you wacky bastard!

2008-02-21T17:18:00.002-06:00

The best part of Chinese food is the fortune cookie (ok, not really but I didn’t know how to start this stimulating post. I mean really… I don’t write anything for months and then I vomit some drivel about a cookie… and could this be the longest comment in a parenthesis? My ability to digress is astounding!) Anyway, my last trip to Chef Chu’s produced this little gem:

Here we go. “Moo Shu Cereal” for breakfast with duck sauce.

What the?

I didn’t quite grasp what Confucius was trying to say with this bit of wisdom. I did however learn that my lucky numbers are 5, 16, 48 and 87.

My fortune deconstructed:

Here we go.
The use of “we” gives a sense of comfort. The reader knows Confucius is right along side of them.

“Moo Shu Cereal”
Is in quotes like it isn’t real. Research shows that it isn’t a real product. Confucius (who is right along with you) is one of those guys who mime quotes with his fingers. How annoying.

for breakfast
Signifies the beginning meal. He could have chosen lunch, but people do not have cereal for lunch… that is just silly.

with duck sauce.
The addition of a condiment gives a sense of companionship. The reader should feel that Confucius wants them to date.

?

Tuesday Titter - The Christmas Series

2007-12-18T12:28:00.000-06:00

Part Two: The Decoration Obsession passed down from packrat to packrat.

There were some advantages to slaving 75 hours a week in retail hell. For instance: I worked with some great people, once in awhile I would hear the coveted, “thank you” from a cranky old codger that was grateful someone helped him get his cigars and of course there were the clearance items.

Clearance items were fabulous and dangerous. Being the first to ticket and place merchandise on the floor was a great benefit and knowing when an item was going to hit the pinnacle of 90% off was the best. In my tenure I procured a bread maker for $12, a blender for $2.50, an outdoor swing for $11 and more Christmas fare than I will ever have space for. I also purchased many items that are either on a shelf at the local thrift store or on a shelf collecting dust.

But, this post is about Christmas decorations – which I have an abundance.

I have a small storage unit down the hall that serves mainly to house my many plastic totes of holiday décor. Most of it was collected during the retail era, but there are a few totes that contain precious items from my childhood and grandparent’s collections. I have ornaments from my childhood that are spotted with mold and chipped with age, but I will never part with them. I have handmade ceramic pieces that have yellow lines of hot glue holding them together; I will never toss them away. Most of these items I keep just to take out each year, reminisce, shed a tear and then put them back into their tissue to look at again next year. I have never understood why I do this. I obviously think they are too ugly or fragile to display. Why not just throw them away?

I think it is the packrat gene.

The packrat gene is rampant in my family. I see it with my mom who gave me a box of chipped and broken ornaments once because they belonged to her mother and she felt that I should have them. I experienced it with GrandmaB when she passed away and I was able to have free reign with choosing what holiday décor I wanted to take from her room of decorations.

Perhaps it is also the sappy gene.

I am emotionally attached to these items and would be heartbroken to not see them every year. My family tree is sappy (heehee). Now, don’t get me wrong… not everything that I have stowed away is scarred. I have a beautiful collection of beaded ornaments that were among the chipped one’s my mom’s mom, GrandmaJ, made. I proudly display those with my various corny snowmen and Santa ornaments. I have an entire tote filled with Christmas tree statues that GrandmaB collected since the 70’s. They are each wrapped in towels and tissue that smell like her. When the lid comes off that tote, I am transported instantly to Christmas on Alfred Street.

I love decorating for Christmas! My whole apartment gets made over. I move furniture, wrap pictures in holiday paper to look like presents on the wall and I have theme rooms. Theme rooms are another packrat inherited custom - a custom that is laden with cheese and sap. I love it. This year, Queenie did a fabulous job displaying our Santa stuff in the bathroom. “He sees you when your sleeping. He knows when you’re awake (at three in the morning cuz your bladder woke you up).”

Happy Holidays!

Tuesday Titter – The Christmas Series

2007-12-11T13:46:00.000-06:00

Part one: the music that makes my soul nostalgic and my ass shake.

I was a prisoner in retail hell for the better part of a decade. This imprisonment caused emotional and physical scarring that is slowly starting to heal thanks to a rewarding new job and Culver’s butterscotch shakes. Now, Pallet-jacks and sharp box cutters can do some serious damage to your shins and fingers, but the damage that I am working the hardest to overcome is my disdain for the Christmas tune.

I am serious here people.

November 1st…nay October 31st would mark the beginning of the downward spiral into emotional scarring. When most regular human beings are putting away their Halloween decorations and going into a sugar coma, retail schlubs are busy putting finishing touches on displays of Christmas products that they actually started setting up a week prior. And to get them into the mood, the magical radio network begins the onslaught of music that has a holiday (much more P.C. than Christmas) flavor. It begins slowly at first, only playing on the hour. But, pretty soon it is nonstop Jingle Bells and Santa Baby – the Madonna version. Hearing this would start my body convulsing and I would yearn to curl up under a warm blanket stroking my cat’s fur until the pain subsided. This was all BEFORE Thanksgiving!

I have been on parole for nearly 4 years from that jail and with a lot of hard work, I am pleased to say that I am listening to the tunes of Christmas again. I am beginning to hear my favorite songs and not think of late night shelf stocking with odorous seasonal help. My thoughts do not automatically go to snotty, crying babies begging for a new toy. And I may even hum to them when I am listening to them in a retail setting.

"Well, in Whoville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day…"

Actually, I am not that saved. I still bitch and moan when I hear even a hint of Christmas music before Thanksgiving. I mean, what is with the radio stations playing the stuff in November? Also, if I am shopping for some bloody, vampire teeth in October, I better not see a lick of tinsel hanging next to them. But that is another thing altogether. We are focusing on music today… which, I have decided cannot start invading my space until December 1st.

December 1, 2007, was the day Queenie and I dug out the Christmas décor and unloaded the various snowmen and glitter-covered garb into our tiny apartment. I popped in a CD of Christmas carols that I picked up one year in a dollar bin. It was filled with the cheesiest renditions of standards by some local choir. It provided the perfect backdrop for our decorating and I didn’t once want to rip it out of my player and crush it.

I am healing.

I said this was a tittering post, so here are some of the tunes that make me giggle, reminisce and tear up…

I have this compilation CD called A Swingin’ Holiday. I love it. The best song hands down is Louis Armstrong’s Zat You Santa Claus?

All memories of hellish retail drown in the sea of his voice. Gravel-laden words of this genius they call Satchmo flood my insides and take my thoughts to Harlem in the 40’s. Did you hear how freakin’ poetic I just was? The man does that to me.

I couldn't find a good version of Zat you Santa Claus?, so I included this one instead. I think I may have a new fave...

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention those talented rodents that had me singing a couple dozen octaves too high about wanting a hoola-hoop.

Beaner, Queenie and I had this album and Christmas in the 80’s would not have been the same without our angelic (read: out of tune) voices butchering the lyrics right along with Alvin, Simon and Theodore.

And then there’s the 12 Days of Christmas. Actually I loathe this song. Well, not unless the Muppets sing it…

My absolute favorite Christmas song, however, is The Little Drummer Boy. I love any version of it…even Grandma Bonnie’s. Oh what I wouldn’t give to hear her off-key voice one last time. But I digress...sigh.

I am a pa rum pa pum pum-aholic. I am nothing if not a sap and the message of this song drums up (hee hee drums) memories of when we didn’t have a lot.

“Shall I play for him?” That is all… sniff… he… sniff… could… sniff, sniff… afford. He was a poor boy too for sobbing out loud! Oh, and when Mary nods pa rum pa pump um, I lose it.

Below is my favorite version. Bing, Bowie, old man sweater and clever banter. Nothing is better!

I want to be an elf. Or at least have my head morphed onto an elf's body.

2007-11-19T15:57:00.000-06:00

I originally titled this post: Things to do to yourself on the internet. I couldn't stop giggling. (Hee Hee. I am so twelve.)

This post idea started with this: CLICK HERE

I happened upon this obnoxious tool when I was visiting another person's blog. I couldn't resist adding my family to the dance party. Mom sure can robot! There are many things you can create to mimic yourself... if you have the time. Apparently I do since I checked out most of these.

During the Simpson's movie promotion, you could "Simpsonize" yourself. CLICK HERE

Queenie created this Simpson's version of the 4 of us:

Queenie, Mom, Me (I look a bit school marmy) and Beaner

CLICK HERE to visit a site that allows you to morph into a celebrity. I was morphed into Geena Davis (my celebrity doppelganger... allegedly). It didn't allow me to save it, but trust me when I say that the resemblance to Geena Davis is freaking scary!

CLICK HERE to make a virtual version of yourself.

CLICK HERE to make a Wee version of yourself.

Have fun kids. Go forth and play with yourself.

A blog fit for a Queenie

2007-11-15T12:39:00.001-06:00

Queenie is my roomie and my baby sister. She is mentioned quite a bit in this blog, but in true 'baby of the family' fashion, she reminds me often that there has never been an ENTIRE entry devoted to the greatness that is Queenie.

So here you go. A big Queenie-sized celebration of Queenie.

Age: 29

Height: 5'7"

Weight: UPDATE: THIS ITEM REMOVED DUE TO DEATH THREATS AND THE HORSE HEAD IN MY BED.

Hair: blond... platinum

Occupation: TV (I mean she works in the industry...well, she watches a lot of it too)

Hobbies: photography, hopscotch, spelunking, crafts with pipe cleaners and taking in orphaned hamsters

Why do y'all call her Queenie? Well... when she was a wee one, she wanted everything, demanded everything and usually got everything - mostly from her two older sisters who tended to give in to shut her up.

"I want to go on the slide!"

"I want my picture taken just like Beaner!"

"I want ham!"

Seriously though, she was cute. We didn't mind spoiling her too much. Besides, she was extremely good at fetching things for us.

"Hey guys, should I really take money from Kimmy's purse?"

She has the best hair. Except for when she died it orange, green or burgundy it has always been this perfect platinum blond.

Well, maybe not here...

She is ~~stubborn~~ steadfast in her beliefs.

She is ~~an attention whore~~ lovably aggressive in presenting herself.

She is my best pal.

Happy Happy, Queenie. I hope you enjoyed your ice cream breakfast!

NOVEMBER 1 AND MOM IS cancer FREE

2007-11-01T16:21:00.000-05:00

I haven't been using this so much as a 'journal' of my day to day blah. Mostly because, um hello, my life is pretty boring. So, I didn't blog about my mom's relationship with colon cancer.

Read about her here: Mom's CaringBridge Site

Generally, events unfolded this way: Mom had a colonoscopy on August 31, 2007 and they removed some polyps that resided in 3 inches of her colon. After a biopsy revealed that there was cancer, they put her on the fast track to getting those 3 inches of cancer breeding ground removed. In meeting with the surgeon they also discussed doing a hysterectomy (to remove the other ‘breeding ground’ teehee) because at that time they were waiting for results from some abnormal cells found in her routine gynecological exam.

On Tuesday September 11, 2007, Mom had an exam to determine if a hysterectomy was the best course (by exam I mean painful, full body cavity search). The doctor discovered some concerns including HPV.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007, she had a complete hysterectomy and surgery to remove part of her colon and lymph nodes. She was in the hospital for about a week.

Pathology showed that there was only small amounts of cancer detected in the 'gunk' they removed. They felt that the cancer was removed along with the tumor and the only trace of the shit was in the spot where they lived in the colon (heehee...shit...colon...I am twelve).

She had an appointment this am with an oncologist and they did a cat scan and blood test as a precaution, but the Doc said he is certain the cancer was removed in surgery and there is NO NEED FOR CHEMO.

So, my mom HAD cancer. She is a survivor now. She is making Katie Curic proud due to her early detection. She is making me proud and thankful and man, I can breath a whole helluva lot easier now!

Bring on November, cuz October and September and freakin' cancer are HISTORY!

7th Grade Mom

2007-10-31T11:33:00.000-05:00

8:00am: Phone call to my mom...

Mom: Hello?

Me: Goodmorning, Happy Halloween! Did I wake you?

Mom: (sounding like I just woke her up) no.

Me: What was your favorite song when you were in 7th grade? What did you want to be when you grew up? What were your fears? Your dreams? Your hobbies? Who did you have a crush on? This is Stuffanie by the way. Did you dream that one day you would have an amazing and cute daughter?

Mom: Well, I am not sure about 7th grade, but my favorite song in 6th grade was "Dizzy" by Tommy Roe. You know... Dizzy my head is spinning... but like I said that was 6th grade.

Pause

What else? Hmmm... well, I also liked Bobby Sherman. As far as what I wanted to be... well, I guess that is around the time when I thought I was aspiring to be a writer. I wrote a lot of plays and poems. Wonder whatever happened to those... I also had a crush on Brad Schwartz.

ME (realizing that my mom just answered my absurd barrade of questions without hesitation because she knows I am crazy): Well, thanks! I am dressing as you for Halloween today. Well, the 7th grade version of you. I am on my way to work... talk to you later. Love you.

My Mom in 7th grade:

Me...currently in my 30s as my Mom in her early teens:

Stuffy La Fea

2007-10-24T17:34:00.001-05:00

Friday evening - Q suggests we pick up a couple of flicks, some wine and a couple of extra, fudge chunk brownie mixes and hunker down for the weekend. Since I was just getting over some sort of bug that rendered me ~~lazy~~ tired and drug out and Queenie had just missed a day of work with the same bug, hunkering down seemed loverly!

We chose the first 2 DVDs of Ugly Betty season 1. Each DVD has 4 episodes which translates into roughly 8 hours of viewing pleasure. We also grabbed a movie (A Mighty Heart - rent it, it is powerful). So in toto - we were in for over 10 hours of staring comatose in front of a flickering box wearing our jammies... you would think this would be enough to keep a couple of gals (who were under the weather) content for an entire weekend.

You would be mislead.

The first thing we popped in was A Mighty Heart. We cried. We drank some wine and ate dinner. The hour was getting late, but we decided we should watch an episode of Ugly Betty - to get our spirits up.

8 hours later, we fell asleep.

We drug ourselves out of bed the next morning to go apartment scouting. We stopped by the video store and picked up 3 more DVDs... each containing 4 more episodes. We began watching them immediately.

Sunday morning around 2am, I fell asleep. Queenie followed 4 hours later. When we finally awoke later that morning, I caught up the 4 episodes I was behind and Queenie took a nap.

There was only 1 DVD left at the video store. We heard it calling out our names... begging to be watched. Queenie had a hair appointment (you should totally check it out, her hair is fabulous!), so she returned the 3 DVDs we had and rented the last one.

We watched the last one that afternoon.

I should tell you that we watched 23 hours of Ugly Betty.

Twenty!

Three!

We are seriously addicted. We are junkies.

And like junkies, Q and I are not quite sated. Season 2 is airing every Thursday evening smack in the middle of another show we watch. What are two addicted (albeit, good) gals supposed to do? The dealer that they used to get their first fix is all out of new ~~drugs~~ episodes and they have missed 4 fresh episodes of the season.

Q heard of this new dealer - he will give you bootleg copies for a fee, but I don't like his name, TiVo... sounds shady.

Word on the street is you can view them online. I think secretly Q is in her cubicle at work sneaking Ugly Betty fixes between projects. I can't quite prove it yet, but she is showing all the signs of a closeted junkie.

Why is U.B. so addictive? It can't be the realistic plots - Rebecca Romijn as Alexis who was once Alex, who now thinks he is still Alex, but looks like Alexis. Maybe it is because it is based on a telenovela (soap opera), Betty La Fea and I have always wanted to watch one.

Or it could be the deep message it is conveying in a funny and addictive way: What you look like on the inside is much more important than what you look like on the outside. Even if you are a bit hungover from drinking two bottles of wine when your immunities are low an your hair is matted to your head and your panties are all twisted under your sweat pants and you have old mascara caked under your eyelids because you didn't shower, you are still a diva inside!

Even if you thought this was a good homage to the 80's last Halloween.

You are still a diva inside...

100 Vomits, Outed Wizards and a Sleeping Cat

2007-10-22T15:09:00.001-05:00

This is my 100th post!

100 random vomits put forth by my nimble fingers and my Swiss cheese brain.

100 stories of my cat, my phone and my tampons.

100 excuses to exploit my family and share cheesy photos.

In honor of my 100 posts, and for being such a great ~~blog following~~ family, I am announcing my first ever contest. In 100 words or less, write an essay detailing all of the fabulous things about me.

The winner will be chosen based on: sarcasm, use of the word "delicious", number of references to my spinsterhood and my cat, mention of my brown turtleneck, over analysis of my current hairstyle and of course it must contain references to ~~my social life~~ TV and movies. To be in the running, you must also include details of my freakish height, my family and my neuroses. The entries need to be received in the comments section no later than 5pm CST on October 31, 2070.

The prize is an autographed life-sized poster of this photo:

Good luck and happy writing!

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There is a revelation it seems stemming from a Carnegie Hall reading given by J.K. Rawling, author of Harry Potter, where a fan asked if the Headmaster Dumbledore ever found love. The revelation is that Dumbledore was in love with a man. He was in a wizard's closet. He was gay.

The question was: Did Dumbledore, who believed in the prevailing power of love, ever fall in love himself?

JKR’s respnse: My truthful answer to you... I always thought of Dumbledore as gay. [ovation.] ... Dumbledore fell in love with Grindelwald, and that that added to his horror when Grindelwald showed himself to be what he was. To an extent, do we say it excused Dumbledore a little more because falling in love can blind us to an extent? But, he met someone as brilliant as he was, and rather like Bellatrix he was very drawn to this brilliant person, and horribly, terribly let down by him. Yeah, that's how i always saw Dumbledore. In fact, recently I was in a script read through for the sixth film, and they had Dumbledore saying a line to Harry early in the script saying I knew a girl once, whose hair... [laughter]. I had to write a little note in the margin and slide it along to the scriptwriter, "Dumbledore's gay!" [laughter] "If I'd known it would make you so happy, I would have announced it years ago!"

What impresses me most is not that she proclaimed one of the most beloved characters in recent literature was gay, but that this fact neither changed nor dictated her book. It was a part of who he was, like the color of his eyes or the size of his heart. When penning this tale, J.K. knew Dumbledore’s sexual orientation. It was in her mind when she told his story and described his actions and conversations with Harry. She did not turn her book into a pro-gay work, but rather kept it a part of who he was. This lack of agenda makes it all the more profound.

It is a wondrous thing when open-minded people (a woman nonetheless) are blessed with a penchant for writing.

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Static must sleep atop things. Any things.

If a pair of shoes are on the floor...he is there. If you leave a couple of pizza boxes by the door so that you can take them to the garbage later...he is there. If your couch has cushy arms that are beige linen and show every speck of cat hair...he is there. If your coffee table has a nice table runner that was a little pricier than you care to admit and you would hate to have a fine patina of fur all over it... he is there.

I think it is residual behaviour from when cats were fierce predators. They would need to have the greatest advantage for hunting, so naturally they would need to be higher than their prey. Sleeping would have been necessary to conserve energy and they would have to at least have 22 hours or so. They would hear the tiniest rustle of leaves and it would awake them and with only animal instinct on their side, they would pounce. I like to pretend that Static is a fierce hunter... it totally cracks me up.

Crazy Duck Alarm Clock

2007-10-12T14:14:00.000-05:00

There is this duck on my pond.

In the all too early hours of the morning I hear his maniacal “quack” mocking me as I try in vain to hold on to my slumber. Actually, his "quack" is more of a laugh, with a cadence like none I have ever heard. I think he is much like a character in a bad mob movie, full of odd flaws yet strikes fear into the inhabitants of the murky waters below my balcony. His build is squatty causing him much trouble keeping his pants up. As he waddles around, he gives them an occasional hike. A stubby cigar is clenched in his bill making the intonation of his voice that much crazier.

In the evenings, his rants become personal. He may give his cackle in response to me breaking a nail or dropping a dish. I swear I heard his distinctive guffaw when I couldn’t find my glasses last week.

The weather is tuning cold and my windows are shut, but I still hear a muffled chortle every morning.

Soon the pond will freeze and the miniature mob boss will have to make his way to Boca to torment someone else.

Fly safe duck…you crazy bastard.

Humid to Frigid

2007-10-10T10:23:00.000-05:00

It was so hot and humid last Sunday that the Twin Cities Marathon was a bear to run. The temp was in the 70's and the dew point was 90! 900 people who began the race did not finish it. The Chicago Marathon was cancelled 3 and a half hours into the race and around 300 people were rushed away by ambulance.

I was also affected. The air conditioner ran full blast in my apartment that day and I was sweating during my walk to the mailbox. Okay, not quite the same thing.

Monday's high was 52. This morning it was 38.

I slept with socks on last night and I am contemplating putting on the heat. Queenie had on a sweatshirt and long johns when she groggily made her way to the bathroom. And speaking of bathroom... Nothing. I mean nothing is worse than dropping trow and exposing your toasty warm butt cheeks to the frigid toilet seat first thing in the morning!

I don't know if I should complain. I mean I did say that I love Autumn... blah, blah, blah, wool sweater...brown turtleneck, but I would like to fully pack my bikini(HAHAHAHA) away before I drag the the winter garb out.

Don't you agree Queenie?

Tuesday Titter

2007-10-09T09:33:00.000-05:00

Titter #1: Autumn

Autumn is my favorite.

It suits my clothes.

Prepare to see the brown turtleneck at least once a week until May.

Get used to this sweater; it will keep me snuggly until the first blooms of spring.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Titter #2: Free Stuff.

My social life is pretty lame these days. I spend my time in dimly lit rooms staring up at a screen surrounded by popcorn munching spinsters (my peeps) and the noise of straws battling the ice to slurp the last bit of soda. Yes, I am a movie nerd. I mentioned this earlier here. I take this job very seriously and have applied for a little thing called the

REGAL(al. al. al) GOLD(old. old. old.) CROWN(own. own. own.) CLUB(ub. ub. ub.)

This plastic gem earns points just for feeding my sad addiction. Simply presenting this card whilst paying what is equivalent to a mortgage (hello $9?) earns points. When you have enough points (and you are unable to eat because you spent so much money at the movie to earn them) you magically earn a free soda, free small popcorn or the pinnacle…

A free movie ticket. Ah.

I not only flaunt my movie-nerdery at the theatre, I also give props to my homies at the video store. I joined their nifty club called the

BLOCK (ock. ock. ock.) BUSTER (uster. uster. uster.) REWARDS (well you get the idea).

This club had some up front dues (the most prestigious clubs usually do), but for an entire year I not only have the privilege of carrying around an extra piece of plastic but I also reap some pretty sweet benefits.

All of this just for doing what I love.

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Titter #3: Pushing Daisies

Quirky. Dark. Light. Odd.

I love this show. It is refreshing to see a creative concept come to life and hold my interest for a full hour.

Basically, there is this guy, Ned, he can touch dead things and make them come back to life. He ends up helping a detective solve crimes. Ned owns a pie shop that reminds me of a scene from a Strawberry Shortcake episode.

His "gift" has some stipulations. If he touches the reanimated again, they will go back to their death. Also, he can only keep the person alive for 60 seconds. If he doesn't touch them again another person has to die in their place. In the first episode Ned brings back Chuck, his childhood crush. He chooses to let her live and now can never touch her again.

The show is a delicious visual treat. The bright colors make you feel like you are looking through a story book.

Monday Monday

2007-10-08T12:38:00.001-05:00

6 o’clock already? I was just in the middle of a dream. I was kissing Valentino by a crystal blue Italian stream…

Yes folks, it is just another Manic Monday…

Of course I woke up late. But, to my defense I somehow turned off my alarm instead of hitting the ‘snooze’ button the obligatory 4 times I do every morning. It was unfortunate too, because I was sent in the downward spiral that comes with starting the day off on the wrong foot.

I raced around to find the pants that required the least amount of ironing and/or cat hair removal. Once I found them, I had to choose a shirt with the same specifications plus an added feature of fitting over the tire that has grown in my midsection since last fall. This task can be a daunting one and I think the addition of a time crunch proved to work in my favor… perhaps I will sleep in tomorrow too. Once I matched my clothes, threw my hair into a damp ponytail/trendy knot concoction and slathered on some mascara, I was ready to depart. Since I was running late, I had no time to make coffee.

I arrived at work only 4 minutes late, but I felt like I had already missed hours. Everyone had already gathered to chat about the weekend in polite conversation and the coffee pot was almost empty. I say, “almost” because the last person to grab a cup left exactly enough java in the pot to fill my cup exactly one inch. I poured the pathetic dribble into my mug and drank it down – I needed it that bad. I started a fresh pot and then went back to my desk to wait for the slow drip of caffeine.

The usual Monday morning email trail helps me to plan out the day and I start to feel caught up…then, I remembered the hot coffee waiting for me in the break room.

I leap from my chair (yeah right, like I leap…ha) and race to the pot only to find it is being emptied into a carafe to take to the board meeting.

“What?” I say as the last bit of energy falls out of my body into a pool on the floor.

“It is for the board meeting.”

“O.K., I will make another pot.”

“Could you? Great!”

I make another pot and return to my desk. A few minutes later, I eagerly go to fill up my mug. This time another coworker is filling up the carafe and she says, “If you want a cup, better take it now. This is for the board.”

We exchange eye-rolls and I filled my mug and returned to read the remainder of my emails.

The rest of my emails were the same old stuff…do this now, do this later, do this when you have a chance and the one where my favorite tech guy is leaving.

I don't like to pick favorites. In fact, I have the utmost respect for anyone who is a tech-nerd, but this guy was THE tech nerd. He was the architect of most of what I depend on to do my job. There are other people in our organization who are smart and talented, but something about him being with us from the beginning made me feel grounded. I knew if he didn't know the answer, it probably was unsolvable.

He is like…he is like…hmmm, well he is like grass. You know how if you draw a picture and you have a sky, a house, a tree and maybe a puppy, but you forget to scribble some green on the bottom to ground the picture and all of the objects appear to just be floating with no where to grow from… Well, he is like that. Grass.

It is hard to replace grass. I have witnessed people spending thousands of dollars on sod (fake ~~tech nerds~~ grass) to try to replicate it, but it never is quite the same. I have also seen it where people try to put other things in its place like concrete or stone and it serves the purpose, but it isn’t the same.

I will miss you, grass man… not to be confused with ass man (blatant Seinfeld reference).

Angel's Trip

2007-10-05T13:12:00.000-05:00

Angel, my doggie cousin went with us to Uncle DadsBro's cabin. She mostly sniffed around and napped.

Wonder what she dreamt about?

Or, maybe her boy friend (friend that is a boy)...

Nah, I like to think she dreamed of sunny beaches and endless amounts of sticks and endless amounts of people with endless amounts of energy to throw them.

Go North My Friends And Celebrate. Chapter Two: The Family Bonding Day.

2007-10-04T13:35:00.000-05:00

Day two was to be the day we spent on the boat, cruising for fish, chicks, boys or whatever you cruise for on a lake in Minnesota.

It was the only full day we were there.

It was the only day it rained.

An interesting phenomenon occurs when it rains the full day and you are with your entire family in a small cabin.

First the rooms shrink.

Then boredom takes over and the board games, books, cards and blackberries (blackberries?) come out.

Boredom may also make you see all of the objects around you as art.

Queenie and I had a bit of a contest to see who could look more pitiful. I think I won.

JMan taught us all how to make a 'farting' noise with your mouth. He is a genius when it comes to emulating bodily functions (Beaner, you keep a hold of this one!)

When I said earlier, "our entire family". I meant it... We even had our two college kids there:

Even though the day was dreary and the boredom played tricks with our mind, we never lost sight of the big picture. We were there to party (I may even say par-tay). We needed to get the corn shucked, get some beer drank and of course get out the streamers.

After all, the weekend was all about celebrating a HALF CENTURY.

Toward nightfall, when we ate enough shucking corn to feed a shucking army, we had a little ~~fire~~ birthday cake.

Now, when you blow out ~~the forest fires of the entire northern hemisphere~~ 50 candles, you naturally need a nap. But, we wouldn't let him sleep... not when there were games afoot!

We had to play a rousing game with these:

A two hour rousing game.

TWO!! HOURS!!

I guess boredom also makes you bat around latex.

It sure was pretty entertaining watching everyone bump, set and spike the balloons at each other.

Wasn't it Dad?

Dad?

Okay... you sleep. Dream about sun. Perhaps it will be out tomorrow.

to be continued...

It is WENDsday...

2007-10-03T10:19:00.000-05:00

Happy Happy Hump Day.

Hump Day sounds so naughty. I remember snickering at hearing it as a kid – probably because I had just learned the alternate meaning of the wore ‘hump’. Even though I thought I was being gross saying it, I definitely used it more often than the actual ‘W’ word. I struggled with that word. And before the fabulous discovery of spellchecker, I would use phrases like, “the day that falls after Tuesday”, “the day before Thursday”.

In my defense, the consonants are all jumbled. The‘d’ and the ‘n’ are clearly in the wrong place!

This got me thinking of other words that have plagued me through my life. And one jumps right to the forefront: license. This mutilation of consonants didn’t actually cause me strife until it was pointed out to me by a Driver’s Ed teacher in my 15th year.

IsterMay AetherRay (Pig Latinized as to protect his identity), said to the class on the very first day, “this word is very often misspelled, I will dock points from your tests if you misspell it.”

This one statement scarred me for life. I will forever second guess myself when it comes to writing it. Even now, I typed it in and ran it through spellchecker. I need a handy pneumonic device (see I can actually spell, I just typed pneumonic without stuttering).

Other words are: maintenance (maintainance???), receive (I totally know “i” before “e”, but for some reason this one always causes me to pause), even though (I like to make this one word).

This site shows a list of the 100 most misspelled words. It makes me feel like part of a phonetically challenged club when I see that 3 of the words I mentioned are on the list.

What are some words you will admit to misspelling?

P.S. I am working on Part Two of the Cabin trip... I hope you are not holding your breaths! If you are holding your breath, stop it… I mean it, purple skin does not look good on you

Tuesday Titter

2007-10-02T12:51:00.000-05:00

In my next life I want to be a maker of commercials. I imagine this occupation would require only 3 things: a creative mind, a large vat of Café Americano and an overstuffed beanbag on which to lounge all day dreaming up ads that captivate your senses and make you believe that you cannot live without things like winged maxi-pads and the latest Iwhatever.

I have a ginormous crush on this little insurance peddling gecko. I adore the way he talks. I adore the way he licks his little eyeball and holds his coffee mug. I have never purchased the insurance, but I shush everyone when his commercials come on. How fun would it be to be the voice behind the gecko? How fun would it be to write copy like, “You’re like a brother to me?”

This next ad is amazing. I think the visuals are spectacular, but also love the sweet song that provides the perfect backdrop and makes me want to buy whatever they are selling.

A blurb from their site:

When you're introducing the next generation of television, you want to make an impact - but that doesn't mean you have to shout at the top of your voice. And it doesn't mean you have to be predictable. To announce the arrival of the BRAVIA LCD and 3LCD range, we wanted to get across a simple message - that the colour you'll see on these screens will be 'like no other'.

Sending 250,000 multi-coloured 'superballs' bouncing down the streets of San Francisco may seem the strangest way to do this, but that's exactly what Danish director Nicolai Fuglsig did for the BRAVIA commercial in July 2005. San Franciscans have seen some unusual things in their time, but even this gave them something to talk about. And we've got the feeling that this commercial is going to do exactly the same thing.

Sure did.

Hello October!

2007-10-01T16:48:00.001-05:00

Goodbye September!

Don't let the door hitcha where the good Lord splitcha!

Go North My Friends And Celebrate. Chapter One: The Sunny Arrival

2007-09-17T16:16:00.000-05:00

It has been two weeks and I finally went through the slough of pictures snapped on our weekend trip to Uncle DadsBro’s cabin. (through the slough…how flippin’ poetic).

Day One: Uncle DadsBro, Aunt DadsSis, Queenie and I cut out of work a bit early and drove to the land of fresh air and tiny grocery stores. We arrived just in time to run into ‘town’ and buy ~~some beer~~ the necessities, decorate for the big half decade celebration and ~~take a pee~~ relax before the travelers from the east arrived. It was a beautiful evening.

Uncle DadsBro's Cabin (view from the dock). Notice the sun.

The Cabin down the walk... where I was forced to sleep in the same cabin as fart-in-his-sleep-cousin (JellyBeanMan). Still noticing the sun.

Beautiful lake. Notice the sun setting? It went to sleep and didn't wake until Sunday.

Dad, JMan and Beaner were traveling by purple PT Cruiser from Wisconsin. An 8 hour trip affording many Big Gulps of soda and several visits to gas station bathrooms. One particularly interesting stop prompted Dad (who is ever on the look out to expand his t-shirt collection) to buy this:

Classy.

When all travelers were reunited and hugs, comments about shirts, congrats about engagements and polite “how was the trips” were exchanged, we all settled in for a beer and some strategic planning.

Dad and DadsBro got right down to business and plotted the best course to bring home the big one (or they were trying to solve world problems, no one really knows).

By the way, I learned a new thing that weekend - those specs that Dad and DadsBro are sporting are called "cheaters". I love to expand my geriatric vocabulary.

Meanwhile, the rest of us got restless. I had only two goals for the weekend.

1. Relax.
2. Get my campfire on.

Nothing is better than the smell of burning wood, the taste of cold beer and yarns about your Dad and his sibs.

Sweet pipe, Uncle DadsBro!

Since Dad was up that morning before the sun and his eyes have seen a half decade, we decided to turn in for the night.

To be continued...

So Midwest. So Very Midwest!

2007-09-13T12:49:00.000-05:00

Driving back from Uncle DadsBro's cabin last weekend, we were treated to this sign as we were in the drive thru lane at the DQ.

Something about his use of flannel and chubby cheeks in his brilliant marketing made me chuckle. I can easily picture Keith snuggled into a corner booth chattin' it up with the local flavor. In front of him is a plate of fried chicken and a glob of mashed potatoes straight out of the box.

This sign and restaurant could be anywhere in the midwest... I love it.

I couldn't remember exactly where Keith's Kettle was located, so I did a little searching and I was delighted to find Keith has a video.... A video!

When I pass that way again (Clearwater, MN) I will probably still opt for the DQ next door, but I will have a little more appreciation for Keith and his heatlamp buffet.

Tuesday Titter

2007-08-28T11:22:00.000-05:00

In an effort to save brain cells, save money and save sanity, I have recently given up cable. One would think that the absence of 94 channels would significantly cut down the amount of vegetative lounging in front of the boob tube I do, but one would be wrong.

It just takes me less time to flip mindlessly through the channels now. I have what they call rabbit ears…nifty antennae that stick out of the top of my tube de boob and pick up several channels of quality programming.

Rabbit ears are way cool. They make my TV look like it belongs in the 70’s… back when the sets had dials on them and remotes were rare. They certainly do a first-class job too. With their help I get 11 channels. I catch your usual CBS, ABC, NBC, FOX affiliates. These satisfy my news jonez and provide me with my morning Al Roker fix. I loves me some Al Roker. They also pick up the signal for theCW, UPN and PBS… perfect for my Antiques Roadshow and Peoples Court habit. Oh, but it doesn’t stop there… I can also get 3 bible-thumpy-preachy-raise-your-hands-to-praise-Him channels, one called “Forty-Five” and even a Home Shopping channel.

It isn’t all fun and Al Roker though… I do miss cable. I was really on my way to becoming a Foodie with the FoodNetwork and I just started getting into Cash Cab on Discovery Channel.

I miss things like cheesy movies that run eleventymillion times on TBS. I yearn for Joel McHale and his sarcastic recap of the week’s news on the Soup. I heart Joel McHale

My television viewing habits have acclimated to what is available and I have new loves. For instance, I discovered a little show called the Singing Bee. This show had to be dreamed up with me in mind. The concept is simple: sing the exact words to songs. That is it. Queenie and I sing along with the no-talent contestants at the top of our lungs and dream of one day winning the cheap plastic trophy and the bragging rights that go along with it.

I have also become a crime show junky. I wait with baited breath through the beginning of Law and Order for that distinctive sound.

CSI Las Vegas is probably my favorite of the CSIs… although, they are missing one thing...

50

2007-08-18T10:31:00.000-05:00

Dad... Happy 5 decades!

Half century... how adorable!

Tuesday Titter

2007-08-14T13:44:00.000-05:00

Green hat.

Impish grin.

"Peace"

30

2007-08-08T16:15:00.001-05:00

The Beaner is 3 decades old today!

Beaner and I are separated by an entire state. This makes me miss her terribly, but also affords me to post some pictures without threat of punishment...

Beaner circa '77... nice hair.

Beaner was my first pal (so sorry about that hair comment...apparently mine wasn't much better).

We were inseparable.

Even when she tried to show me up. Damn her cuteness!

I am sure she will have a ton of fun today without me... she is probably donning her party dress now.

I just hope she keeps it on and doesn't go prancing around in her bikini.

Oh, Beaner... I can't wait 'til later this month when I can properly initiate you into the 30's! We will celebrate and go crazy.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SMOOCHES AND HUGS!!!

Tuesday Titter

2007-08-07T11:47:00.000-05:00

The actual Encarta Dictionary definition of titter is: to laugh in a nervous self-conscious way

I almost changed the title of my semi-regular Tuesday postings to a more fitting one, but feel that "Tuesday Guffaw" or "Tuesday Chortle" just doesn’t have the alliteration I am looking for. And as anyone allows attesting, I am all about alliteration. Besides, a lot of what goes into a "Tuesday Titter" post is inspired by an awkward obsession I have or an embarrassing situation that made me titter.

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I was shopping for some upcoming birthday ~~copouts on an actual gift~~ cards the other day and there was an entire section of Muppet Show inspired cards.

My heart did a little nostalgic leap at seeing Fozzy, Kermit and Animal gracing the cover of the recycled paper greetings. I tore into each one anticipating a trip down memory lane and perhaps shed some bittersweet tears reflecting on my bygone childhood. I eagerly read each hoping to find the humor that used to make me howl with laughter.

I found lackluster messages and absolutely NO trademark sayings.

No "Wocka Wocka".

No "Bork Bork Bork".

Thus, no cards from the Muppet genre were purchased. I opted for some sarcastic humor induced greetings.

The Muppet Show was one of my favorite shows growing up. I remember thinking it was laced with some adult humor and I was being naughty just watching it.

Choosing a favorite character or sketch would be too difficult, but there was always an extra bit of excitement when the Swedish Chef made an appearance. He was deliciously inappropriate and he had real human hands. “Bork Bork Bork!”

The stodgy old men Statler and Waldorf were a hoot. Their sarcasm helped shape the way I express myself today.

There is a lot of information about this fabulous show and I strongly urge you to trek the trek of your childhood. Start with the Wiki site.

If you don’t have a couple of hours to spend catching up with Pigs in Space and Gonzo, here is a treat to whet your Muppet appetite.

Guest author: Static

2007-07-31T13:03:00.000-05:00

“I will write today!” she declares as she plops down in front of her laptop that is propped up on a pillow in her bed causing it to jar and threaten to fall. The air conditioner is blowing gusts of frigid air towards her legs and she pulls the quilt over her.

At this time Static, her fat and meddlesome cat, cozies up to the computer and bats his enormous paws at the screen trying to catch the cursor as his human pal types. His other mammoth paw rests on the keyboard and Stuffanie struggles to delete the random numbers and letters that invade her own typing. Static doesn’t notice the disdain and continues to chase the letters on the screen while indolently purring.

Something more interesting catches Static’s eye and he casually walks across the keyboard to make his exit off the bed.

1111dzzqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq louihy \\48

Stuffanie looks at the cryptic message left by his foot and wonders who “louihy” is and if there is any significance of ‘48’.

I am thinking this post solidifies my journey to becoming the scary cat lady! I need to get out more.

One intern is green the other intern is telling me I need to diet.

2007-07-27T15:56:00.000-05:00

Since Queenie is away this week at a conference (“away” meaning she is in Minneapolis), I have a license to eat and possess food that she abhors. I have stocked my refrigerator with items that make her guts wretch and her nostrils flare in repugnance. Pickled beets in all their red-counter-staining-juicy-goodness and a nice piece of salmon have made me a nice meal or two. Yum. Salmon.

Note: In all fairness, there are a couple of items that I would prefer Queenie not having. For example, under no circumstances can a...dare I say it, dare I even imagine the repulsive stink – banana make a home on the counter. She can certainly purchase them and eat them but, the little yellow purveyors of stench are not allowed to reside any place that I may catch whiff of them. Oh and don’t even get me started on that sickening squishy slobbery noise made when you eat that devil fruit… shudder.

Anyway, along with the Queenie-detested food, the other change is smaller portion cooking mostly in the microwavable genre of cuisine. I purchased a couple of those new fancy pants, single serving vegetables with the light rosemary butter sauce and brought one to work today. It made a nice side to my leftover pasta.

I was busy heating my little pouch of veggies when one of the interns came into the break room. We chatted it up for 3 and one quarter minutes while my vegetable packet cooked.

She is about 10 years my junior and sweet and quiet. She was discussing her view on living ‘green’ and I was bobbing my head along with what she was saying as if I were interested. In reality, my thoughts were on rosemary butter sauce and if I should rent a movie tonight.

When the microwave beeped and I pulled out my miniature pouch of buttered lunch carefully as not to burn my fingertips, she said with some recognition, “That smells like rosemary.”

I said, “Yup, that is rosemary.”

“Are those individual serving pouches?” Pause. Nose wrinkle. The word individual said with extra emphasis.

“Yeah, I know not good for the environment.” Sigh. Fake concern.

”Ah, well just make sure you rinse it and recycle. I don’t mean to sound snotty, but I’m just used to thinking about things like that.”

“Yeah, ok.”

With her lecture over I resumed my lunch preparation rolling my eyes and shaking my head. As she exited our break room another intern came in. Also 10 years my junior. Also sweet and quiet.

Today was her last day with our company and as I inquired about what her future plans were, she too smelled the pungent rosemary wafting from my veggies.

”That smells really good,” she said. “I didn’t know they made individual servings like that. How convenient.”

Ready to defend my actions against the environment, I replied, “Yes, I think so too.”

“Since I live by myself now, I think I may try those. I hate cooking a lot of food just for me.”

“I know what you mean. I am used to eating for two, but now I am eating for one.”

“Wow, I didn’t know!” She said this with a certain congratulatory sound in her voice. I was not sure what she meant at this point.

After a couple of moments, I thought perhaps I should explain that I have a roommate and not a husband because I was sure that the “wow, I didn’t know” comment was just her reaction to the fact that her interpretation of my depressing single with one cat life was incorrect.

She must be thinking I am married. I mean, why would she be so startled at my suddenly making less food.

So I said, “My roommate is at a conference and I usually make enough for two, but this week I am making one portion meals. Just for me.”

“Oh.” She said nodding and looking in the direction of my belly.

This very unsubtle gaze at my midsection made me understand what was going on in her head.

As my cheeks flushed, I realized I said “eating” not “cooking”.

The time that I admitted I will probably enjoy watching a film about a little wizard and his school chums.

2007-07-11T10:53:00.000-05:00

Today is the first of two significant summertime events for Queenie. It is the day Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix opens in theatres (the second event being the last H.P. book).

This doesn’t mean too much to me of course. You see, I am one of the few souls that didn’t get hooked into J.K. Rowling’s little world of wizardry and lore. I have been affected however. I have hardly been able to chat with Q since her nose has been buried in various Harry Potter books. Books she has read 2 or 3 times already. It seems she is cramming for the movies much like she would if she was prepping for the SATs and she is taking me along for the ride. I have learned terms like ‘muggle’ and ‘pollyjuice potion’. I am prepared for Harry’s godfather to die in this movie. I know that Harry gets his first kiss in this movie. I know that Harry is 15 in this movie because it is the 5th movie and Harry was 11 in the first. I am schooled and I will be seeing this movie, probably tonight. Probably in 3D Imax.

Queenie nearly convinced me to see this movie at 6 am today. SIX… A… M… But, this muggle convinced Q to stay in her warm safe bed. Expecto Slumborum!

Oh Q. I will see this film and I will probably enjoy it.

Is it wrong that I may be thinking about this instead?

Tuesday Titter

2007-07-10T14:14:00.001-05:00

I heart my lint roller. The ingenious simplicity of it makes me titter.

Every inch of my life is covered in cat hair. The sticky rolls of the greatest (if not most “green”... sorry future generations) creation are the only thing that can combat the blankets and blankets of fine grey hair that can be vacuumed but never truly eradicated.

A typical day for me and cat hair goes something like this… wake up and push my cat off of my arm, cough and hack up the hair that has traveled down my trachea, scrape the hair off my tongue, shower the cat hair off my body, towel dry my body adding cat hair back on, run the lint roller over my clothes, put clothes on, lint roll clothes one more time before leaving my house, travel in car to work (car that cats have NEVER been in), pull lint roller out of my drawer and run it over my clothes again.

Tuesday Titter

2007-06-26T16:55:00.001-05:00

I am putting together a PowerPoint for a meeting I am having tomorrow.

I decided to ham it up and add graphics of myself to let people know what I do and that I wear many hats. See if you can guess what I do...

I answer the phone.

I chat online a lot.

I wear this hat sometimes:

I also do this a lot:

And most of all I do it all while being motherly.

***Disclaimer: resemblance to the Virgin Mary is not intentional.

All I really want to do is this...

Ok, not really. Unless it is on a cool game show like the Price Is Right. Hey I heard Rosie isn't taking the gig...L.A. here I come!

Bad teeth equal good times.

2007-06-25T13:29:00.000-05:00

88 cents bought us entertainment for an entire weekend once.

It all started during a beer run when we were in the Dells Wisconsin not too long ago. You see, we were heartbroken after being denied at the movie theater, so we decided to pick up some drinky, some snacks and a board game. We found a Wal-Mart Super Center about 35 miles away.

We learned from the brilliant advertising all around the beer coolers that NO ALCOHOL CAN BE SOLD AFTER 9 PM… ONLY BEER. I love the Dairyland and it’s delicious priorities! Anyway, we decided to pick up some beer, some cups, Apples to Apples and a 4 pack of novelty teeth.

We could not wait to tear into those babies and immediately put them in. Beaner chose who should get which pair using a scientific process based on mouth size. For some reason, she decided I should have the largest pair.

Queenie put hers to good use right away.

JMan's teeth made him go cross-eyed.

Then, since we weren’t absurd and geeky enough and because we were polishing off the last of the beer, we decided to pretend that we smoked. We thought the brand name of the candy cigarettes was appropriate.

I know what you’re thinking, “Pretend smoking and pretend bad teeth? Crazy bastards!”

The only bad thing was the chocolate of the cigarettes melted and it looked like our “cool accessories” fell into dog shit. Good times.

The rest of the weekend saw beautiful shots like these...

Out of all of us tho'...Beaner totally got into the teeth!

How cilantro can make you my BFF

2007-06-21T16:00:00.000-05:00

Today we had a field trip to Chipotle. Our 20 person staff all piled into various mini vans and Jettas and headed across town to Chipotle because they were celebrating our nonprofit organization and were providing all of us with free lunch. Chipotle is super busy at lunch time but they were very accommodating and quick with our various burrito, taco and fajita orders.

Since it was so busy, we were sprinkled here and there in the tiny dining space. I ended up smack across my immediate supervisor. This was good because she shared her guac and chips. (Um if you are not familiar with Chipotle, I suggest you drop everything and go to your nearest location and consume as much of the heavenly guac as possible).

Still reading… fine, but when you are done it is straight to guac!

Anyway, while munching down my burrito bowl, (um if you are not familiar with Chipotle, I suggest you drop everything and go to your nearest location and consume a burrito bowl – ask for no rice and extra lettuce so that you have room for guac) I asked said supervisor a question and waited for the reply. When I looked up from my bowl of burrito goodness, my eyes went directly to her teeth. They were covered in flecks of cilantro. The whole scene was reminiscent of moss on trees in a Louisiana bayou

Should I say something?

Should I just blatantly run my tongue over my teeth hoping she’ll get the hint?

My eyes wandered aimlessly around the room, but landed right back into the bayous of cilantro.
As I stared the mess, I began to see that as she talked they disappeared. Pretty soon there was only one lone fleck lodged between her incisor and cuspid. I pondered the pros and cons of telling her. On the one hand, I would hope that someone would tell me. On the other hand, I don’t know if we have developed that tight of bond yet. As I thought, I continued to run my tongue over my teeth the whole time making little smacking noises.

I couldn’t stand it any longer.

I told her.

She thanked me and called me her best friend. I thought to myself, “You probably shouldn’t call me that since I had to convince myself to do this and I compared you to a bayou and everything.” But, I felt justified and good about it. I had saved her from utter embarrassment at the 1:00 meeting we both were attending after the field trip.

So, the 1:00 meeting comes and goes.

Around 2:45 I visit the ladies room.

I look into the mirror when I wash my hands admiring my reflection and how perky my boobs look in the shirt I am wearing. I give a little smile and teeth check and what should glare right back at me? That’s right…a huge…green… mother flippin’ fleck of cilantro!

I guess I have no B.F.F.s in the workplace. Heavy sigh. But, free burrito bowl...mmmmm

Tuesday Titter

2007-06-19T15:55:00.000-05:00

Today my boobies are making me titter. HeeHee boobie.

Disclaimer: The information contained in this post is not pertaining to the seabird belonging to the Sulidae family - Booby. I am actually referring to the breast

Now, I know you all are wondering why I don’t go for the obvious joke here and say, “Tits make me titter.”

Well, the word tit is too bovine. I don’t chuckle when I hear it. It conjures up images of a farmer straddling a small wooden stool tugging at pink utters dangling from a manure laden cow. It makes me think of strippers and porn and naughty things. Tit is just not funny.

Boobie is funny. Boobie. Boobie. Boobie.

Anyway… on a normal day, my boobies are NOT a source of amusement. We aren’t on good terms most of the time. They give me backaches. They are large and awkward and they get super sensitive every 21 days or so. But, today… today they are hilarious!

First, a little background…

Since my family tree is filled with the genes of buxom beauties, I have inherited a pair of ~~saggy~~ large breasts. This “gift” of large bosoms poses challenges when I am hunting for a sling in which to hoist them for long periods of time.

It needs to lift. It needs to separate. It needs to have cup space for gargantuan sacs of mammalian flesh. Strong wire and fabric are key components. Pretty lace, bows and pearls take a backseat. You need to have a good balance of structure and comfort. The perfect bra would probably be made of steel beams covered in marshmallow clouds.

Since I live in the real world and marshmallow makes me sticky, I settle for the Balconette from Lane Bryant… this bra is AMAZING! It is like a large-breasted NASA engineer designed it after taking a trip to the moon where her boobies defied gravity. It lifts. It separates. It comes in large lady sizes.

I love the Balconette. I have several.

Today. They were all in the clothes hamper. I decided to wear the poor man’s Balconette that I picked up at a different store.

Boobies lifted – check
Comfort and adequate coverage – check
Separated – CHECK. CHECK. AND DOUBLE CHECK.

They are separated alright! VERY SEPARATED. There is at least a 3 inch space between them. Not only that, the cups are angled freakishly outward.

One boobie is pointed to my right arm. One boobie is pointed to my left.

My nipples are pointed at 45 degree angles away from my body like butterfly antennae.

If you stood next to me, I may whack you in the arm accidentally and then try sheepishly to explain that I wasn't trying to get your attention. You might then look at me and wonder what the heck is wrong with my enormous rack and why I think it is acceptable to go around whacking people with them. It is better that I stay at my desk.

I am assured by my sister that I am hallucinating and am the only one seeing this, but I laugh every time I look down.

Boobies. Angled Boobies. TeeHee

Yeah, I am sorry I forgot your name...but, I can sing every word to "Ice Ice Baby"

2007-05-31T12:32:00.000-05:00

My sibs and I have a soundtrack to our lives that was created by our warped parents taste in music, musty recordings of Disney tunes from Grandma’s basement, and the wonderful, blissful years of MTV in its toddler years before it became the non-music garbage it is today.

We used to play this game (OK, we still do) where you flip through the channels on the radio and the first person to name the song before it is sung gets a point. To accommodate every one's strengths, you could also earn points for artist. I love this game. I totally kill at this game. A skill I still hoping will someday lend to a lucrative career. Growing up, we could play this game for hours. Cheap entertainment based on something we all loved... what could be better?

I love music. It plays in the background of every memory. I have an arsenal of songs lodged deep in the corners of my brain. They reside there amongst the 87.8 billion useless bits of pop culture trivia. I have no hope of remembering a person’s name or worse yet new phone numbers (sorry Beaner, but I do have you on speed dial). But, I bet I can name that tune or tell you who played Brandon and Brenda on 90210.

Lets spark some memories shall we…

Manic Monday
Like A Virgin
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
Bear Necessities

Amanda by Boston - Sobbed for hours after 6th grade break-up... he started dating Amanda...that bitch (OK, still an open wound)

Man Eater, Hall and Oats – Dancing in the living room on Main Street, Weyauwega. Beaner’s famous dance.

Rod Stewart’s Infatuation- “Oh no not again”… 5 year old Queenie shouting the lyrics while drugged up after she broke her arm.

Jethro Tull (any song) – Dad in Bugle Boy jeans banging on the car dash or playing air guitar.

Maggie May - Thoughts of Mom in the 80’s…Feathered hair, bare feet.

The Flame (and Cheap Trick’s Greatest Hits) – Greatest camping trip!

Queen or Big Chill Soundtrack - Time to clean house girls… Like Pavlov’s dog, hearing any song from The Big Chill soundtrack or Queen’s Greatest Hits, makes me feel the need to pick up a can of Pledge.

What are some of your examples?

Tuesday Titter

2007-05-29T12:19:00.000-05:00

I love mixed tapes!

Yeah, I said tapes.

I used to make mixes of ‘stick it to the man’ type songs for my pals when they were going through some 6th grade hardship like detention for chewing gum. I had a mix of sappy love songs and power ballads to take away the heartache of break-ups. I would crank it up and sob into my pillow while sprawled across my bed in the dark.

Mom had this mixed tape that I remember sticking into my silver boombox (heehee…boombox) It had awesome (like totally tubular) songs like Yellow Submarine and Tie Me Kangaroo Down. I would sing the words to these songs and baffle all of my friends who were still singing songs from Sesame Street. When Queenie graduated from high school, Beaner and I carefully chose songs to make a tape that she could listen to when she was homesick. Beaner and I poured through our CD and tape collections to find just the right blend of music to make her cry uncontrollably and beg to come home.

Evil…I know, but she did transfer to a closer school. Thank you mixed tape!

I have since graduated to the CD… oh, but I miss the songs on some of those tapes.

Billy Joel has lent himself to many of my mixed tape endeavors. One that is soon to star in a CD mix of drinking songs. I just say this as a segue - I am so tricky.

Gotta love that song!! A pint of Guinness in your hand swaying to and fro as you belt out every word!

I love the part of Davy…who is still in the Navy and probably will be for life. Davy reminds me of The Clarence, who was in the Navy and had a tattoo of a half nekkid babe on his leg. In the video Davy makes the girl on his arm dance by flexing his arm muscles…The Clarence did the same thing with his calves.

The Clarence was my Grandpa. He is a titter-making memory of the best kind. He had tattoos up and down his arms from the Navy. His tattoos were such a part of him and I would stare at them for hours mesmerized by the hairs peeking through the silvery blue forms of faces and wings.

He had the best smile and laugh and messy hair and suspenders.

His hands were shaky, he bought me a necklace with an anchor the Christmas before he died, he loved my Grandma the way a woman should be loved and looked at her the way a woman should be looked at, and he was the first to hug me when she died.

He was just plain cool…

I once was Lost...

2007-05-25T15:04:00.000-05:00

Wednesday night. Phone Rings. I run to get it. I miss the call...as usual.

Voice message: "O.M.G. (each letter said in slight pause)! They just killed Sayid, Jin, and Bernard! This is M by the way."

Knowing exactly what she was talking about, I searched for the remote. I found it lodged between my ass and the couch cushion and immediately turned it to ABC and waited for Lost to return from commercial break.

I had given up watching Lost after the first 2 episodes of the season. I couldn’t keep up with the water cooler chatter Thursday morning at work. The show became dull… and bizarre…and…well, I was well… LOST! But, hearing the frantic blurb from M (my 15 year old cousin who just got a new RAZR phone which she puts to good use texting and sending picture mail and hysterical messages) brought me back to that beach with the deserted pals I had deserted weeks ago. Why the panic? Why did I care? I am not sure.

I ended up watching ‘til the end.

~~If you don’t give a crap~~ If you don't watch, you won’t really care about this next piece of info. Sayid, Jin and Bernard did not die. Charlie died last night. He drowned in an underwater hatch after scrawling a message of warning on his palm. He is now resting with the fishes with ink all over his hand. Well, maybe the ink has washed off now, being in the water and all.

I loved Charlie. Crooked mouth. Accent. Scruffiness.

R.I.P. you brave, once-drug-addicted-cutie.

That night, I also said goodbye to American Idol with much relief. I enjoyed this season, but I felt a slave to its power every Tuesday and Wednesday. That got me thinking about the many programs I watch and how I am relieved their season finales have all aired. I can actually emerge from my apartment during the hours between 7-10pm once again. It will take some time for my eyes to adjust, but I think it will be good.

There must be a twelve step program for T.V. addiction. There must be some type of support group that meets every Friday night (the only night of crap T.V.) with punch and cookies.

"Hello, my name is Stuff and I am addicted to T.V. It has been 2 days since my last viewing."

"Hi Stuff."

I at least have the summer to try to get over my addiction and maybe quit cold turkey come the Fall.

DAMN…. I forgot about the drug called Studio 60… it is returning (wahoo). I will have to get a patch or something, cuz I ain’t gonna’ miss this one!

Cuz? Ain’t? Gonna? T.V. rots the brain. Sorry, Miss Garnett.

Rather large hands

2007-05-23T15:18:00.000-05:00

I have rather large hands. I have a rather large interest in writing. I have a rather large crush on this brown turtleneck.

Tuesday Titter

2007-05-15T14:11:00.000-05:00

You always made me titter. The memories of you still do. They fill me with happiness and keep you close.

20 years ago today you were called Andrew at 12 year old Stuffanie’s suggestion. You had chubby cheeks and pooped all over my white sweater one time.

Thank you for saying “bro” with the extra syllable. I am laughing out loud right now, picturing your chubby cheeks uttering, “I am your Ba- Ro!”

While most people "shuffled" off to Buffalo, you "shoveled" off to Buffalo. I can still see you snuggled between the Grammas in the front seat on our way to St. Germain singing, “You go home and get your panties, I’ll go home and get my scanties and away we’ll go… oh, oh, oh, Off we’re gonna’ Shovel. Shovel off to Buffalo.”

I will toast at my wedding using your, “Put your bottoms in the air!” “Bottoms up!” is overused anyway!

You fished. You lost shoes. You posed for cheesy photos. You gave Dad purpose.

There was nothing more entertaining than listening to you tell a story. Your sound effects were unmatched. Every story had a gun shot or a blast of water even if it didn't need it.

You called your dog Hunter.

You were never ever a slave to fashion… I loved that!

Ozzy’s ass on that sleeveless tee was awesome. The best part was that it was worn to help celebrate Christmas.

Oh, and Fox Racing hats go with everything!

Thanks for hugs. Thanks for letting me call you Drew. Thanks for being responsible. Thanks for your crooked smile. Thanks for making me so proud.

I miss you. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Tuesday Titter

2007-05-08T14:14:00.000-05:00

Beaner makes me titter because she likes to giggle.

Sarah Jean.

Bean.
When she was a young sprout she was lanky and could twist her limbs like a string bean plant. Once in awhile her round belly stuck out resembling a bean you would find mixed with gooey, brown sugar sauce.

Beaner is the middle sib sandwiched between two loud, over-bearing sisters. She is quiet. She is sweet. She giggles. I adore her.

I mean…how could you not? She’s a giggler.

Speaking of Beans...

The Bush's Baked Beans guy also makes me titter like a love-sick girl. I am crushing bad when I see him bantering away with 'Duke'.

His bald head. His family secret. His overall nerdiness. I can't help it.

I also like L.L.Bean, java beans and bean dip with guacamole.

Missed Lunch.

2007-05-02T16:19:00.001-05:00

I actually missed lunch.

I also actually miss lunch... much like one misses their favorite childhood pet that has died.

Why do bad things happen to good people? How can a mealtime just slip by and go unrecognized? I guess I could examine what went wrong on this blog since I don't have anything better to write.

Let's see...well, first of all, the only cash I had was the 87 cents rambling around amongst the lint in the bottom of my laptop case and the delivery boy doesn't take my first born or credit cards. My day was filled with meetings, unrealistic deadlines, and phone calls from ~~idiots~~ misguided individuals that I was delighted to assist.

It was 3:30pm before I made this astonishing realization and that was entirely too late to remedy the situation.

It is true I had the Venti Cafe Americano earlier, but that has long passed through my guts and is resting comfortably in the Mississippi by now. It is also true that I had the yogurt that has been sitting in the employee fridge since last week (to my knowledge, this hasn't passed through any guts yet. i.e. I have not pooped.)

What am I to do? I suppose waiting until 5pm and rushing my fanny home and gobbling the entire contents of my freezer is a little unrealistic. As is driving through one of the 1/2 dozen fast food places and ordering the quadruple bypass sized fries and soda (not that I have ever done this... no, not me...never).

Nah, I will simply just go into my bag and get a piece of gum and wait it out until dinner. I can always cook my dinner a little earlier and eat cheese and chips and nibbles of whatever I am cooking while I am preparing.

But wait!

What is this?

Why, it is the low fat cranberry oat muffin I bought to go along with my Venti Cafe Americano.

I put it in my laptop bag for safe keeping. Safe keeping indeed!

Ah, sweet satisfying morsels of love and goodness.

I have been saved!

Tuesday Titter

2007-05-01T15:28:00.000-05:00

I have no grandparents. Damn cancer. Yeah, I started my Tuesday Titter with that… trust me, this will all make sense.

Now, grab a tissue and pay attention.

Since I am challenged in the area of older generational influence and spoiling, I often look upon curly, white headed adults with a little yearning.

There are these two ladies that walk every day in our parking lot. I sometimes imagine them tittering away about one of their grandsons, the doctor, and how he is still searching for his tall, witty big-boned goddess. They will see me up in my tower (read: 2nd floor office window) in all my perfectly-dyed-brown-haired glory and know instantly that they must run home and call said grandson on their rotary dial phone to tell them all about me.

I will then meet and fall in love with Dr. CuteGrannyPants and voila – I have grandparents.

Sometimes my fantasy grandparents are on TV. The Empire Carpet guy throws me into a titter induced coma when I hear his melodic voice flow out of the tube and into my cold grandparentless heart. I am not sure what he looks like (since he is a cartoon now), but I could pick out that voice in a lineup if I needed to.

I wanted to find a clip of his voice... here he is in person in 1995. Just listen to it and imagine it 12 years older reading you a bedtime story... zzzzzz

I love his voice almost as much as I love my beloved Morgan Freeman’s voice.

Ah Morgan Freeman… I would have you read me the instructions of a suppository package if it would mean your dulcet and wise tones would invade my ears. Titter.

By the way, um Mr. Freeman?

Oh, call you Morgan. *Blush*

Ok, Mo.

Oh, not Mo... you think I went too far. Right.

Anyway...Morgan, I am not implying that I need you to fill the grandparent void. I would actually prefer you in an older, wiser phone sex type of role.

Thanks. Bye.

How do you get to the Big Valley Motel?

2007-04-27T16:32:00.000-05:00

I am one of those annoying people that give directions with landmarks instead of road names or exits.

"Oh, I know where that is...you need to turn right at the traffic lights by Simpsons and then go a couple of blocks until the next traffic lights then turn left by Main Street Market Place and then you should see it on the left past the car lot."

When I ask for dirctions, it is even worse. I need to have visuals. I need a map. I need to have neon signs and if possible arrows pointing my way.

Imagine my elation when I saw this sign right off the highway.

And it looks pretty cozy too...
Yeah, cozy...if you are a flippin' badger or a field mouse!

Maybe I missed something...let me zoom out...
Nope. It is pointed to earth and twigs. Not even a valley. Nice.

Dells Wisconsin: The Off-Season (part 2)

2007-04-25T15:02:00.000-05:00

3 chicks and a guy went out Saturday morning for a stroll down the streets of Dells Wisconsin. It was the off-season and where there should be areas in which to squash your flip-flops, there were instead scenes like this…

The travelers didn’t care. They were out for adventures. Oh the adventures!!!

First, they happened upon a funeral…

Apparently a fairy died and her porcelain family and friends gathered in a candy store to pay their respects and listen to "Amazing Grace" on a mini boom box.

After ~~purchasing some candy~~ paying their respects, the travelers continued their journey meandering through little shops chock full of things like wind chimes made from forks, T-shirts displaying “My pals went to WI. Dells and all I got was this stinking t-shirt!” and ancient Native American artifacts like pink, plastic tom-toms.

One place was guarded by a giant troll who entertained the journeymen with a chorus of “You are my Sunshine”.

Beaner bravely told him he had nice pants. It made him smile.

Then he went to sleep.

Peppered among the stores hawking their wares were attractions like wax museums and haunted houses. A particularly sinister place was guarded by this guy…

The travelers wondered how they captured the likeness of their uncle, BigC, so well.

When this sign was spotted by Stuff, she stopped dead in her tracks. She was drawn in by the possibilities and the dreams that her most intimate questions could finally be addressed.

She couldn’t get her dollar in fast enough.

She silently asked this mad scientist her question gazing into his adorable, wisdom-filled face.

She waited for him to answer….

He cackled maniacally and thought hard as his little body shook and his hands made motions on the dials making lights flash all through his little glass laboratory. Buzzing, clicking, and static electricity all added to the show.

When he gave her a dollars worth of time, he paused and said, “The only thing that I can tell you… the answer you seek…the magical word that will solve your dilemma is…

...perhaps”

Perhaps? Only then did she see this:

Beaner was much luckier in her quest for knowledge. By lucky, I mean she got a cool slip of paper for her dollar.

Zoltar caught her fancy with his delicious gold lame´ head scarf.

It didn’t hurt that he also had sconces closely resembling ones in her Grandma and Grandma’s bedroom circa 1985.

The other travelers waited as she and Zoltar looked deep into each other’s eyes so that the most accurate fortune could be told.

“Thank you Zoltar. I shall name my first born after you as promised. Also, the sacrificial goat will arrive in 7 to 10 business days.”

In other shops they busied themselves with silly hats and pictures seen here.

JMan had his heart set on this one.

The other travelers did their best to convince him that while a career in the Over-The-Road-Arts is a lucrative one, this was not the best look for him.

Neither was this:

Around this time the travelers needed a much needed break and some much needed caffeine. They decided to give some business to some ~~cranky~~ ~~crotchety~~ colorful older ladies.

“Iced” was not the best choice for Queenie. She got a little bit chilly.

She then re-created her look for her audition for the next Harry Potter movie (yeah Q, I know only 80 more days).

With their jolt of caffeine-induced energy they decided to partake in the River Walk.

By partake I mean they walked about 200 feet then decided it was too flippin cold to continue.

And besides, the damned paparazzi were following them.

Then, the lovebirds pretended they were in a silent movie.

The last destination for adventure was a magical land where candy grew on trees.

In one area ~~the tourists~~ the adventuresome travelers learned how unrefined cola made its way through gingerbread houses all the way to the factory.

They also beheld sticky, Technicolor goodness…

All in all the journey through the Dell's Downtown in the off-season was an enjoyable one. They each walked away with some fond memories, a quirky trinket or two and the best lesson of all…

Even if you don't always feel it, you can certainly buy it.

Now, isn’t that special!

Note…thanks Q for most of the photography and the Photoshopping magic you donated to this post. Also, JMan and Beaner, thanks for being so photogenic.

Tuesday Titter

2007-04-24T11:35:00.000-05:00

I love the way people talk.

Since I am from Minnesota by way of Upper Michigan by way of Central Wisconsin, I have developed an accent that is apparent to everyone but me. These three areas of the Midwest are mere hours away from each other, yet there are subtle inflections that distinguish their vocabularies (so people tell me).

For instance, when I am chatting it up with someone from Wisconsin and I inadvertently through no fault of my own say something like:

“What is the big deal…eh?”

The Sconnie roars on the floor with laughter and proceeds to regale me with bad impersonations of The McKenzie Brothers.

Or if I am having an intellectual discussion with a Minnesotan (no that is not an oxymoron!) and say something like this:

“I put my bag near the bubbler.”

I am met with a blank stare. “What is a bubbler?” This is followed by a snicker then a nasal-induced, “baaaaag, you folks from Wisconsin talk so funny.”

Through my job I talk to people from all parts of the accent spectrum and get to hear delicious things like:

"Hi, I din wan choo to thank I was witahded o sunthin’"

However, my absolute favorite is a conversation I had with a grandmother… I could have listened to this woman all day. I cannot give the honey glazed flow of her voice justice here. She had a beautiful southern drawl that made me want to sip chamomile tea while she entertains me with stories using phrases like “lawsy mercy” and “bless her heart”.

"Shooga… you… need… to… slow… it…. down."

Once in awhile I have a little fun with it…

"I can tell you are from the “nort”. (this is said in mock-Canadian-accent) Are you in Canada?

To which I reply, “What are you talking “aboat”… eh? I am from Minn eeee soooo daah”

I also like the way people pronounce things… it makes me titter when Beaner says TORLET instead of toilet. Queenie likes to say NORTH REN, SUTH REN, WEST REN, EAST REN…gotta love them for that (also, don’t hate me) (also, I love you guys) (also, I think it is cute…really) (also, you two are beautiful and intelligent).

My grandparents used to say ZINK instead of sink and WARSHCLOTH instead of washcloth.

One thing I don’t know is… How do you really pronounce caramel?

Dells Wisconsin: the off-season (part 1)

2007-04-23T17:35:00.001-05:00

When my sibs and I came up with the idea to plop our behinds smack in the middle of the tourist trap of Wisconsin, we didn't really have an agenda.

All we knew for sure was:

-super scary movie on Friday the 13th
-cheesy tourist pictures
-bickering about something
-snoring, passing gas(um, hi JMan...welcome to the family)
-mass quantities of wine would make an appearance

Our first plan, super scary movie on Friday the 13th - Disturbia, went like this:

After some amazing sleuthing by the JMan and Beaner we conclude the only theatre in the area is actually 10 minutes away from our hotel. Queenie and I had just arrived, so we needed to ~~change out of our travel clothes~~ throw a sweatshirt on and refresh the pit spray. This bit of primping made us just the right amount of late.

Ticket Guy: I am sorry you had to wait in the long line because we are the only theatre in the entire Dell’s area and it is the off-season and I am only 1 of 2 ticket guys, but you are actually too late to get seats that are next to each other. Also, this is a giant screen with stadium seating and the only seats are the ones that you need to be nearly reclined. Oh yeah, did I mention your nose may bleed and your eyeballs may dry out from the proximity of the giant screen?

ME: Guys, would you prefer taking the chance we may end up sitting next to the assholes behind us that have some issues with their bodily functions which was made apparent the whole freakin’ time we were in line…or, would you like to come back tomorrow?

Guys: Let’s wait until tomorrow. Let’s go drink.

Forward to Saturday evening…

Ticket Guy: I am sorry you had to wait in the long line because we are the only theatre in the entire Dell’s area and it is the off-season and I am only 1 of 1 ticket guys, but I cannot sell you tickets to the movie because the projector broke. Our manager, Skinny-Too-Young-To-Be-In-Charge, is busy fixing it and you can step to the side to wait with these other folks that are naïve enough to believe they may actually get to see the movie today.

ME: You have got to be kidding me.

Guys: You have got to be kidding me.

Other naïve people stepped to the side: You have got to be kidding me.

Other people in line behind us: One ticket to ANYTHING but Disturbia.

After 20 minutes of seeing joyful ticket toting patrons making their way to the popcorn, we see Skinny-Too-Young-To-Be-In-Charge. She makes her way to the lone ticket taker.

ME: Can we get our tickets to Disturbia now?

Other people in line behind us: well they really didn’t say anything, but I could feel them forming a lynch mob to burn me at the stake for budging in line.

S-T-Y-B-I-C: The movie actually started about ten minutes ago.

ME: Um, what?

S-T-Y-B-I-C: I had to rewind the whole big film all by my widdle self...sniff...it was bery scawy and I couldn’t tell the lone ticket guy that he could sell tickets...sniff...cuz I would have had to make a big girl decision and use the walkee talkee thing. I did my bery bery best.

ME: Oh Hell no.

Guys: Oh Hell no.
See if this theatre ever gets my business again.
Watch us leave in a huff… you’ll be sorry!

So, no Disturbia.

We did spend Saturday trolling the shops for some trinkets. Since none of us were in the market for ashtrays made of seashells or a tomahawk, we made do trying on some hats:

Beaner enjoyed this red and white number. She was feeling her school pride...

"three cheers for WEGA and the RED and WHITE... HOO RAH RAH... Y-O-WEGA...HOO RAH RAH"

Meanwhile, the JMan sported this little number...

"What have I gotten myself into? These chicks are crazy."

Queenie loved her lampshade/retirement-at-golf-course hat...

"This one time at BINGO... I was so wasted!"

Pretending to be above all this...

"Thanks Q for photoshopping my 'stache"

Don't worry ~~blog fans~~ family, I have a whole lotta adventures and pictures yet to come from that crazy weekend... Oh, Stuff you tease.

Tuesday Titter

2007-04-17T10:28:00.000-05:00

I love the Office and I love SNL...thank you Rainn Wilson for hosting and for your genius.

I love cowbells and I love SNL... thank you Christopher Walkin for making me titter every single time you do your thang (I meant that to sound pervy).

I love Jimmy Fallon and I love this video... thank you Jimmy, I quoted and hummed that intro for weeks garnering looks from strangers.

It is Friday. The 13th.

2007-04-13T11:57:00.000-05:00

Anyone who knows me (um, that is all of you – hi mom) is aware that while I am not superstitious, I do scare easily and worry about the most ridiculous things.

I ~~shy away from~~ run don’t walk from movies like the Grudge, Hills Have Eyes, The Ring etc because they tend to make me want to curl up in the fetal position and whimper for my cat. I take the weirdest things from them and obsess that they could actually be true. Deep down, I don’t actually believe that my TV is sending me a message of evil…but I don’t want to take the chance. So, when I turn it off and I am alone, I will not look directly at it for fear of a phone call proclaiming my death in 7 days.

I even thought about posting pictures referencing these movies, but I don’t want to be freaked out until they go into my archives. And, what happens when they are in my archives and I innocently, years from now open them up to read? I will be scarred all over again.

Beaner sent me a Halloween wish once that had a picture from the Grudge. I made her get rid of it…too scary. I didn’t even see the Grudge, but Beaner gave me the basic points. Thanks Beaner, now I can’t sleep facing my closet because I am convinced there is a murdered Asian woman with unruly hair seeking revenge on her husband in the corner of it.

“Leave me alone you insane bitch!”

“I didn’t mean that, I am sorry your husband killed you! Don't hurt me.”

“I just wish you would stop making that gasping noise, it sort of freaks me out.”

“Also, don’t use my new hairbrush for your messy ghost hair. K?”

Beaner and the JMan (whose name is Jason BTW…coincidence?) love this genre of film. I don’t get it. I remember a certain Beaner coming home from her BFF Rosie's house after watching Poltergeist and sleeping in Mom’s room for weeks. She wouldn’t go anywhere without someone with her.

Beaner? Is this your way of standing up to your fears? Maybe I should try that tactic.

Since I am not superstitious, the following doesn’t bother me…no, really it doesn’t mean anything…I’m just saying is all:

Queenie and I are traveling east to the Dells Wisconsin. According to Google Maps it is 3 hours and 13 minutes…coincidence?

I had 13 new messages in my inbox. One of them was about Friday the 13th…coincidence?

I got a call from someone that needed some brochures; her last name was Voohries…coincidence?

An email from a crazed customer said 1 in 3 people were having a problem…coincidence?

All of my calendars have a 13 on them …coincidence?

Fine. I had to reach a little for the last two…or did I?

Queenie and I are meeting up with Beaner and the JMan in Wisconsin Dells this weekend. We chose this dead-this-time-of-year destination because it is nearly equidistant for both travelers. Believe it or not our only set in stone type of plan is to see a movie… Disturbia. I am thinking that it will be frightening, but not possessed little girl frightening. Perhaps this is the therapy I need to conquer my fears. Then again, I may end up curled into the fetal position whimpering for my cat.

I plan on taking lots of pictures this weekend and hope to have a killer time (did I just say killer…coincidence?)

Ice Cream gives peace a chance.

2007-04-12T15:12:00.000-05:00

Last week I didn’t give you a picture of the Secret Government Meeting, so I thought today I would take out my Sleek Sophisticated Black Katana Camera Phone and snap one.

But, what is this? There is a UPS truck, sworn enemy of the USPS…

The UPS truck arrived shortly before the 3 USPS Trucks and was parked there for the duration of the Secret Meeting. All 4 drivers exited at the same time.

It hasn’t been fully investigated, but I like to think that the ice cream brought them together.

It is a beautiful thing.

I saw Wisconsin's state bird

2007-04-11T17:31:00.000-05:00

A little classy gentleman was hopping around in the park near my apartment this morning. I think he was excited it was spring.

Ah spring.

Did I mention it was snowing? It is April.

Ah Minnesota.

Tuesday Titter

2007-04-10T10:58:00.000-05:00

For a total package of titter inducing joy...you need to hit play and turn your speakers up. Trust me, you will titter. You will boogie. You will cry out for more (a little bit more). You will immediately go to your nearest Target for some rouge and panty liners.

If you are playing this commercial, you must be dancing. You can not sit still when this commercial is on! Seriously, you can’t… if you are able to resist its grasp, you should sign up for the bomb squad. They totally need people with your resolve and steady hands.

It takes hold of your dancy parts and makes them gyrate and wriggle uncontrollably!

I am barely getting through writing this post… there goes the leg…trying to resist… trying… it is jutting upwards uncontrollably in a white-girl-staccato-kick into the air… watch out Static… it is out of control…there goes my left hand… typing now with the right…

Are you dancing yet? If not, you should go right now to Buckingham Palace. They will hire you on the spot for your will power alone to stand guard for them as hoards of tourists try to make you flinch. I mean it, if you can defy the laws of dance in this way, you may as well call Guinness and see if you break the world record for sitting still because this tune means business. Honestly, if you can make it through this entire commercial without getting jiggy, you should consider a career in brain surgery because you must have no dancy parts.

A little bit more…little bit more… don’t you just love it?

Easter Summary

2007-04-09T16:02:00.000-05:00

Spend time with family back from Acapulco whilst glaring at their tanned faces and general siesta mentality…check

Stuff face with ham, glazed carrots and wine lots of wine…check

Oh, and a mimosa…check

Watch younger cousins tackle each other in the backyard for multi-colored eggs packed with pocket change and Rolos …check

Watch The Masters golf thingamajig in High Definition, well because Uncle DadsBro got a new High Definition TV…check
(note: men should not wear white pants that make you stare at the crotchal area because white pants show just about everything in High Definition, I am talking to you Rory Sabbatini)

Eat tiniest sliver of key lime pie all the while repeating out loud, “I shouldn’t be eating this, I shouldn’t be eating this, I am on South Beach and all”…check

Go to see a movie after Easter face stuffing – Blades of Glory (hella larious!)…check

See a double feature (dubs feet) because 1 free movie ticket is earned…check

Decide on The Reaping (tres Easter, I know)…check

Queenie and I have this unplanned tradition of going to some crazy assed movies on Easter Sunday. We have not made it home for the last 4 years and for some reason, we end up watching a NON 10 Commandments-type movie.

Year 1, 2004: watched the first two Lord of The Rings and then went to the local budget theatre (the Budge) to see the third… ah the memories of the sticky floor, broken chairs and the illegal substances being consumed.

Year 2, 2005: Apparently I lied. We went home that year. But, in all fairness…my family is a movie.

Year 3, 2006: Scary Movie 4. Yeah… don’t ask.

Year 4, 2007: Blades of Glory. The Reaping. I am messed up.

It is Friday. Good.

2007-04-06T13:51:00.000-05:00

I have been asked about eleven dozen times, “what are you doing this weekend for Easter?”

I just realized that polite conversation in my office apparently bugs me, see here and here for examples.

I am usually flip with my response and say something like, “probably catch up on some much needed sleep, exercise (eyes rolling, head shaking) and devil worshiping. Or, I might spend a few hours searching for my apartment through the jungle of dirty clothes, junk mail and cat hair.”

Truth is, I don’t have plans and I don’t really feel compelled to make plans. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with my family and I love eating ham, but there isn’t a need to have a holiday as an excuse to do these things. I will make time to do that... truly I will. (that is directed at you mom...love you).

Having grown up celebrating Easter strictly in the eating-lots-of-candy-from-a-basket-found-in-the-oven sort of house hold, I never placed a ton of importance on this holiday anyway. We seldom went to church on Easter Sunday unless a grandparent took us, so I don’t feel any religious ties to this Sunday or today (Good Friday). This weekend is just a weekend to me really.

So, since my family is probably the only audience I have… Happy Weekend and Happy Easter!

I miss you all… I also miss ham and chocolate in a basket, if you feel compelled to send either my way – I won’t mind!

Mom, sorry this says ass... bum and booty and butt are just not as funny.

I finally get to use the word "chub-lorn".

2007-04-05T13:59:00.000-05:00

My office window faces the Dairy Queen parking lot. Dairy Queen! As the weather cooperates and shorts are donned, the traffic to this ice milk haven increases. I live vicariously through the dog walkers and children sitting on the picnic tables slurping their concoctions of dairy and candy.

It is a war inside my head and deep in my guts between South Beach and DQ. DQ tries to kick South Beach’s ass, but South Beach has a weapon that is buried in irony.

LAZINESS. I am basically too lazy to get my fat butt off my chair to walk the football field length of the parking lot.

Oh the irony of the chub-lorn!

I am inspired to write about DQ today because it is Thursday. Every Thursday a secret meeting between government employees takes place at this Dairy Queen. The same 3 postal trucks park side by side every Thursday around noon. Their drivers perform a ritualistic lock down dance before exiting their little white coaches. I imagine them turning the dials on complex locks and using retina recognition technology to set the alarm that protects the precious cargo inside.

They meet for one hour, having juicy debates over what shade of blue their pants should be or how to best stiff the public when it comes to postage increases. They never come out with ice cream cones or sundaes out of respect for our bills and cards from grandparents.

They never talk as they are leaving either. This is peculiar to me. They walk out of the building separately, then solemnly get into their government vehicles to complete their daily chore of dispensing parcels and letters. I like to imagine this is proper etiquette for all postal workers…like it is written somewhere that if they happen upon each other, they should not engage in conversation.

I would like to think that the following are also included in said manual:

Blue government issued shorts should be no more than one inch above the knee and never under any circumstances be warn with navy blue calf-length socks.

Driving on the wrong side of the vehicle doesn’t make you cool. Even though 8 year old Stuffanie secretly aspired to be a mail carrier because of this fact.

If you are in a fight with FedEx and DHL, always assume the fetal position. You will not win, they have better uniforms.

If a person comes ill-prepared to one of your facilities, do not make them answer your barrage of questions about what is in my their package. Do not make me them feel like they are a terrorist and do not make them open it causing everyone in the line to glare and "tsk".

If you are delivering to an apartment building and you have the big bank of mailboxes open and you are sliding in the mail to the appropriate slots please trust the cute girl with her arms full when she tells you that she lives in apartment 217 and that in fact the Lane Bryant coupon and phone bill are hers.

Tuesday Titter

2007-04-03T16:06:00.000-05:00

There are things that light a little fire of excitement in my belly that usually make absolutely no sense to anyone else. These things make me smile, give a little jolt to my guts and sometimes a titter to my lips.

Take for example the word, “titter”. It is not a word seen in print very often. It is usually neglected, replaced by the more common “snicker” or “giggle”. While I love seeing this word, I love hearing it even more. Say it out loud – I dare you. The word actually sounds like a stifled form of laughter. The other day, a coworker said, “my daughters have a bad habit of tittering uncontrollably during church”. It was a delicious treat for my ears.

Some other belly jolting examples:

~HUMMUS~ My pallet has become so sophisticated (read big city) that I am enjoying things like hummus. I feel all grown up and healthy when I scoop into this delectable mash of chickpeas and olive oil. It is mushy. It is tasty. It is wonderful on a wrap with some sprouts and cucumbers. And best of all, the particular brand I enjoy comes from Weyauwega, WI. Weyauwega! We all know the best things are made there. Isn’t that right Mom and Dad?

~NEW SHOES, BY PAOLO NUTINI~ see it here The butterflies can’t help but flutter in my tummy upon hearing this little tune. I get all keyed up and my buns wiggle to its rhythm. But, the best part…the part that makes this song worthy of this post is that he says, “wardrobe” instead of “closet”. I wait patiently with my dork breath held so I don’t miss him saying this one word. Oh non-Americans… your funny language is priceless.

~TEENAGERS~ Since I live in the land of the Mall of America, I am sometimes subjected to those crazy beings that make the journey from the east to shop, play and eat. I am talking about my cousins, K and M, 13 and 14 respectively. Last weekend, they along with M’s mom visited our fair land. I decided to crash in their hotel room with them and spend the day at the mall. All my trepidations about being trapped in a small room with two pubescent moody girls were squelched when they gave me hugs in greeting. They are actually pretty cool – and much like me when I was that age.

K is a middle child who is just discovering boys and has a sense of humor much like mine when I was 13. She was without her parents this weekend and you could see the spark of independence in decisions she made over what she should spend her money on. She is sporty and loved trying on high heel shoes – I dig that paradox about her.

M is an only child who is tall and lanky. She has an amazing imagination and is wise beyond her years. She is at the age where boundaries are being tested with her parents. I noticed a few “shits” and “damns” slip out. She had a clear idea of what she wanted to purchase at the mall, complete with pictures from magazines – I remember doing things like this.

~ZITS~ you heard me. I loves me a good pimple. The best are the soap and puss and hair filled ones that hide under their little black heads on my tummy or my thighs. Blissful satisfaction warms my cheeks when I tackle one of those babies. It is seriously like Christmas because I don’t know I am growing them. I don’t know when they will decide to ripen. Umm… yeah, was that too much?

Clarification

2007-04-02T16:59:00.000-05:00

Editors note: In Friday's edition of Swimmin Frog, the writer inferred that the cat in the photos was orange and perhaps on fire. She is in fact marble and not on fire (to the best of our knowledge).

The presence of mischief and evil often comes through photographs as a red or orange tint. This is evident in photos taken in the 70's of Lithal's catmom, Queenie. We have albums and albums of this phenomena.

We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused.

This is what Lithal actually looks like. Note the "I am better than you" expression on her face.

Photos don't lie... Queenie's cat is the devil.

2007-03-30T14:48:00.000-05:00

Picture this... It is late at night. You are safely tucked into your bed. You have just gotten to the part of the dream where Vince Vaughn is proposing marriage. You are happy and content. You breathe in and out in a rhythmic snore.

Suddenly you start to suffocate.

You are inhaling fur.

Lithal has fallen asleep on your head again.

She is the devil.

Picture this… It is early in the morning. You stumble out of your warm covers. You make your way to the bathroom without fully opening your eyes.

Suddenly you step in a cold mass of hair and bile.

Lithal hacked on the carpet.

She is the devil.
Picture this… you are trying to watch CSI Miami on Monday night. You are lounging on the couch under the Betty Boop blanket. You are at the part where Heratio is about to deliver his witty line.

Suddenly a loving, little fur ball jumps onto your chest.

You think she is there to snuggle.

She is not. She is there to do some crazy ritualistic cat massage on your nipples.

She stamps her little paws up and down crushing your breasts until you are forced to push her off.

She is the devil.

A story of how Stuff needs to kiss up because even though she is cute and witty, she can sometimes be brash and insensitive.

2007-03-28T17:30:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time there was this bitchy albeit beautiful big-boned gal named Stuffanie. She sometimes said things to her quirky albeit gorgeous big-boned younger sis that would make her feel bad. Stuffanie and her sis argued one morning and some things were said about fungus and smelling like an old person and being chubby. Stuffanie felt really bad and begged at the not so smelly feet of her sis for forgiveness.

"While it is true you have an ugly sore on your face from a terrible cold you caught from me and you are chubby which shows in your new yoga pants and you sprayed some stuff on your feet that makes you smell aged, you didn't have to hear it from me in the tone in which I so insensitively said, " Stuff cried out, begging for mercy and kissing her toes.

To which her sister replied, "Stuff, even though you yourself are chubby and your armpits smelled a little like onion yesterday because you forgot to wear deodorant and you have a grotesque mole on your neck... I would have never pointed these things out to make you feel bad."

To which Stuffanie replied, "I know, you are clearly the better person here."

So sorry Q!! Had I known that the Dr. Sholls medicated foot powder was the source of your retirement home scent, I would have NEVER pointed out that you stunk! Also, if I feel the need to be brutally honest about how you look in your clothes, I will tone it down a bit and remember I am chubby too.

And if ever I say, "oh it is just allergies, you won't catch this." SMACK ME!

Breach of contract.

2007-03-27T12:00:00.000-05:00

Dear Midsection,

We have been through a lot together. You were there resting peacefully above my tight rolled acid washed jeans and you were there when I wore my first pair of stirrup pants. You were ever present after puberty, but not everyone saw you… it was ok and I knew that you existed because of my habits.

However, it has come to my attention that you are jutting out a lot more than usual. You are starting to resemble a tire. This is in direct violation of our agreed upon terms. If you remember, I chose to allow you to exist because I could not give up Krispy Kremes or Cherry Coke. At that time you agreed to keep your presence to a minimum, showing yourself only when my shirt was off. I have started to notice you in EVERYTHING I wear and this is absolutely not acceptable.

We cannot coexist in harmony and unfortunately, I will have to take the necessary steps to kill you.

Since we have been through so much together, I am sending this as a fair warning. I have decided that depriving you of the very lifeblood that feeds your freeloading ass is the first step in your annihilation. Next will be exercise. This is will be harder on me than it will be on you… trust me.

So, goodbye old friend. If you have any questions, we can discuss them tonight when I unsausage you from the Spanx.

All my love,

Stuff

Which is louder... Pink or Gossip?

2007-03-26T14:02:00.000-05:00

Our office recently installed Pink Noise. I put together a mini FAQ to help explain what the flip Pink Noise is and why it was installed.

Is that the air conditioning? Are we on the tarmac waiting to go to some far off destination? Are my ears plugged?

No, No and I am not a doctor. What you are hearing, is the addition of Pink Noise.

Pink Noise? What is Pink Noise?

Well, the company felt we needed some added privacy in the cubicle area. Pink noise is piped through little devices in the ceiling to help mask conversations since it runs on the same frequency as human voice. This addition will be helpful for phone calls and things (things in this instance are gossip sessions and private conversations about gynecological exams). From now on your gossiping will only sound like mumbles to those in the next cube.

So, this Pink Noise… does it have to be this flippin’ loud?

Yes, for three days the folks at the Pink Noise company would like us to try to acclimate ourselves to this level of noise to see if it will just blend in to the rest of the noises in the office. If it is too loud, they can turn it down. Or, they can turn it up if it is not loud enough (in other words, if you can still hear coworkers chattin’ it up about their kids blah, husbands blah fab life blahtety blah).

Will there be ibuprofen available if this Pink Noise fails to "blend in" for me?

Of course! We have the 500 count vat of ibuprofen in the supply closet. It was purchased shortly after you started working here. (note from Stuffanie: this is an odd coincendence that neither I nor my neurosis has gotten over).

Was my gossiping about the tampons in the bathroom the reason for this new addition?

Yes, we grew tired of hearing the hard‘t’ when you pronounced tampon. This way when you feel the need to chatter about feminine products it will sound more like, "mmmpon".

Reflective

2007-03-23T15:46:00.000-05:00

My reflection is appearing in the window because the sun is actually out. I see my lips. They are pursed in concentration as my chubby man hands seek out letters on the keyboard in front of me. I just caught a glimpse of my lip curling up in a smirk because I am at such a creative impasse that I am choosing to blubber on about my dowdy reflection in the dusty window. Now, I see my eyes roll back into my head. I should shake off this silliness and try to write something serious.

But, wait! Hello gorgeous. Who are you?

If I angle my torso just right, the dust and the small area of darkness cover the imperfections making me appear slim. I may need to spend some more time in “reflection”. The reflected me has whiter teeth. I can’t stop looking at them. I look like I just succumbed to the unrealistic-toothy-veneer-craze and I look fabulous! If someone would walk in right now, they would see me Cheshire Cat grinning out this window with my boobs jutted forward. Would you look at my eyes? Man, they are like pools of…

Uh Oh! Sun, glorious sun…where did you go? Oh please come back. It is only you that can perpetuate this façade.

Here you come…you wouldn’t let a little cloud dampen this boost of confidence.

Now where were we? Oh yeah, my eyes. They are this sparkly aquamarine hue similar to the color you might see in an aerial view of the ocean. You could honestly promote the beaches of the Fijian Islands with this color.

To sum up:

Reflection = svelte body with exceptional posture, sparkly blue eyeys and a bright smile.

Real Life = chubby body straining to sit straight with chest over exaggerated, bugged eyes and lips bared to show teeth staring at a reflection in a window.

So glad I am alone in the office right now!

A night at the brothel...errr... hotel.

2007-03-15T20:27:00.000-05:00

Queenie made the reservations online… I say this only to set up the story, not to imply in any way that this mess was her fault.

She found a fabulous deal at a Aysday Innay (Pig Latinized so as to protect their reputation). For the low low price of $66 we could enjoy 2 double beds, continental breakfast buffet, swimming pool, WiFi and HBO.

They failed to mentioned in their outdated ad and photo spread that we could also enjoy black mold, urine stains, the smell of death in the elevator, prostitutes (just speculating), suspicious activity (I am thinking drugs) and a 1am fire alarm.

On these occasions, one would hope that her storytelling skills were enough (since she forgot the camera) to depict what I can easily say the worst hotel experience I have ever had sober. Yes, I have passed out a time or two in filth and dirty sheets… but, I never paid more than my share of the $29.95 these rooms cost. Also, that was college and high school. I am a sophisticated 30 something now.

Anyway, back to last weekend's hotel story... we arrive at the ~~Bates Motel~~ Aysday Innay around 11pm after driving for about 7 bazillion miles on a monotonous highway to Milwaukee to visit our family and its new addition. Q and I were both pretty much ready to have a glass of wine, crawl into clean white sheets and watch some cheesy movie until we fell into a blissful sleep.

We didn’t pay attention to the signs that could have warned us what lay ahead.

We didn’t catch on to the odd way the woman in front of us checked in stating that, “yeah, of course I know my way around the hotel.”

Or the subtle knowing look the kid behind the counter gave her when he handed her the key.

We somehow missed that there were padlocks on the doors of most of the rooms and there was a man aimlessly wandering around outside of the hotel.

Things didn’t start to really irk us until we stepped into the hallway and saw the circa 1960’s wallpaper with chunks of it peeling off and landing on the reddish orange stained carpet. We gave each other a look that said, “oh well, we're tired… so, they haven’t updated the décor... this isn't so bad.”

However, our looks turned to audible horror when we stepped into the elevator and our nostrils were attacked by a foul odor that was somewhere in the realm of feet, sour milk and death… death wearing garbage perfume. We put our heads into our shirts, but this wasn’t enough to fend off this attack and we started falling into a stink induced coma. Thankfully, the elevator dinged (more like clanked) at our floor.

When we turned the corner to go into our room, we nearly ran smack into a prostitute. I am only speculating here, but I am pretty sure I saw her on Cops last month. She sized me and Q up and realized we weren’t a threat and went back to her John. Again, this is just speculation… I don’t know what or who was in her room... could have been her pimp or drug dealer… just speculating.

After wishing our prostitute friend a good evening, we retired to our quarters where we were met with more fodder for this blog...

The bathroom ceiling with the mold….mold! Black mold!

The wall beside the commode (I say commode cuz I am so sophisticated):

Urine was on the wall…. Urine!

Since I forgot my camera, I had to rely on my Sleek Sophistacated Black Katana Camera Phone.

I apologize for the quality.

The beds... what can I say about the beds? Well, each bed had 6 pillows that ranged in size from lumpy large to board flat. They were arranged like books in sets of three on either side of the bed. The bedclothes were of the usual hotel floral pattern and had been folded down. I can only speculate that this was to either hide the cigarette burns or to let the bed bugs run free. I am not sure and at the time, I did NOT want to think about it much further.

After seeing where I was to lay my head for the evening, I did what any sophisticated gal in my position would do… I cracked open a bottle of wine and downed enough to create a purple haze of stupor around my head. Since there wasn’t enough wine in the universe to make me feel comfortable enough to lay my head on that lice infested pillow (only speculating), I wrapped my turtleneck around it and attempted to fall into restless sleep.

In the next bed, Q was laying on her sweatshirt covered pillow. Her bed had an extra challenge… it was worn out on one side and she was ready to slide out of it at any minute. I was just about to ask her if she needed some help when a piercing alarm went off in the hall.

Hoooooooooooooooooooooooooonk!! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiil!

It was the hotel’s fire alarm.

Mass chaos ensued in the hallway as prostitutes, pimps, johns and a truck driving drug dealer or two ran out of their rooms. I was NOT leaving my room. Instead, I chose to peak out of the peephole into the hall to watch for any signs of fire or smoke. I heard one of the ruffians exclaim as he ran out of sight, “I don’think there is a fire at all. I am sure the fire alarm was pulled accidentally. We have to wait for the firemen to come to shut it off.” Since I had made up my mind to NOT leave my room, I was comforted by this statement.

Queenie and I did slip on our shoes and bras just in case we needed to be evacuated, but unless my jammies caught on fire and STOP DROP AND ROLL didn’t work…. I was NOT leaving my room. Instead I decided to peak out the window and take a picture

Around 1:45am the alarm was silenced by two fully uniformed firemen. The speculated illegal activity resumed and the little hotel on Blue Mound Drive was back to its harmonious normal. I started nodding off again. I did have to polish off a little more of the sauce and weep a bit for my cat, but eventually I was able to relax my head on my turtleneck covered pillow.

Meanwhile, Q took advantage of our WiFi to look for alternative lodging for the next night. As prostitutes and pimps were her witness...she would never stay in this dump again!

Thanks Queenie! I am sorry I wasn’t any help… I can’t type while I am sucking my thumb curled up in the fetal position.

A canker, a rollercoaster and three dogs

2007-03-14T14:02:00.001-05:00

Well hello stranger.

When I logged on, I was heartbroken to find that I have not regurgitated some crap from my mind since Friday. No wonder my head hurts.

First, a much needed update about the cankerous spot – it is healed. Take that! I used a paste made from chewing up a Tums. Heed this warning, you mass of annoyance and pain, “I shall fight you with this arsenal of antacid paste if you try to invade my shores again!”

While fighting the cantankerous beast, I also made some time to travel 300 miles to visit the newest and I can safely say smallest member of our family. Queenie and I went to Milwaukee to meet Alayna (1lb 15 oz)…what a little sprite! Her parents are my much younger cousin and his wife. They amazed me with their courage and the night and day difference in their maturity.

I have decided that they are my new heroes.

We started out the weekend in a hotel that was pretty much the worst place I have ever tried to lay my head. I was going to write my post about this, but I can save that experience for another day.

I will however share the weekend in a rollercoaster…

I went from feeling elated about solving other people’s problems at work to

singing “Beautiful Wreck” at the top of my lungs all the while suspecting it was wriiten about me to

reading aloud David Sedaris and realizing it just isn’t the same without his ‘inflections’ to

taking my turn at driving the highway of monotony to

checking into ~~a crackhouse~~ a hotel to

riding the rickety elevator with the mystery smell to our room to

curling up in the fetal position murmuring my cat's name after downing 4 glasses of wine to dull the pain of the smell, sounds and look of room 324 to

showering the next morning in a bathroom with urine on the wall and mold on the ceiling to

frantically driving around the city to find a better place to lodge to

feeling the rush of relief as we check into a place we can call our temporary home for the night to

greeting with a hug my 23 year old cousin who is now an actual parent to

remembering a boy who used to love Ghostbusters and snuggle in my lap to

scrubbing my hands with antibacterial soap to prepare to see a tiny human fighting for life to

marveling at the little fighter in the glass house with tubes and machines everywhere to

witnessing her parents ask appropriate questions, then take mental notes of everything the nurse was relaying all the while keeping one eye on their precious baby to

chatting with my aunt and uncle about their new granddaughter and the terror they felt when she was being rushed to this hospital to be saved to

laughing, eating and reminiscing over a table full of pizza to

spending some much needed time bonding with my family over beer and a board game to

crashing in a hotel bed that had clean sheets and a welcoming cleanliness to

sleeping in and cursing the time change… damn you Ben Franklin to

saying goodbye to my new heroes and preparing for the drive home.

My favorite part of the weekend went like this:

Ab (my 7th grade cousin): “Have you ever heard of the band The Three Dogs night”?

Me: “You mean Three Dog Night?”

Ab: "No, it is plural…right? Three Dogsss Night."

Me: "No, it is Three Dog Night. Trust me. They sing Joy To the World."

Ab: "They also sing Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog”

Me: (inaudible through the laughter)

Ab: "I don’t get it."

Out Damn Spot!

2007-03-09T15:25:00.000-06:00

I have this irritating sore under my tongue. And, as I do with all irritating mouth infractions, I am obsessively playing with it. My bottom teeth are acting like a scraper to irritate and investigate it. This is making it flare up like a beast… a beast with horns and razor sharp teeth.

How did it get there? How do I evict it?

It has been really pissing me of. Like when I wanted to enjoy my Island Mango White Tea. It apparently hates hot substances and roars back causing me to scrape at it with my teeth to shut it up. It causes me to have a bit of a speech impediment. I am an enunciator and it makes me mumble… the bastard!

Another artist’s rendering…

I got news for you mister blemish on the underbelly of the strongest muscle in my body, I have some remedies straight from my mamma and grandmamma.

Be prepared for a onslaught of crushed up Tums followed by a gargle of salt water and an ice cube! You are going down you canker from hell!

Naked Bongos???

2007-03-07T17:28:00.000-06:00

Major eye roll post alert!!!

I was struggling to find a topic for my post because it was way to soon to bring up tampons or my freakishly red hair again, so I decided to Google myself... wow, if I would have said that statement 10 years ago I would make you all blush. In fact I am blushing now... the mind wanders right to the gutter!

Anyway, I Googled "Stephanie was arrested for" - from a suggestion in a forward. Here is the result:

Stephanie, was arrested for being under the influence of a controlled substance at Fremont and Casa Verde. (having grown up near a town by the name Fremont... I can see how this one may be true... oh high school...)

Stephanie was arrested for assaulting Nick Wilson that same week. (sorry Nick, I hardly knew ya! I was probably under the influence of a controlled substance.)

Stephanie was arrested for playing bongos in her house while she was naked. (this one I remember.... oh high school)

Stephanie was arrested for suspicion of methamphetamine possession. (ah...the controlled substance, now it all makes sense)

I am such a bad ass in GoogleLand!

This I declare as Mom Nature is my witness.

2007-03-06T13:14:00.000-06:00

I will keep my hair the natural bland/blondish/ashy color that was given to me by... what I can only imagine, the genes of my parents mashed together and put through a food processor.

And if I decide that my life’s happiness depends on a brighter hue, I should not attempt to color it on my own.

And if I decide to color it on my own (because I am cheap and crazy) and it turns out beautiful twice in a row, I should not assume it will turn out a third time. Mom Nature hates it when you play with her handy work and you may pay for it with RED... RED!!

Artist’s rendering

Note: Subject is actually taller. Subject has eyebrows in real life.

I actually liked the color of my hair after I colored it myself the first (and second) time. I was proud of my cosmetology skills. It was such a natural brown that even Mom Nature herself had to look twice.

For some reason, Queenie took this photo of me making out with my hair. I am so glad I have photographic evidence of it... oh memories... sweet memories...

See how happy I am. Oh BROWN... luxurious brown. I miss your natural out of the bottle hue. I will get you back and when I do, I will run my hands through you and appreciate you.

March didn't really come in like a field of black sheep with my family's faces Photoshopped on their bodies.

2007-03-02T21:24:00.000-06:00

I am sorry I used this as an excuse to post yet another picture I have been dying to share. I should just post the picture, talk about it and move on. Why be so sneaky?

Actually, March came in like a LIONESS. Like a cranky, pms-ing Queen of the Jungle! Her gut was bloated and her back ached. She was pissed off and her wrath was felt all across America. There were tornadoes and blizzards and the wrong people voted off of American Idol. March 1 was a Lion plain and simple.

Now, back to my family being black sheep on a hill...

The story begins simple enough. Each year my family has a reunion.

I know you are thinking, "So, every family has a reunion. What is your point, Stuff?"

Well, our family is a bit competitive when it comes to the annual reunion. You see, there were 5 Sisters in the original clan. The 5 Sisters all married and had lots of babies who in turn had lots of babies making 5 mini clans. The 5 mini clans agree to meet one weekend in June for fried chicken and a White Elephant Auction. The Sister who is best represented is declared the winner. There is no trophy or ceremony or even an out loud mention of this. It is simply an understanding between them…a silent bragging right. Sure, they acknowledge it subtly with snorts of disgust to least represented, but it was never anything written in the manual of our family.

My Grandma B was one of the Sisters and she did a phenomenal job making sure we all attended. She was a master at making us feel it was our duty. She did this with ~~guilt~~ flair.

When she died, our clan’s place in this competition dwindled slowly. Our attendance at the ~~war~~ reunion was usually pretty slim. There were members of us peppered throughout the years, but in 2005… we had NOBODY there. We let down Grandma B. We earned the snorts from the other clans. We were sheep of the darkest hue.

I forgot to mention that each year the planning and hosting of the ~~games~~ reunion was done by a different clan. Our year was 2006 and we needed to redeem ourselves from our poor showing in the previous year. We planned a reunion to rival all others. We created a Family Feud game complete with theme music and sound effects. We had family trivia. We had a fabulous cake. We even created a website to get everyone excited for the big weekend.

Our theme was “Don’t Be a Black Sheep… Come Graze with Us”

We were ready for redemption. We were ready to make Grandma B proud. We accomplished all of this while wearing a T-shirt with this on it:

This photo was on the back. The front had a picture of the wearer’s face with a curly mane of black sheepiness around it.

We are way too crazy, creative, and cute to stay down for long!

Let’s see the rest of ‘em try to out shine Grandma B’s clan!

March came in like a...

2007-03-01T11:19:00.000-06:00

quirky field of black sheep.

The Best Mom belongs to Me.

2007-02-26T15:15:00.000-06:00

Happy Birthday Mom!

So, my mom is turning 51... Let's take a look at sampling of a half century of pictures. (She loves when I say half century)

Ah... the bangs back to the ears. I am glad you made sure our bangs carried on this family tradition. Did I ever thank you?

This picture cracks me up... Gramma is reaching for your face with a washcloth (or as Gramma would say - warshcloth) and you stop to smile for a pic... you ham! You look a lot like Beaner.

The family resemblence is uncanny... My large front teeth, Queenie's style and I am sure Beaner has her hair like this now. Those are some Sweet pigtails! I miss you Mom! I wish I could be there to help extinguish your cake... oh and hug you too.

If you arn't my mom or sisters... I am sorry I made you jealous of my adorable mom, but you can't have her. She belongs to me.

Dame Judi, I will think of you Sunday night.

2007-02-23T13:44:00.000-06:00

Since I am a movie nerd, I am super psyched about the Oscars. Queenie and I are partying it up Dame Judi style. Which, loosely translated means…we will not be attending the event in person, we will be in jammies, and we will be dining on South Beach friendly cuisine that is perfect for anyone. Even if you are…say recovering from knee surgery.

Menu:

London broil
These Potatoes are a Scandal
Prideful but not Prejudice Stuffed Mushroom Caps
Shakespeare in Love with Salad
Chocolat cream
Tea (no sugar) with Mussolini

My favorite is “These Potatoes are a Scandal”. I crack my self up. Let me explain so I can crack you up too… Potatoes are a big ol' NONO during Phase 1 of South Beach. To give you options, the brilliant dieticians came up with a substitute. Cauliflower. Yeah, you heard me… now go ahead and chuckle whilst marveling at my whit.

I (with the help of my little SB book) will be tricking Queenie into eating some cauliflower by adding some fat free half and half a little butter and whipping the crap out of it. I am sure that adding the catchy title to it will get her salivating as well!

Reminder of Stuff’s Oscar Picks:

Best movie: Little Miss Sunshine
Best Actor: Forest Whitaker
Best Actress: Helen Mirren
Best Supporting Actor: Eddie Murphy
Best Supporting Actress: Jennifer Hudson
Best Director: Martin Scorsese

I think it will be a swell show. Did I say swell? What the heck?

Change of subject and excuse to post a self indulgent photo…

We are about to get walloped with some bad ass snow. LOOK OUT! So, I plan to be in my apartment with a few movies and a cup of fat free, sugar free hot chocolate all weekend. I am seriously excited about it! We have not gotten any snow this year and I feel all out of whack. My body needs seasons. I need to play in the snow even if it is just to shovel the sidewalk at least once per winter. I need to feast my eyes on the trees heavy with white snow. I need to hear the crunch beneath my feet that makes me shiver. I need this snow.

See how cute I am in snow:

It is only day 3.

2007-02-21T13:44:00.000-06:00

Not sure if you picked up on it or not, but I am what they call a big gal, a full figured woman, a plus-sized mama, a beautiful face with a bit of a weight problem… a chub. I am stating this out loud to own it… even though I am pretty sure my family is the only readership I have and I have a feeling they have already noticed. I am owning my size because I want to sell it... er get rid of it.

I have decided to give another whack at a diet. This time I am going with South Beach. I have completely ballooned way above anything I have ever seen in the mirror. I hate how my clothes look. I get out of breath putting on my shoes. I am starting to fear social situations. I am out of control and I think that this Floridian Cardiologist may be what I am looking for. After reading the book, I felt like I could actually commit to it. I have tried a bevy of diets and I HATED EVERY MINUTE.

It is day 3 of this diet and I have only hated about 360 minutes of it…

The biggest change for me is to actually eat breakfast. My routine is pretty strict in the morning: snooze button 4 times, shower, feed cats, make-up, dress, hair, brush teeth… NO time for breakfast. I have had to make some changes to accommodate this. Again, it is only the 3rd day, I will have to work on this. By eating breakfast, I eventually should have some much needed a.m. energy… we’ll see.

The other big change is SWEETS especially SWEETS in the form of cookies or cake. I didn’t think I was that much of a cookie aficionado, but as soon as I am told I can’t have them… I WANT THEM. I want to rip into the box that I foolishly ordered a month ago… back when I was a non-dieter. Back when I succumbed to the 9 year old writing with the adorable 9 year old picture on the sign in the break room that simply said, “Would you like to buy Girl Scout Cookies?”

This box (ok, these 4 boxes) are sitting on my desk. They are bought. They are paid for. They are calling my name. “Fatty.” “Oh, Fatty.” “Remember us?”

It is only day 3.

More Static Indulgence

2007-02-19T12:20:00.000-06:00

OK, so I got a little crazy with the pictures of Static being all playful. I can't help it... he is just so damn cute when he takes those rare breaks from naps and eating. These are the last two from this day... I promise.

The first is pretty much his usual form of play. He will lay sprawled out on his back and have you do all the work. When he and Lithal "wrestle", he tends to be sedentary with an occasional swipe from his massive paws which are abnormally large and pack quite a punch while she runs her little body around him in a Tasmanian Devil type of way.

The next is much rarer. Yep, that is him up on his haunches balancing his big belly with his hind legs and that little nub of tail. His hind paws are a bit smaller than the front ones and I am so impressed that he can defy gravity in this way. You go on with your bad self Static!

I just wanted to point out again those mitts of his... would you look at the size of em! It looks like he is wearing the Hamburger Helper guy. I ain't kiddin' those things are HUGE!

My bladder never stands a chance when they press into it at 4am. Huge... those things are HUGE!

P.S. Don't tell him I said that... he is soooo sensitive about his size.

Thanks for the loot, Mom!

2007-02-18T23:37:00.000-06:00

When I was in college, one of the best things was getting a package. Mom would send random packages of cookies, socks and school supplies. They often included a note of encouragement or a greeting card that had a funny message.

I craved those little packages. I would go to the massive wall of mailboxes, stick in my key and hold my breath until I saw the bright yellow paper that instructed me to go to the student volunteer package Nazi. The package Nazi was never the same person, but always had the same demeanor. There were specific hours that packages were to be picked up. The slip of bright yellow paper was reused, so if it did not return to the PN in the same condition it left, there was a snort of disgust and an eye roll. The PN would always hand you the package with attitude as if to make clear to you that you are not any more special then the rest of the shlubs that got a package that day.

Now, as a true life grown up, I do not have to contend with the package Nazi when there happens to be a slip of paper in my mailbox instructing me to go to the apartment office and pick up a parcel. On Thursday such a slip was in Queenie’s and my mailbox. Like two college kids, we could hardly contain our excitement until the office opened on Friday am. Mom outdid herself with a full-on Valentine themed display of affection. Beaner and the J-man even made a little contribution.

Queenie and Stuff are starting South Beach on Monday, so they wasted not a minute and went straight to work on the buffet of calories.

Absent from the first picture was a surprise for Static and Lithal. Like Mom would say, “a little something for the grand kids.”

Static loved this toy! He seldom animates for anything other than breakfast or a cat treat. But this little bird attached to a stick piqued his interest.

What is this thing you are waving in front of me?
Stop the presses... there is catnip in here! Ahhhh catnip... like elixir from the gods.

Lithal was ready to get into the action... but first, Stuff wanted to show she is ready for ribbon dancing...

Can you reach it Lithal?
Maybe if you get on your tip toes.
You got it! Now show me your ferocious face.
Nice try... you are too flopsy to be ferocious.

So, thanks Mom, Beaner and J-man! We loved the package. We loved the candy. We loved the sappy cards. We loved the pewter trinkets. We loved the cookies. We will love the cleansing face masks. Static and Lithal dig the catnip.

AND... WE LOVED THESE:

Big Lips NEED Big Glasses!

Flying Bathtub

2007-02-16T13:32:00.000-06:00

Queenie. Beaner. Stuffanie

3ish. 4ish. 7ish.

Platinum hair. Blond hair. Mousy bob.

Attacked by a bird. Afraid of heights. Afraid my top wouldn't stay up.

It was the 80s. We were in Wisconsin Dells in a bathtub in the sky. Mom dressed us in matching sun suits.

I love this picture. It is a good depiction of our childhood. Not literally...obviously Mom did not make us sit in our flying bathtub to take pictures very often... that was her toy.

I just mean that:

~~Queenie and Beaner always had this gorgeous blond hair and I was stuck with mousy, brown,shaggy mess on my head.

~~We were in the Dells with DeeDee because we went to the Dells with DeeDee a lot. This is a delicious souvenir of that day

~~We are all hanging on for dear life with forced smiles on our faces. Not to get all melodramatic, but I remember feeling that way a few times in my childhood. I remember thinking, "thank goodness my sisters are here to help me hang on."

~~Beaner was so lanky...hence the nickname "bean". Queenie had on a blue sun suit because she always got what she wanted...hence the nickname Queenie.

I have said it before, but I love those chicks.

Why do they do this to chubby kids?

2007-02-15T10:52:00.000-06:00

To the unchubby eye, this would be a perfectly fine photo - bunch of American Idol hopefuls with stars in their eyes and wings on their shoes all squeezed in for their first ever photo op. But to those of us who have suffered through group photo placement all our lives, this photo looks unbalanced. Our chubby eye goes directly to the 2 husky gentlemen on the right.

***If their intention was to stand out in this picture, I applaud their courage. BUT…only one of them in my opinion has the right to stand out… I am talking to you, crazy-assed talented, curly headed, husky boy!

Also, since my eye is trained in spotting bad plaid choices… guy on the left, “What were you thinking?”

What are you doing for Valentine's Day?

2007-02-14T15:44:00.000-06:00

If you can’t tell by the sea of red turtleneck sweaters and pink blouses, the endless supply of pink-foil-wrapped chocolates in the candy dish and Air Supply cranked in everyone’s cubicle…it is February 14.

It is the day of love, the day of greeting card profit. It is also the day to hear 1 bazillion repetitions of the question, “What are you doing to celebrate Valentine’s Day?”

Here is what I know so far:

Me: Long relaxing bubble bath with scented candles providing the only light as I read poetry and listen to a bit of Vivaldi in the background.

Translation: Quick shower, then with the flicker of the TV providing the only light as I read Me Talk Pretty One Day and listen to a bit of whatever sitcom is on in the background.

CoWorker 1: Nothing. I am not going to lie. Nothing. I am single this year and I will not acknowledge it.

Translation: Cry. I am not going to lie. Cry. I am single this year and I will consume a ½ gallon of Super Fudge Chunk in the dark with my PJs on.

CoWorker 2: My husband and I will probably be low key. Maybe have a nice meal like steak and lobster. He cooked me breakfast in bed and made heart shaped cookies already, so I am pretty happy.

Translation: I have a husband. I don’t care about these things. You should have a husband and not care about these things.

CoWorker 3: My boyfriend and I will most likely watch the movies we rented last night and maybe have some wine with dinner.

Translation: I have a boyfriend. I don’t care about these things. You should have a boyfriend and not care about these things.

CoWorker 4: My kids and I are going to exchange presents at dinner tonight. My husband has to work, but he made me lunch and that was sweet.

Translation: I have kids. I don’t care about these things. You should have kids and not care about these things.

I have to admit, I was usually the one to ask the question. I guess I really want to imagine that there are those that are out there living it up in blissful mushy kissy love.

Hey Cupid… you go on with your bad self!!

Happy V.D.

2007-02-13T16:33:00.000-06:00

CoWorker: “Do you have plans for Valentine’s Day?

ME: (obviously caught of guard) “Not really…the usual, pop in Pretty Woman and devour mass quantities of Dove Dark Chocolate Hearts while reading the wrappers to my cat… you?”

CoWorker: “My husband and I don’t do much any more for this holiday. I hope to get a peck on the cheek or perhaps dinner out.”

ME: “The ole VD is just not high on his list, huh?”

I should pause here to give a background on my need to use acronyms for everything, like my time is just so stinking valuable that I can’t give you a full word. I abbreviate things and use initials all the time. I think the whole ‘Bennifer, Brangelina, Tomcat thing was stolen from me.

CoWorker: “He isn’t the type to get all mushy and give me a…how did you say it… VD gift.”

She said VD with her hands in mock quotes around it.

I lost it.

She, however, remained very professional and didn’t acknowledge I just made it sound like genital warts or the human papilloma virus wasn’t high on his list. She also didn’t acknowledge that she basically admitted to me that she wouldn’t be getting VD from her husband. Her mind was certainly not on the bottom dwelling scum of the gutter level that mine was. My head was hurting trying to suppress the childish laughter that was bubbling up. She on the other hand did not notice and this only added fuel to my childish fire.

I let out a snorting type of buffoon laugh.

I then spent the next 10 minutes apologizing and trying to make myself look like I had some upbringing and that I was indeed 32 and deserved to work in this office. The more I talked, the more I derailed this mission. I said things like, “I don’t know why I always use acronyms… I guess it sounded like I was trying to say venereal disease or something…der…I don’t know why I am so giggly…must be a long day… I am a little punchy.” I even pulled out the big guns and went with, “I just heard a joke about VD”. Nothing I did helped my cause. I was a mixture of nervous laughter and erratic hand gestures.

She remained calm with a hint of a polite smile. She did say, “oh, that is kind of funny.” But, she said it in a - ‘I think you’re kind of immature and I don’t know what else to say, why don’t you just shut up’ kind of way. Her teeth were a little clenched and I felt almost sorry for her. She needed to get away from me and didn’t know how to leave without being rude.

Thankfully the phone at my desk rang. Relief filled the air as she saw her chance to make a run for it. I could tell she was dying to consult her copy of The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People or Who Moved My Cheese to calm her nerves and figure out how to best deal with me. I imagined her in her office pumping a glop of Purell on her hands to rid herself of the germs of juvenile stupidity that obviously befell her in our polite conversation.

VD…hee hee I said VD.

Lithal the cat

2007-02-12T15:51:00.000-06:00

Meet Lithal. She is Queenie's cat. Recently Queenie has gone overboard taking said cat's picture. I post them here in avoidance of stringing together any actual thoughts coming from my head today.

Enjoy.

Lithal is the complete opposite of Static. Static is squatty, meaty... the kind of cat that can make your bladder explode in the wee hours of the morning. Lithal is a bunch of fur attached to a skeleton. She is flopsy...the kind of cat that can lay on your head all night without you noticing it until you wake up expelling fur balls.

In case Static reads this over my shoulder later.

Part One of LOOONG Volleyball post

2007-02-09T19:41:00.000-06:00

Mintonette, also known as Volleyball, was born on this date, 1895 in Massachusetts. A YMCA physical education director, created this new game as a pastime to be played preferably indoors and by any number of players who didn’t need to have a lot of athleticism. As we celebrate the birth of Mintonette, I am reminded of my 7th grade team …we indeed did not have a lot of athleticism.

We lost EVERY. SINGLE. GAME.

Our little team of short-shorted-kneepad-clad-warriors put our souls into each match, but we just couldn’t pull out a win. Oh, we could don the costume with flair and ensure our hair was teased high enough to support the sweatband that was worn more for fashion than for absorbing sweat. We made sure we looked fabulous as we made the line to shake the other team’s hands. We smiled politely at the sportier, less fashionable girls. “Good game, good game, good game, “we repeated to each one and we meant it. We felt that we gave it our all and once in awhile we scored some points and had some impressive volleys, but never did we feel the coveted win.

It wasn’t until 8th grade that I actually won a game. The feeling was magnificent. I was a little surer of my body and was learning how to use my height as an advantage rather than an awkward hindrance. I got out of the wearing of my headband for fashion phase and became beefier and sportier. I felt like a giant among the dainty players on my team, but I was good and liked being in their "group". I still secretly wanted to be like them. They wore the right clothes, the right make-up and the right cologne... Vanderbilt.

The two coolest girls on our team, Molly and Carli started wearing it first. Every time the swan clad bottle was taken out of their lockers and sprayed on their perfect cable knit sweater dresses, we all drooled with envy. They were the epitome of sophistication and class. They were pastel and lip gloss. They were perfect hair and breasts. They had it all and wore Gloria Vanderbilt, so naturally wearing the same scent would make me part of their perfect pastel world.

Part Two of LOOONG Volleyball post

2007-02-09T19:30:00.000-06:00

That Christmas a bottle of that fabulous scent was under the tree with my name on it. I couldn’t wait until that first game after Christmas vacation. It was an ‘away’ game at a little school with a tiny locker room, perfect for my plan of unveiling my new cool identity. I rehearsed the scene in my head over and over:

ME (purposefully placing my sport bag on the bench in everyone’s view): “I guess I will put on some perfume now.”

Molly and Carli (slowly turning their heads, their eyes widening): “Is that Vanderbilt? We didn’t realize you were so sophisticated.”

Then, they would crowd around me and we would laugh and discuss foreign affairs and sip lattes. We would look down our noses at the other girls who didn’t have a swan on their bottle. They were still wearing Exclamation or Designer Imposters. I would be instantly a member of the cool crowd.

It DID NOT go this way at all:

ME (purposefully placing my sport bag in everyone’s view taking out the bottle of Vanderbilt even though my mom forbid me to take it out of the house): “I am so glad I got new perfume for Christmas. That was a long game and nothing makes me feel better than a shower and some new Vanderbilt.”

Molly and Carli (chattering away to each other not looking in my direction)

ME (making my voice a little louder): “I love this Vaaaaanderbiiiilt perfume. I am so happy my other scent finally ran out so that I can use this Vaaaaaanderbiiiiiilt perfume.”

Molly and Carli: …

ME (spraying it liberally on my wrists and neck): “I love how this Vaaaaaaaaaaaaanderbiiiiiiiiiiiiiilt smells.”

Molly and Carli: …

Feeling deflated, I thought of one last trick to get them to notice and accept me into their pastel pink world. I would place the precious perfume on the bench in front of them. They would naturally see it and I could grab it and say, “Oh, I am sorry. Was my Vanderbilt in your way?”

Part Three of LOOONG Volleyball post

2007-02-09T16:20:00.000-06:00

So I set the bottle on the bench.

The bottle teetered right off the bench.

The bottle shattered.

The bottle emptied its prized contents all over the locker room floor.

The locker room was instantly taken over by the pungent aroma of concentrated alcohol mixed with the unmistakable scent of popularity. I was crushed. Visions of me sitting with my lunch tray propped on my lap as I sobbed in the girl’s bathroom ran through my mind. My life was definitely over. I would be forever the girl who ruined the juice of the goddesses. My face was scarlet with embarrassment and shame.

Then the strangest thing happened.

Molly and Carli hurled themselves at the floor and rubbed their wrists and arms in the pool of cologne not seeming to mind that little shards of swan were everywhere. They emerged from their frenzy and encouraged the rest of us to soak up the stuff.

We all did.

We all slathered the glass and perfume remains up and down our arms and didn’t think twice about it. If Molly and Carli were doing it… it must be the thing to do. Reeking of Vanderbilt Perfume our entire team left the locker room to cross the tiny gym floor.

The gym was full of spectators watching the 7th grade team. Since our game was over, we (the 8th grade team) were told to sit and watch.

Parents, students and teachers all crowded on the 4 rows of bleachers this little gym provided. We sat on the first row of bleachers to watch the rest of the 7th grade game. Did I mention it was a small gym? Did I mention that the locker room was right off this small gym? Did I mention that Santa decided to bring me the largest VAT of Vanderbilt Perfume? Did you happen to catch that all of the 8th grade volleyball team was soaking wet with Vanderbilt Perfume.

I still recall the pinched faces of the row of parents directly behind us and the looks we got from our coach. I still recall the scene of Molly and Carli lapping up the stuff with their dainty little wrists. And I still recall the AWFUL tang of that swan clad cologne in the purple box.

We interrupt this movie with a chorus of La Cucaracha

2007-02-08T13:02:00.000-06:00

There was a time when I would condemn people who use cell phones in public. I would roll my eyes at them and blame all of the world’s problems on their bad habit. The elevated gas prices had to be caused by InconsiderateTeen on her cell phone rambling on about DeadBeatBoyfriend in the next aisle at Target when I was trying to buy ultra-thin panty liners and a new toothbrush. I was convinced the reason W got reelected was in direct correlation to ErraticDriverOnCellPhone Man. Don’t even get me started on DrunkPictureTaking Girl… I never actually proved it, but I was sure she had something to do with Katrina.

I loathed these people so much that I would go out of my way to grunt and glare at them so that they felt my disdain. A pox on your house cell phone losers!

Okay... Okay...I shouldn't have been so hard on them. I have recently become one of them.

I will take my share of those pox now…

I have become a person who takes phone calls in the middle of the store. While I am squeezing melons in the middle of the grocery store (heehee I said, “squeezing melons”), I am balancing my sleek, sophisticated, black Katana picture phone on my shoulder. I also drive while making calls…which I have to admit is a true time saver.

I have developed a small love affair with this phone. I get a little jolt of joy when I hear the sound it makes when it closes. I love the attention I get from just having it. I can fit it into my wallet because it is so incredibly sleek and sophisticated. I feel the need to capture dorky images of everyone I meet just to match it up with their number. It is also very handy to have this camera on my person… I have used it on these occasions for example.

Even though I have changed my habits and have started to accept those around me, I still will never ever ever use my sleek, sophisticated, black Katana picture phone in a movie theater. EVER. I will heed the 80 bazillion reminders that appear on the screen before my favorite flick… this I swear as Scorsese is my witness.

I will also continue to pox the houses of the LOSERS that can’t grasp the concept of “please silence your cell phone” Nothing piques my temper more than a chorus of La Cucaracha coming from a phone in the middle of my 9 dollar movie. Actually, I take that back, there is one thing that is worse… the bastards who answer them.

I recently had a small debate with a friend on this subject. She took the side of those who answer cell phones in the theater. Her argument was based on the single mother out on a date who needs to be available in case of an emergency. Fine, good point…but what did she ever do before the cell phone? Why is she dating if she can’t trust her babysitter and the list of emergency contact numbers she provided? Maybe she needs a more reliable babysitter and a lesson on letting it go to voicemail. Maybe she needs me to open a big ol’ can of whoop-ass.

I'll do it too, but someone has to hold my sleek, sophisticated, black Katana picture phone. I wouldn't want to damage it.

Scene from a sickbed

2007-02-06T10:48:00.000-06:00

Around noon I moved my sorry ass to the couch.

Blanket...check.
Roll of TP...check.
Orange Jello...check.
New cat on my chest...check.

--------------------------------------------------------

10:40am update on Stuff’s sorry state:

Blanket…check.

All 4 pillows propping me to prevent mucus choke…check.

Roll of TP…check.

Bottle of water…check.

Remote control…check.

Cell phone…check.

Cat on my chest…check.