The Wordy Bitch

I'm Right and You're Stupid

2012-02-01T20:59:00.002-06:00

Warning: this is going to get political.

Back in the days when I used to post more, I posted about Electile Dysfunction. That was about three years ago and I was suffering from post-election malaise. As you’ve seen from my infrequent posts in the past year or so, I’m a full-time student (sometimes more). In addition, I’m also, mostly, working full-time. That doesn’t mean that I’m less opinionated. It doesn’t mean that I’m less wordy. I haven’t had the mental energy to deal with public politics on my blog. I hope this post changes that.

If you’re not reading me via a feed reader or Facebook, my political leanings are fairly obvious. As my profile states, “I'm a gun-toting, pro-life, hetero-kinky, pro-gay-marriage defense contractor with an interest in Eastern religions and philosophy with a tolerance for all walks of life. I'd like to hand you a flower but believe we need to be holding bake sales to build bombers. Confused? Imagine what it's like in my head!”

Yes, I’m fiscally conservative. I’m fairly liberal when it comes to social issues but I’m pro-life. I think that personal responsibility matters. As I mentioned in the Electile Dysfunction post, there’s not a candidate who completely speaks for me.

I could go on for pages but I know that we’re all suffering from information overload. I use a feed reader. When I see a post that makes me click more than twice to see what they have to say, I click on something else. I want the posts to be succinct. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I’m the Wordy Bitch. I find it hard to be succinct. That said, I will try to get to the point.

Politics are an ugly, ugly thing. People get rude. They attack [even within the same party (Hillary and Barack in the last election) (Newt and Mitt in this one)].

My best friend in the world is a hard-core liberal. She’s a liberal, pro-choice atheist who thinks (correct me if I’m wrong, CaveBitch) that Obama should be given another four years…

We talk politics when we’re together. We love each other. We respect each other. We discuss the issues without personally attacking each other. I like hearing what she has to say. I think and hope that she likes hearing my opinion. We don’t often agree but we listen and disagree, respectfully. We debate the issues. I don’t think she’s stupid because she believes what she believes. I think she knows that I thoughtfully stand by my beliefs. We respect each other. Our discussions reflect that (even if drapery becomes a MAJOR issue…).

There’s also a woman in Maine who is even more liberal than CaveBitch. She is the sister of my heart. One of the best conversations I’ve had in my life was with her. It’s old news now but we debated the Dixie Chicks and whether or not they were censored after a concert declaration. We completely disagreed about all of it but we remained friends after the conversation.

So. in the interest of trying to be succinct, there’s this: I don’t put a condition on my friendships. I don’t make a condition of being my friend that you agree with me on everything. My real friends don’t expect me to agree with them on everything. As the second ex-husband once said, “If I wanted to date myself, I’d stay at home.”

I’m probably going to be posting political thoughts in the next ten months or so. If you agree with me, I’d love to hear from you. If you disagree with me, I’d also love to hear from you! Let’s just not attack each other personally, okay? Let’s debate the issues and talk about the candidates.

The title of this post is a warning. Too many people are so caught up in their ideologies that they can’t step back and think about trying to find some common ground. I promise this: If you don’t attack; if you present your belief in a way that is respectful, I will respond in kind. The problem in most political conversations is that most of us have become caught up in attack mode. We respond to a difference of belief by calling the differing person stupid or racist or redneck or… .

Sure. I believe I’m right. I do not, however, think you’re stupid. Tell me what you think – and why you think it.

Percolating...

2012-01-30T21:13:00.002-06:00

I have a new post (finally) percolating in my brain. No promises. No excuses (at least not yet). Be forewarned: politics are most likely involved in this.

By the way (and not an excuse), I'm in my final semester. Graduation is in about four months. I'm giddy. There may be ridiculousness soon.

I'm Making No Promises

2012-01-09T19:36:00.003-06:00

Tonight was the first night of the last semester before I graduate. I hope that this semester proves to be less stressing than the past few.

While I still have many opinions and I'm still Wordy, I'm not shy about sharing them in person but it's harder to get those words down on the blog (for a variety of reasons).

I'll try to fix that.

Dear Friends in Denver -

2011-09-27T11:54:00.002-05:00

Pack your belongings! You're moving to Wyoming!

Here We Go Again...

2011-08-31T20:45:00.003-05:00

Back at it, again, but this semester looks as if it won't be as stressing. I hope to soon post something interesting for a change.

I Can Breathe Again!

2011-08-07T23:30:00.003-05:00

Okee-dokee. I won't be doing that again. I'm thrilled it's over and I'm glad to have five courses out of the way in 2.5 months but it was brutal. I was cranky and irritable and Baby Kitty thinks that I don't love him.

Two more (less stressful, I think) semesters and I'll be completely done.

In the spirit of fun and lighter spirits, I'll share a funny I read a week or so ago:

A big moron and a little moron were walking along a
cliff. The big moron fell off. Why didn't the other one?

Cause he was a little more on.

Morons, unite!

In the News...

2011-06-01T14:07:00.007-05:00

It is entirely possible that I have multiple personalities and one of them is an adolescent boy. Bathroom humor and penis jokes? Count me in!

That's your warning. If you're already feeling uncomfortable, it's probably best to stop reading now.

When politicians find themselves in the midst of a potential scandal, they have hard choices to make. Tell the truth? Aw, c'mon now. That's really the last resort, right? Claim no knowledge! Lie! Distract! Admit it but claim sex addiction!

In case you've missed it, Representative Anthony Weiner has found himself smack dab in the middle of a scandal. Rep. Weiner's Twitter followers were surprised by the picture that was sent from his account. The picture was of underwear. With a man inside. An aroused man.

Weiner claims that both his Twitter and Yfrog accounts were hacked. However, today Weiner says that he
"can't say with certitude" that it isn't a picture of him. Hmmm.

There's all kinds of reporting being done out there on this. Bloggers kept the story going when the media seemed to be uninterested. Eh. Today, liberal and conservative reporters are all asking questions. I'm not a reporter. Go to your favorite news site if you'd like to read more. This is not meant to be a news article or a commentary on politics or even a statement on liberal/conservative differences.

I like bathroom humor and penis jokes. A couple of the funniest things I've seen since this began:

Anthony Weiner to Hire Private Dick to Investigate Twitter Hacking. Dick Tracy and Shaft Likely Candidates

Can't we all just get a schlong?

"The only thing Anthony Weiner and the crotch picture had in common is that they both lean hard left." (I think this is attributable to Jon Stewart; I don't know who is responsible on the others.)

And my personal favorite:
IM IN UR PANTZ TWEETIN PITCHERS OF UR JUNK - BRITEBART KAT

My advice?

Always.
Just Say No.

2011-05-29T21:28:00.005-05:00

It’s been over a month since those deadly storms came through North Alabama. Just this past Friday, they removed the forest of debris filling the ditches along my street. There are many areas that still look like the storms hit yesterday. Again, I was so blessed/lucky/fortunate.

The FEMA inspector came to document the damage at my house yesterday. I’ll know in 7-10 days what they will do.

Life has, somewhat, returned to normal. I’m finally back at work. Three months of this year, I was without a paycheck. That was a bit stressful. It was also informative. I know that I will not be bored when I eventually retire. I’ve learned that my workaholic tendencies need to be fought. Paychecks are good. Life is better.

School is back in session. For further proof that I am insane, I’m taking five classes again this semester: Spanish Conversation, Technical Risk Management, Project Management, Legal Environment of Business, and Stats II.

I’ve apologized in the past for breaks in blogging. I’m not apologizing for that this time. I’ve made promises about posting. I’m not making promises about that this time.

What I will make a promise about is this: If/when I do post something, it will be ridiculous or deep or DIY psychoanalysis or a haiku or something else completely random.

Goals must be attainable.

In the spirit of ridiculousness, I give you the following cartoon as a warning about summer clothing choices:

Ima Little Bit Scared...

2011-05-14T22:33:00.014-05:00

(Updated to add more pictures and video)
I didn’t see the news stories about the tornados that ripped through the Southeast on April 27th. The first round of storms took out the power at my house around 10:00 a.m.

I’ve lived in North Alabama for a long time. The first time was in 1973-74, so I lived here during the devastating tornados then. My brother and I huddled with my parents in the hallway of our quarters on Redstone Arsenal. I saw some of the damage in the weeks following but I was young enough that my biggest concern was about the veterinarian’s office and if the puppies were okay. I moved back here in 1978 and have been here since then. In 1989, I’d driven through the intersection of Airport Road and Memorial Parkway only minutes before a tornado struck there.

One time, I did go to my parents’ house (they had a basement) because the weather folks were saying a large tornado was in the next town and heading my way. During that short drive, light debris started hitting my windshield and I decided that I would not ever leave my house again during severe storms.

Even with all of that, I don’t get too twitchy about storm warnings. We hear them all of the time in this part of the country. If severe weather is expected, I keep the television tuned to a local station. I keep a watch on the sky to the West. Other than that, I don't modify my activities much.

On April 27th, I was studying for the last final of the semester but I had the television on so I could monitor the expected bad weather. A friend was visiting from out of town and I was hoping to finish my schoolwork early so we could go do something fun.

I’ve weathered a number of storms in my house. This day felt different. As the first line of thunderstorms neared, the sky looked different. For the first time in my life, I put on sturdy shoes and we went into my closet and shut the door. The power went out but we could hear the storm outside.

After the storm was over, I kept expecting the power to come back on. I’ve lived in my house for ten years and have never lost power for more than 15 minutes. I’ve often questioned why I even accepted the generator from my parents when they moved.

My son came home from work early and reminded me that our iPods worked as radios. Fortunately, both were fully charged. I found my headphones, we turned the volume up and huddled around the iPod to listen to the news. It seems a tornado had hit less than a half-mile south of my house.

My ex-husband called. He was on his way home from work as he had also been dismissed early. He had to take multiple detours due to the trees down on so many roads. What was usually a 20 minute or shorter drive became a two-hour trip. When he got home, my son went to get him and they came to my house. We were tracking the storms on the radio and knew that another line of severe storms, with tornados embedded, were headed our way. They were still at least a half-hour away so we went into my backyard to watch the horizon.

The lightning started getting intense and the birds were all heading East. Then, we saw something else in the sky. After a moment or two, we realized it was a shingle. Twenty to thirty minutes ahead of the storm, debris was falling from the sky. More followed.

A little background about my dog, Gulliver: He is terrified of slick floors. He has no interest in coming into the house since I got rid of the carpet and put down tile and laminate.

That day, he was quite insistent about coming into the house. He did not give a shit about slick floors on April 27th.

I told the guys, “We need to go get in the closet NOW.”

My son, with all of the scornful disdain a twenty-four year old can muster, said, “Mom, you live on a slab. We need to go across the street to the [neighbor’s] storm shelter.”

I’ve known these people for over twenty years. I’d never considered going to their storm shelter prior to that day. We grabbed flashlights, iPods, and my purse and took off across the street. My dog freezes when on a leash and Baby Kitty is also not a fan of any kind of confinement. We left the animals in the house. Other people, strangers, were already at the shelter. Two men, a woman, two young teenage girls with their puppy, my son, my ex-husband, my friend, and I nervously waited. We listened to the news reports and watched the horizon.

We saw the storm coming. More debris fell from the sky. As the storm came closer, we rushed down the stairs and three of the men held the door shut. The latch was broken and they were determined to keep that door closed. Through a small gap at the top of the door, we watched debris fly by the shelter.

“Here it comes! Hold the door!”

The sound had changed. You always hear people say, usually in a thick Southern accent, that a tornado sounds like a freight train. It didn’t sound like that to me. One person described it as sounding like you’re trapped in a Hoover vacuum cleaner. That better fits what I heard. We could hear and feel the air being sucked out of the vents in the ceiling of the shelter. Our ears popped as the air pressure changed. We could hear the large trees above the shelter snapping in two. It was terrifying. I heard someone crying. I told them that it would be okay, that we were in a safe place.

After the storm, we went outside. Water had filled the ditches and was rushing down the hill. Trees all around us had been uprooted or broken in half.

This, apparently, happened around this time. Please don’t be judgy… we’re not all that redneck in these parts…

I was still listening to the news.

“Another one’s coming, same path, about ten minutes out.”

My memories of the rest of the day are a bit jumbled and the timeline of what happened is off, I’m sure.

When there were breaks in the storms, we left the shelter to go check on our homes. Crossing my driveway was a bit scary. The water was deeper and more quickly moving than I was comfortable with but seemed passable, so we crossed despite this.

I’m really glad that I put my boots on early that morning. Looking down the hill, I could see that the bottom of my street was covered in water.

At least two of the houses now had lakes instead of lawns.

I noticed that, with the overflowing ditches and continuing copious amounts of rain, water was starting to come in my front door. I’m on a hill and not in a flood zone and the amounts of water were incredible. I thought about changing into dry clothes but, at that point, it seemed kind of pointless. We rolled towels and placed them between the storm door and the front door and hoped for the best.

I tried to call my daughter but calls weren’t going through. She lives about an hour south of me and they were having tornados, too. I texted her and, thankfully, received word that she, the son-in-law, and my grandgirls were all fine.

My son drove to his dad’s house to get his dog and bring him to my house. He unplugged my computer and moved it from the floor to a table. Phone signals were already shaky at best, texting worked a little bit. I texted him that another storm was coming and he needed to get back to the shelter.

One of the other men and his two daughters came back to the shelter. The girls were sobbing. They’d gone to check on their house and it was gone. Everything gone.

The radio stations told us what was going on around us. The reports were devastating. The Piggly Wiggly grocery store was destroyed, people were trapped inside. The nearby gas station was completely gone. Hacklesberg, Tuscaloosa, Birmingham, Cullman, Tanner and other towns and communities all hit.

As the storm got closer, we went back down the stairs and the men held the door. The only light was from the gap at the top of the door and my son’s iPod. My iPod’s battery had run out during the earlier storms. We heard a man shouting outside.

“Can we come in? We have babies.”

You know, it should have been obvious to me prior to this storm that you don’t need an invitation to use a storm shelter. No one cares if they know you or not. It doesn’t matter. Get in a shelter when there’s a storm coming. The man, his wife, and their two children joined us in the shelter.

The ground above the shelter was completely saturated and water dripped into buckets. That was the only sound before the roaring started again. I’m not sure how many storms went over and around us that day. It seemed as if they just kept coming. Every single time we left the shelter, the damage to the area was worse. The flooding was worse, more trees were down. It was awful.

When we finally got the all clear, it was dark. We navigated our way across flooded ditches back to my house. The water on my sidewalk was halfway up my leg. When we got into the house, the dogs and cat were completely freaked. The water was about an inch deep in most of my house. Fortunately, because I live on a hill, the water outside started to recede pretty quickly. By flashlight and candlelight, we used push brooms to get most of the water out of the house. On hands and knees, we used every towel, blanket and sheet in my linen closet to try to dry the floors.

I think we were all a little shell-shocked. We didn’t know what to do, so we just did stuff. ~shrug~

My ex and son decided that they were going to try to go to his house, about a mile away. My ex was pretty sure the house, a mobile home, wasn’t even going to be there but because of all the trees down, they were going to walk. My ex-husband’s street intersects mine but when they got to the end of my street, they couldn’t even see his street because of the downed trees and debris. They came back to my house and decided they’d drive and go around a different way. Within a few minutes, they were back. All of the roads leading to his house were impassable.

It was decided that the only thing to do at this point was have a beer or two. The ex rarely drinks but even he indulged that night. By candlelight, in the damp living room, we talked a little about how scary it had been and how lucky we were. We had no idea.

The next day, when the sun came out, it became very apparent how fortunate we had been. About 150 yards from my house and beyond, it looks like a war zone.

I have been at the north end of my street at least three times a week for the past ten years. If someone had blindfolded me and put me at the spot where my road intersects my ex-husband’s, when I’d take off that blindfold, I would not know where I was.
There used to be forest. There isn’t.

There used to be houses. Most are gone and those that are left are nearly unrecognizable. There was a storage facility in the neighborhood. The shell of that is gone but all of the belongings inside of it were left… just sitting there. Power lines were draped across the road. Trees turned into toothpicks. Huge power towers bringing TVA electricity to the county crumpled into piles of twisted metal.

People lost everything they owned. People died on my street, on the next street, and on the next street after that.

Most, if not all, of the county was without power. So, while the gas stations had gasoline, they didn’t have electricity to run the pumps. The stores and businesses were mostly shut down because cash registers don’t run without electricity. Some stores were open but it was cash only and correct change, please. Taxes were figured with calculators, pen and paper.

My brother drove down from Nashville. He brought beer (very important!), ice (also important!), a propane lantern (teh awesome!), and other supplies. He also brought his chainsaw and a willingness to work. He, along with my friend and neighbors, made quick work of the partially downed tree in my front yard. We went over to my ex-husband’s house and for an hour before he got home, my brother used his chainsaw to reduce some of the trees into manageable branches that my sister-in-law and I dragged to the road. After the ex and my son got there, we took care of more of the downed trees.

A few lessons learned:
1. Have cash on hand. I usually don’t but I will from now on.
2. Have a full tank of gas. Always. Thanks to my friend, I did. Fill up when you get to half a tank. I will from this point forward.
3. Have propane. I had a little but not enough.
4. Have a generator. Thank you, Mom and Dad. Thank you, my dear friend, for getting it running again. Side note: start the generator at least once a month and make sure it’s always in proper working order…even if you’ve never lost power for more than 15 minutes.
5. Have a battery powered radio. I partially have that now. I will completely have that soon.
6. Have extra water. We filled containers the next morning because we didn’t know if the water supply would be effected.
7. Have shelf-stable foods and a manual can opener.

I know there’s more but, honestly, I’m still trying to wrap my brain around what happened here. Two days after the tornados, I drove to Columbia, TN. I thought that because it was off the beaten track, I could go there and get what I needed. No D-cell batteries in the whole town. Propane was found at the Lowe’s. I filled 8 five-gallon cans with gasoline, bought bar oil and two-stroke additive for chainsaws, and stocked up on water and beer and other necessary items. I got lost on the way home and found D-cell batteries at a co-op in Maryville, TN. Go figure.

We were without power for ten days. Friends with a gas hot water heater offered up hot showers. I took one cold shower here and decided that conditioner is, despite my previous belief, completely optional. Will never do that again. Brrr. I can cook anyflippingthing on the grill. The Red Cross, particularly the Omaha-based crew working my neighborhood, was wonderful. They provided food, humor, and information. They brought hot lunches and dinners on most days. While I had the ability to cook on my grill, after you’ve worked all day cleaning up branches, debris, mud and other stuff, it sure is nice to have someone else cook dinner. I cooked breakfast every day. I had my neighbors over and offered up refrigerator and freezer space for their food (thankful again for the generator).

I will not be complacent about severe weather any more. I have a weather radio now (they used to annoy me). I am preparing a “go bag” to keep in my closet. It is a waterproof backpack with the bare necessities. April 27th and the ten days following taught me what those are.

I hope that by writing all of this (and I do apologize for the length), that I’ll stop getting twitchy about dark clouds. I’ve never been a fearful person and I don’t intend to start now.

I had damage to my house but no one in my family was injured. I was inconvenienced but was still able to stay in my home.

I saw this story about a week after the event. I'd heard that this had happened near me but didn't know there was a news report.

Ima very thankful gal.
(I have a few more pictures but email is slow tonight so I'm not able to quickly retrieve them from my phone - will probably have an update tomorrow.)

Winning Isn't Everything

2011-01-25T16:53:00.002-06:00

I won! I won? Really? I re-entered the numbers from the slip of paper in my hand. I clicked the “Search” button. According to the Powerball website, I was the winner. I had just won forty-one million dollars. I felt light-headed. The corners of my vision started to turn fuzzy and grayish. I reminded myself that breathing was going to be crucial for continued consciousness.

Okay. Deep breath. I won? I won! First realization: I don’t have to work. What am I going to do now? The question came quickly. The answer came just as quickly as the question: I’m going to write. I am going to write.

The other details started crowding in about making sure my kids were taken care of and paying off my brother’s house and buying my parents a place in Gulf Shores. Sure, I was going to take care of my family but throughout the random “taking care of folks” thoughts, my brain’s town crier was waving a flag and shouting, “I’m going to write! I’m going to write!” I don’t know if I was more excited about winning $41 million or having the freedom to write.

Winning the lottery meant that I would be able to devote my time and energy to the activity that brings me joy. I called my parents. After repeatedly telling them that I was not joking, that I had really won, they told me they were on their way to my house. My daughter was in the front yard with her boyfriend. I went out and told them the good news. We jumped up and down in our excitement. They came back into the house with me and I showed them the proof of my incredible luck. Still, not believing what was right in front of me, I entered the numbers again. There was no doubt. I had entered the winning numbers.

I realized I had other numbers on the slip of paper and thought to myself, “What the hell, I’ll check these, too.” I entered the second line of numbers, clicked on the search button and waited. What? This isn’t possible. This just isn’t possible. Twice? I won twice? Fuzzy. Gray. Breathe, woman! Breathe! Forty-three million dollars? This, on top of the forty-one million I’d already won? I checked the third line. Winner. The fourth. Also, a winner. The fifth? Indeed, that one was also a winner. They were all winning numbers. They were all winning numbers. Slowly, mortifyingly, the light began to come on in my head. Winning numbers. I looked at the slip of paper again. Sure enough, right there, on the slip of paper, it said, “Winning Numbers.” Apparently, I’d picked up a print-out of the recent winning numbers. This wasn’t my lottery ticket.

I wasn’t a winner. I was an idiot. I was an idiot who wished she could crawl under the floor and die of embarrassment. Despite hair follicles that exude golden strands, I’m usually pretty damned smart. This, however, was The Ultimate Blonde Moment of All Time. I like making people laugh. I like bringing joy to others. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.

It’s been seven years since I “won” the lottery. The story is still bringing joy to my family and making them laugh. What that experience taught me, even more than some much needed humility, was that what I love is writing. I will write.

I still occasionally buy lottery tickets. I don’t pick up print-outs of the winning numbers.

I will write.

What's Goin' On

2011-01-24T21:24:00.002-06:00

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned that I had some job angst. I last worked a couple of days before Christmas. That sucks when you're a workaholic. By the way, the whoopie pies were good but too sweet. Once I figure out a better solution, I'll post a recipe.

So, you may be wondering why I haven't been posting more. After all, I haven't been on the job (save for a day or two) for about a month. Well, in the post I linked to above, I mentioned that I was insane and was planning to take five classes this semester. Boy, howdy. It's probably a good thing that I have this downtime from work.

I'm going to take the opportunity to not duplicate effort (that's government speak) in the next couple of days. One of my classes is a creative writing class. Yay! It was part of my grand plan. Yes, I'm taking more than a full load of courses but I needed to make at least one of them something I'd do for fun, if I had time.

In my next post, I'm probably going to dance for Mare. Fair warning. Dancing. Showcasing my insanity. Probably tomorrow.

In the meantime, I have two haikus for you.

I love to travel.
New travel regulations.
Is this a first date?

Dinner and a drink?
No, it's a trip for my job.
Still, it's second base!

Random Thought #11

2011-01-14T19:10:00.002-06:00

I'd like to know just who thought putting the larger cup-size bras on the lowest rack was a good idea. Don't they know it's dangerous to have top-heavy women bend over that far?

Of Ewoks and Pudding and Making Whoopie

2010-11-24T20:42:00.002-06:00

So, in addition to the fun-filled and exhausting days of work and school, I also managed to get bronchitis and sinusitus. Turns out that if I'm ever exposed to anthrax, I am completely screwed because I found out (the hard way) that I'm allergic to Cipro. After a good run of antibiotics to which I am NOT allergic, I managed to get the mother of all colds.

Oh, and my job situation is in complete and utter turmoil. For the past several months, it's been a roller coaster of stress. I didn't know if I'd have a job on October 1st until late September. I didn't know if I'd have a job on November 1st until late October. I still don't have confirmation that I have a job on December 1st although it does seem likely but then, of course, it's back to wondering if I have a job on January 1st. After that, I will either definitely be employed or I will definitely not be employed. Makes it a little hard to plan for much of anything.

Thus, I've spent the majority of the month of November either whining or in a strange fog of ewok-filled pudding dreams and whining...lots and lots of whining. But that's all over now and I am right in the middle of making whoopie...

Whoopie pies, that is. Pumpkin whoopie pies to be exact. What? You thought I'd be blogging about sexual adventures? First of all, um, NO. Secondly, even though we've already established the fact that I am insane, between work and school and making whoopie pies, there is no time for much of anything else. Oh, and I'm learning (re-learning?) Spanish.

So, rather than whining, I've decided to give it up for a day or two and see how that works out for me. Hopefully, I'll be able to let you know how that goes. If I'm not back soon, do not assume that my head exploded from unrelieved-by-whining stress... unless, of course, you hear about a woman in Alabama who was found with her head all exploded from stress and shit.

If the whoopie pies are good, I'll post a recipe.

I also want to rant (different than whining) about the TSA and the new "You can't see London, can't see France, unless we see your underpants" policy.

Revelation

2010-10-29T01:47:00.004-05:00

Muthah fuckah.

Blogger ate my post.

It's okay, though. It was self-serving whining about how I'm working too hard and how that effects what I eat and drink. Really, it was so boring I almost fell asleep writing it.

I'll try for something more invigorating tomorrow.

In the meantime, have you seen BethLamPen? Freakin' awesome.

Educating Ima

2010-10-22T16:34:00.003-05:00

After a more than decade-long break from educational endeavors, I got back on the path to getting my degree at the beginning of this year. I’m nearing the end of my third semester and am so very thankful for online classes. They make it possible to continue working 50-60 hours a week while still gettin’ me some learnin’. I can view lectures, complete homework, and take tests online from anywhere I happen to be.

We use a system called Blackboard for the online classes. It’s pretty good. Discussion boards, library links, relevant videos, chat capabilities, course materials, and links to textbook publisher sites all make it very useful. My university also uses it to post information of interest to students and graduates: notices on job fairs, campus events, etc. There’s room for improvement but overall, I really like Blackboard.

When I have an annoying professor, I can roll my eyes without fear of retribution in grading. I can fast-forward past boring or unnecessary portions of the lecture. Once, after twenty minutes of a lecture, I’d had enough and screamed at my monitor, “He is! They are!” Blackboard/Tegrity benefit: My cat was the only one startled by my outburst. I mean, come on, buddy. I know we’re in Alabama and this isn’t a composition class but this is a four-year university. I’m paying a boatload of cash out of my own pocket for my education and I deserve proper grammar from my professors. /end whine

I’ve been taking two classes per semester up to this point but I have a path and a plan that will have me graduating in mid-2012. That plan includes taking five classes next semester…

…because I’m insane.

While I plan to start taking at least one class per semester on campus, I will continue to take most of my classes online. Fortunately, since I will no longer have any kind of personal life whatsoever, I was quite pleased to see that the folks running our Blackboard have decided to include humor with the other postings.

Dear Juxtaposition

2010-10-01T08:37:00.001-05:00

Dear Juxtaposition,

The Fitness Magazine next to the cheesecake in the breakroom was BRILLIANT. Thank you!

Love,
Ima

Translation is Tricky

2010-08-29T21:58:00.006-05:00

While I'm a huge fan of locally grown/raised foods, I adore markets where you can buy foods from various locations around the world. The Dekalb County Farmers Market near Atlanta, GA is one of those places. The fruit and veggie selection is stunning. You can buy live, fresh seafood from who knows where (hell, it's still gasping for breath so I think it's fresh), pate from Russia, and a huge variety of goods from any country you can imagine.

While I appreciate that more than I can say, I must admit that part of my brain is that of an 11-year-old boy. I've saved this photo for months, simply because it makes me giggle.

If you sell to an audience that speaks Americanized-English, please get someone who speaks the language to critique your packaging. Honestly, I think it will help your bottom line. I didn't buy the item pictured below but I did consider it...

Really? No one caught this?

I'm feeling less constipated than Jamie Lee Curtis in an Activia commercial... just because I know about Poopy Seeds.

Things My Parents Taught Me

2010-07-31T20:06:00.003-05:00

I’m not sure if I was even born yet when the incident I’m about to relate to you occurred; however, I’ve heard about it for years and my parents claim it is true. A comment Becca left on my last post made me realize it might make for an interesting blog story and I’ve received permission from my parents to post it.

My parents were in their early 20s and hadn’t been married long. Mom had given up the security of her family and home near Baltimore to move to El Paso, TX where my dad was stationed at Ft. Bliss. Dad had gone out with his Army buddies for an evening of cultural enrichment in the lovely border town of Juarez.

Many hours later, his buddies poured him out of the car onto the front lawn of our quarters. As he crawled to the front door, no doubt clutching the sparse grass firmly to keep from falling off the earth, I’m sure he was considering himself quite the party animal.

The next morning was a completely different story. He woke up with a marching band practicing maneuvers in his head and a sneaking suspicion that a cat had shat in his mouth.

I need to explain something here. My mother is a kind, caring, lovely woman. She’s volunteered for the Red Cross, Meals on Wheels, Hospice, and a number of care and compassion groups in her church. She is a good woman.

When Dad woke up groaning late the next morning, his darling bride had just walked into the room to check on him. She leaned over him, lovingly laid her hands on his shoulders, and quietly whispered, “Oh, honey. Do you have a hangover?”

“Yes,” he whimpered.

“GOOD!” she yelled, as she shook the daylights out of him.

I don’t know if my dad ever had another hangover. I do know that he’s never complained about one.

Mom and Dad will be celebrating forty-five years of wedded bliss this August. They’ve had good times and bad times and, for the most part, been fair with each other.

What this story illustrates is one of the valuable lessons about personal responsibility that my parents taught me: If you knowingly do something that causes you pain, you lose your right to complain about it.

I won’t run down the list of my flaws and virtues but I have a fair amount of each. I’ve claimed for a number of years that I am both the very best and the very worst of my parents.

I’m good with that.

Atlas Shrugged

2010-07-27T22:01:00.003-05:00

I want to post more. I'm strangled by my work obligations. However, I had to let you know...

Atlas Shrugged is being made into a movie. I'm not Jewish but I just might plotz.

Reading this book is going to take time out of your life. It's a fucking brick. It is the most amazing book I've ever read. It's better than Erica Jong's Fear of Flying. It's better than George Orwell's 1984.

READ THIS BOOK.

It's important. It's prophetic. IT.IS.REAL.

I know... I don't post much these days. For that, I apologize. I'm busy. Fifty to sixty hour work weeks combined with school (eek! I'm an old student!) and then add home improvement projects... Ack. I'm overwhelmed.

READ THIS BOOK.

I just hope the movie does it justice.

Be a producer. Please don't be a looter.

READ THE BOOK!

(obnoxious enough? I can do more!)

Promises, promises

2010-07-11T21:44:00.004-05:00

Damned promises.

Okay, so I promised some mind-numbing blather that would probably do nothing for anyone but me. Here goes.

I was a really obnoxious teenager. I excelled at arguing whenever I thought I was being treated unfairly. At thirteen, I protested what I thought was an unfair wage for lawn mowing. My protest was complete with marching and signs. Really. There’s photographic proof.

Shut up. It was the early 80s. You can't see the sign on the right but it says, "Unfair Wages."

You’re probably wondering why I’ve posted a really embarrassing photo from my awkward teenage years, right? I thought a visual would help explain how far I’d go to protect my rights.

Somewhere along the line, I stopped arguing for myself and started just accepting things. A portion of that is due to an appreciation of Eastern religions and being Zen, Al-Anon and all of that. I’ve learned to accept the things I cannot change. That is a good thing. Another rather large part of it is due to a flying queen-sized bed, ripped out phones, and spackle. Lots and lots of spackle. Spackle and fear. (I’m having a huge struggle here between sharing this and protecting the privacy of others.)

While I’ve always hated discord, I was taught through some extremely unpleasant experiences that I should only stand up for what I believed was right if it wasn’t about what was right for me. In that, I tried to keep and make peace. I have a friend who once told me, “I don’t need you to be a fucking peacemaker.” Fair. She didn’t need for me to be a peacemaker. I needed to be a peacemaker. There was an awkward time in our friendship because of that. I think/hope we’ve moved beyond it.

As I said in Thought Garden, “I’ve compromised myself, not because it was demanded or requested or expected, and I’m trying to figure out why and how I can change it.” In the relationships that followed after the one with the flying queen-sized bed, I accepted a lot of things I shouldn’t have accepted. I excused things that hurt me (not physically, never again physically) in the name of peace.

I shouldn’t have done that.

On the rare occasion that I spoke up and said (admittedly, rather timidly) something, the fact that I said ANYTHING was a big, freaking deal. In my last relationship, I even got to the point where I could say “If I say anything at all, it’s a big, freaking deal.” That wasn’t strong enough. Another lesson learned.

I’ll never be the woman throwing a glass of wine into her companion’s face at a restaurant. I’ll likely never cause a scene. It’s not my style.

I will speak up. I will say, “No. That’s not okay with me.”

Baby steps.

Viagra and Casinos

2010-07-05T21:49:00.002-05:00

It's not that I don't appreciate gambling and hard-ons but, seriously, the spammers are getting rather annoying. I apologize to those of you who like to comment on my random (and, recently, infreqent) postings... I'm going to have to put some of those anti-spammer restrictions on this blog.

I feel the need to post my bloggity, DIY psychoanalytical ramblings but life is getting in my way. In Thought Garden, I started getting into my angst. There's more of that coming but I find myself overwhelmed with details. I promise (damn, that's hard... that means I have to do it) to post something mind-numblingly boring and pertinent only to me within the week.

Please, bear with me. This is an unusual time in my life.

A Tale of Two Seatmates

2010-06-03T07:40:00.004-05:00

*IT WAS the best of flights, it was the worst of flights, it was the age of reason, it was the age of insanity, it was the epoch of Atlas, it was the epoch of Alice. There were gifts received (one rather reluctantly) and I share the tale of both flights and their associated seatmates so that you may compare.

Standing by gate A2 at the El Paso International Airport, I was looking forward to the journey home. It had been a good trip and the four-day weekend was just ahead.

I noticed him immediately.

You don’t see ~~many~~ people walking through airports in their socks. Sure, there are lots of visible socks and bare feet in the TSA security areas but folks normally return their shoes to their feet before entering the concourse. Not this guy. Clad in knee-high, white, athletic socks, shorts and a striped t-shirt, he had both arms wrapped around a large overstuffed bag while one hand gripped his sneakers. He had a conservatively short haircut and a scraggly beard. He appeared to be in his late 40s or early 50s. His escort was a TSA agent.

“Can I get on the airplane now?” he asked.

“You can when they call your group number,” the TSA agent replied.

A few minutes passed while everyone in the boarding area waited to hear his or her group number. The gate agent announced first class and priority boarding.

“How about now? Can I get on now?”

“Sir, I’ll let you know when you can board.”

I was in group two so I made my way down the aisle, breathing a sigh of relief when I realized I was a good ten rows behind the baby who would soon be loudly and painfully confused about air pressure and earaches.

I tucked my laptop into the overhead bin, my purse under the seat, and my water bottle into the seat pocket in front of me. My iPod was in reach, my phones turned off and my book resting on my lap. I glanced up the aisle to see how boarding was going.

There he was - shoes in hand, feet in socks, overstuffed bag in arms. He was looking at the seat markers and mumbling loudly to himself.

“25A, 25A, 25A.”

I glanced in horror at the seat beside me. It was 25A.

“If you’re naturally kind, you attract a lot of people you don’t like.” William Feather

I immediately felt guilty. I didn’t know this man. I didn’t know if he was mentally disabled, crazy, drunk or a combination of all three. I decided not to pre-judge. I think we (the general public) try to pretend crazy, disabled, drunk people don’t exist. I try to be kind. I was not going to ignore this man. I would be polite. I would be kind.

I stood up to allow him access to his seat. The overstuffed bag would not fit under the seat and there was no more room in the overhead compartments but the flight attendants let him leave it partially wedged. They seemed unwilling to risk upsetting him.

Since he didn’t seem to know he should, I told him he’d need to put on his seatbelt. When he seemed confused, I handed him the piece between us and told him the other half was probably under the armrest. He dug around a bit, found the other section but then appeared to be confused about how to put them together. I helped.

He told me I was a nice lady.

I said, “My name is Ima.”

He said, “My name is Kit.”

“Oh,” I said, “like Kit Carson!”

“No. I’m from Kentucky.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kit from Kentucky.”

We chatted the fellow-passenger chat of where-are-you-traveling-to-today-and-is-this-home. Kit from Kentucky said he used to be in the Army, lived in El Paso, had lived overseas for a time, and was now on his way to visit family in Jacksonville, FL. I shared that I had been in El Paso for work and was flying to Huntsville, AL (“No, Kit from Kentucky, not Huntsville, TX, not the prison.”).

He told me again that I was a nice lady and said he had a gift for me. I assured him that I did not need a gift. He continued to dig around in his bag and pulled out my gift. At the sight of the gift, I even more strongly, yet politely, assured him, “no, no, I’m good, thanks!” He insisted.

Not sure yet if he was crazy, drunk, disabled, or the combo and because I didn’t know what else he had in that bag and didn’t want to upset him, I thanked him and put the gift in my purse.

The gift? You want to know what the gift was? Really, now, does the actual gift matter? Isn’t it the thought that counts?

Oh, all right.

THE GIFT:

According to one of my colleagues, who was also traveling back that afternoon and heard this story in the Dallas-Fort Worth airport, there’s a little-known fact about this sequence of events. Because I assisted Kit from Kentucky with his seatbelt and then accepted his gift of sardines (in Spring Water!), we are now betrothed.

Kit from Kentucky told me that the security guards had taken his whiskey. He’d had it tucked into his waistband. I think he said it was Old Crow. At this point, I decided to keep drunk on the list of possibilities. Based on the other bits of conversation, crazy and disabled were still on the table.

He asked if he could buy me a beer. I declined. He asked again. I said no.

Thankfully, the captain authorized the use of approved electronic devices so I put in my ear buds, powered up the iPod, and opened my book.

From time to time, Kit from Kentucky would lean over, touch the page of my book, and say something. Even though I could hear him, I made a point of pressing pause on the iPod and taking out my ear buds each time.

He asked me if I was married. Reconsidering the value of truth but unwilling to abandon it, I told him I was not. He proceeded to ask if he could have my address and phone number. I said no and he asked why not. I didn’t explain but just said no again. Firmly.

I got back to my book and music and several minutes passed. I drank some of my water. Kit from Kentucky asked me if I was a catfish.

“No. No, I’m not a catfish.”

I continued reading and listening to music. Then, Kit from Kentucky told me that I was pretty and smart. I thanked him.

Kit from Kentucky seemed content, for the most part, to look out the window at the clouds and patches of visible ground. The interruptions were, thankfully, not excessive. However, the last interruption was a doozy.

Kit from Kentucky made a comment that I heard perfectly well, even with the iPod playing. I ignored him. He said it again, louder this time. Realizing that if I continued to ignore him, he would get to the point where he was yelling, I decided to acknowledge the fact that he had just said, twice, “I’d be fine if I could just get this tampon out of my ass.”

I slowly closed my book, paused the music, removed the ear buds, channeled a dear friend who would never be questioned about her catfish status, turned to my left and gave him my best “oh, no, you didn’t” one-raised-eyebrow stare.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

“Aw, nuthin’. I was just funnin’.”

Kit from Kentucky seemed to realize that I was not interested in more conversation with him and, fortunately, we had begun our descent into Dallas.

Crazy? Check.

Drunk? Probably.

Disabled? Still not sure.

I got away from the arrival gate as quickly as possible, determined the departure gate for the Jacksonville flight so I could avoid it, and found my fellow business travelers. I shared with them the story of Kit from Kentucky. I’m ~~mostly~~- ~~partially~~- ~~almost~~ not at all certain that they were laughing with me, not at me. When I slipped outside to have a cigarette, they insisted that I leave the sardines (in Spring Water!) with them. We were not about to risk having such a lovely gift confiscated by the TSA.

For the second leg of my flight home, I had an upgrade to first class. So nice. My seatmate was wearing shoes and proper trousers. He was reading, then napping. Before we took off, I had to call my mom and tell her about the long, strange trip it’d been. Very quietly (at least that’s what I thought), I whispered the whole shoeless-catfish-sardine-inappropriate-comment experience to her. Then, I settled into my comfy, roomy seat with my complimentary gin and tonic. For the first hour of the flight, I enjoyed uninterrupted music and reading. At the end of that hour, my seatmate sat up, opened his eyes, and turned to toward me.

“So, tell me about Kit from Kentucky and the sardines.”

I did. We laughed. His name was John. It turns out that we have mutual friends and business acquaintances.

John also insisted on presenting me with a gift.

Did you know that banded penguins eat sardines?

Perfect.

~~~~~~~~~
The colleague who clued me in about my unintended betrothal knew that I was going to write about this and suggested a few alternate titles.

TITLE : SUBTITLE

"Don't accept Sardines from a shoeless Kentuckian: Betrothed on a flight from El Paso to Dallas"

"A New Wife in Kentucky: How Sardines and a Flight from El Paso to Dallas changed my Life"

"Single in El Paso and Betrothed before landing in Dallas: How a chance seatmate turned into my lifemate"

"I Don't Like Sardines Anymore: A Tale of A Betrothed Kentuckian's Wife"

"Stay out of my Feminine Hygiene Products!: A Betrothed Kentuckian Wife Speaks Out"

"Does Anyone Know How You Annul a Sardine Betrothment?: One Woman's Fight To Be Free”
~~~~~~~~~

*I’ve borrowed shamelessly from Dickens’ first lines in A Tale of Two Cities because the title inspired mine and the first lines provided the perfect template for depicting the differences in the two legs of my journey last week. Confession: I have never read A Tale of Two Cities. (the.shame!) Although I’m a voracious reader and even though it was required for one of my high school classes many years ago, I just couldn’t get into this book.

~~~~~~~~~

Thought Garden

2010-05-24T07:43:00.003-05:00

Have you ever seen what passes for dirt in Alabama? It’s ugly. It’s a reddish-orange, dense, clay-like ground that somehow manages to get a coating of green every year. Weeds seem to have no problem growing in it but good things struggle to strive in this inhospitable environment. The earth packs down and turns brick-hard in the hot southern summers.

It’s hard to grow anything in this hateful soil.

My attempts to grow myself are hampered by a similar dense, clay-like soil. Sure, there is some growth but weeds grow more readily than nourishing plants.

I’m struggling to figure out how I’ve allowed my foundation to turn into something hard and averse to growth. I’ve become stagnant and infertile. I used to engage in self-discovery. I believed I would make a difference. Instead, I’ve allowed complacency and procrastination and fear keep me from being who I am. Whether it was deliberate or unintended, I’ve allowed so many other external activities to crowd my head that I didn’t have time to think about what was happening to me. I’ve compromised myself, not because it was demanded or requested or expected, and I’m trying to figure out why and how I can change it.

This is my thought garden.

This is hard. There’s lots of digging. I’m pulling up roots and rocks and trying to put good things in their place. I’m amending my ~~soil~~ soul.

To do that, I have to indulge in some more of that do-it-yourself psychoanalysis. I have to admit my faults. It involves some wallowing… I guess that’s the right word. I have to go back and visit those hard places. I have to re-examine those times in my life where I went off my path - where I abandoned self in the name of peace or obligation or fear or laziness.

I Did Promise Ridiculous Posts...

2010-05-03T06:03:00.007-05:00

I've mentioned that I'm doing some home improvement projects. Even more recently, I wrote about needing to do some of that do-it-yourself psychoanalysis. I'll call that internal improvement. I've also gone back to school for some educational improvement. Then, to top it off, I've joined a gym (and I actually go!) so I can work on some physical improvement. I joke all the time that, "I'm old and I'm tired and my everything hurts."

Well, the truth is that I'm not that old, I shouldn't feel that tired and if my everything is hurting now it's not going to get any better as I get closer to being that old. Plus, I've added ~~a couple of~~ , um, ~~several~~ more pounds than I'm comfortable with having gained. I'm not at my heaviest but I was getting close enough that it scared me.

So, I promised some ridiculousness.

The other day, I changed into my workout clothes so I could go to the gym and get sweaty and buff and stuff. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and thought, "Ack! This is not flattering at all. I can't be seen in public in this!"

Then, I gave myself a mental slap upside the head, went to the gym in my unflattering clothes so I could work on getting back to the point where I like the way I look. It was great inspiration to really get into my workout.

When I got home, I realized that I had my shirt on backwards. Doofus and a fashion NO? Double score!

*********
In other news, Garnier Fructis hairspray and Scrubbing Bubbles both are packaged in green cans. They are both aerosol products. Both can often be found in bathrooms.

They are not interchangeable.

Arrggh!!!

2010-04-27T23:26:00.002-05:00

I hate to post this now because it will push down the post I did about Jane's Divine Inspiration but since this is for her - and for me - it seems like it might be okay.

Dar Williams
This Is Not The House That Pain Built

My house is hard to find, but I'll give you directions,
You can visit sometime, down where all that I built surrounds me
Just make sure your car's got good shocks
There's steep hills, there's potholes, there's rocks
I work in the garden, my son plays around me
Close the gate behind you, there's a horse that can't get out
I will see you first, is that all right
And can you remember, can you remember

This is not the house that pain built
This is not the house that pain built
I was drowning in something, I jumped in the rift
And you knew me back then, when I spat on my gift, but no

It's tough and it's tiring when you go it alone
I learned about wiring, I learned about stone
The building is done but the work's never through
And I won't give up, no how, it reminds me of who I am and where I am now
I remember myself, that's the work that I do
On a spring night when the snow is melting
You'll see two sets of footprints walking
Look at all the stars, and turn around, and walk home,
Slowly walk home.

This is not the house that pain built
That is not a house that pain built
My friends all think that I holed up and hid
But I tell them I didn't, you know I don't think I did, no.

And this is where I let my pain go
This is where I let my pain go
This is where the footprints dance in the snow

I've run my ooh-ick-trojan-pop-up-virus-dealio and it didn't yell at me but visit this link at your own risk if you'd like to hear the song.

Inspiration

2010-04-27T21:35:00.004-05:00

There are certain people who inspire me. Oftentimes, they are people I’ve never met: writers/bloggers, activists, politicians (rarely, but still). I’m also inspired by people I know: coworkers, family, and friends. Very recently, inspiration came from a blogger/writer who I also consider a friend.

Duchess Jane is that person.

She’s also known as Beth but she is and always will be royalty, in my opinion, so I love the “Duchess” moniker. I’d like to tell you why.

Jane writes about what is real. She writes about what is hard. She digs down deep into her soul, her heart, and her pain. She describes what she discovers in ways that evoke emotion – strong, life-changing emotion – and in ways that inspire those of us who don’t/can’t find that truthfulness in our writing.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t live truth. I do. I try really hard to always be honest with myself and my feelings. I try to not be false or dishonest in anything I do. Unfortunately, I sometimes find that I don’t write about my truth. The reasons for that vary but, usually, it’s associated with not wanting to hurt people. I worry that sharing my experience puts other peoples’ experiences out there for others to examine. I worry, even if I don’t name names, that people will assume they know who I’m discussing. That’s one of the dangers of non-anonymous writing. People who know me in real life read what I write. They will see themselves whether or not I’m writing about them.

I have been a coward.

Jane is not. (I tried, but can not find, the link to Jane's post about how people should not assume but should ask if a certain post is about them.)

Yesterday, Jane wrote about how Empires Weren't Built Here, Part 1. I read it today and, once again, I was in awe of her ability to yank feeling out of words. She talked about dying and what would be left. What would her last words be… out there in the ether on the Internet. Would it be something meaningful? Would people look at her last status update? Her last blog post? Her last Tweet? What if something tragic happened and she survived? Would people look at that and what she wrote?

She wrote about writing of experiences and whether she should chronicle those encounters. She wrote about her anxiousness concerning that. She wrote, “…would I succumb to this fear of being viewed as a pillager of my own tragedies and betrayer of my family, peddling their pain for pennies on the internet?”

I understood this all too well.

It seems so lame to say, “Me, too!” “I know!” “I feel that!” “Yes, yes, YES!”

I waited until my blog reader updated; thankfully, it was quickly. Empires Weren’t Built Here, Part 2 showed up soon after. This one was harder for me. I’m going to change the way I describe this. Writing is good but it felt like Jane was talking, confessing, exposing and confiding. So, I’ll now say that she spoke to me. She talked about love. She talked about hopes and dreams and joining. She also talked about losing ourselves in relationships. She talked of dreams lost and compromises and stagnation.

I can’t blog from work. That’s probably a good thing.

I can read. Sometimes, I can comment on some blogs but not on others. I will check out my favorites when I take a break or eat lunch.

Today, after I read Jane’s blog, I did something very uncharacteristic. I am a workaholic. I keep my life very compartmentalized. I am all business when it comes to my job. Today was different. I closed my door and I put my “teleconference” note on the door.

I cried.

I.do.not.cry.at.work.

Well, okay, I did once at my last job and I’ll probably (thanks to Jane) write about that one day.

Why did I cry today?

I saw myself in her words. This is not to say that any other person is to blame for what happened to me. Actually, I blame only me for what I did to myself.

There is a very fine line between compromising for the sake of a relationship and sacrificing what is integral to our souls. I made sacrifices that were not asked of me.

I’ve known that I ~~wanted~~ needed to write since I was nine years old. I’ve wanted to write about fun. I’ve wanted to write about self-exploration. I’ve wanted to write to entertain. I’ve wanted to write to be understood.

I work in a job where my writing is technical. It doesn’t satisfy my heart and soul. I created this blog so I could write about what matters to me. I found myself shackled by frustration and compassion and fear and kindness. I lost ~~a little~~ a lot of myself in that.

I need to say this: MrWurdi always encouraged me to write. He encouraged exploration of my soul and my heart and my dreams. I’ll always love him for many reasons but, especially, because of that. The restrictions that were on me were those I placed all on my own.

I used to work on my car. I used to go to the range and shoot. I used to hunt. I used to build things. I used to be more social. I don’t know that I stopped these activities because of relationships. Did I get lazy? Did I get complacent? Did other things become more important? Those are questions that I will be asking myself for some time to come.

Do-it-yourself psychoanalysis is hard. It means that you have to revisit those experiences that are hard. It means digging down into your pain, wallowing just a little bit, and understanding it. It means overcoming the pain – again – and growing because of your understanding.

There is something important that I learned today. I learned that I need to be like Jane. I need to write about what is real. I need to write about what is hard and painful and meaningful. That means that I might write about things that are uncomfortable. It means that I may write about things that make other people uncomfortable. That is really hard for me.

I want and need to be honest. It is part of who I am.

Stay tuned. There will still be ridiculous posts and random thoughts but I think this blog may change a little bit.

Thank you, Jane.

Rock Out With Your Caulk Out

2010-04-07T20:16:00.009-05:00

~Am I supposed to caveat this by saying that I received no payment or product for this review?~

I've mentioned that I was doing some home improvement work. Part of the doing the home improvement means that I have to follow up and finish the darned home improvement stuff. I am at the caulking stage for several of my projects.

I've never caulked before now. I was talking to my dad about it and he mentioned seeing an ad on the television (As Seen On TV!) for this caulking tool kit called PROCaulk. He admitted that it might be complete crap and not work but said the commercials looked pretty convincing. I agreed to be the guinea pig.

Of course, before starting any project, research is a good idea. I googled, "How to Caulk." There are LOTS of web pages and videos dedicated to removing old caulk and putting down new. They are extremely intimidating. After watching several of them, I was feeling a bit out of my league. I don't even have any mineral spirits. I had already gone through three rolls of painter's tape for the painting projects. I was not looking forward to putting down even more of it. Damp rags, excess caulk (I am so not going to make some kind of inappropriate comment about how you can never have too much caulk...). What? Where was I? Oh, yeah. Caulk.

Since this pack-o-gadgets my dad told me about was As Seen On TV!, I decided to see if there was an ad out there on the Interwebs. Tah Dah! https://www.buyprocaulk.com/ . Cheesy, huh? Oh, and all those other videos? Not quite as messy as the guy in the ProCaulk ad.

I got my carefully chosen clear silicone. Clear, so that if I was really horrible at this caulking business, it wouldn't be so obvious.

So, I know you're just dying to know. Did it work? Was it messy? Was Ima now permanantly siliconely bonded to the shower stall?

Seriously, Internet. This.Stuff.Rocks. ProCaulk is the bombdealio. It is easy. It is not messy. No mineral spirits, no blue tape, very little waste of caulk.

I'm going to have to go get the white caulk so I can show off my fancy, new caulk skills.

That's hot.

Unsympathetic

2010-04-06T23:27:00.002-05:00

A ramble...

As the voice droned on, my mind drifted and I wondered what in this woman’s childhood had led to the outlook she had on life. Was it just that she’d never been taught to take responsibility for her own actions? Was there real psychological illness? A failure of the synapses in her brain to fire and connect? A chemical imbalance? Or was it simple blame-shifting, the disease of the 80s that had found its way, thanks to Sally Jesse, Phil, Oprah, Jerry and the rest, through to the following decades? “It’s not my fault, I had a tough childhood.” “We were poor, I had to steal.” “I was afraid, I had to lie.” “My mother was immoral.” “I didn’t have a dad.” I didn’t know whether to feel irritated or compassionate. I think it was a combination of both. Should I try to help? Should I just listen? That was hard. She didn’t want to hear it if she was wrong and I had a hard time keeping it to myself when I knew I was right.

“… and that’s why I’m miserable. I have no control over my life…” From experience, I knew she could go on for hours on the topic of herself but didn’t seem aware of the fact that I wasn’t paying complete attention. This was the umpteenth time I’d heard this speech. I must have been nodding my head and making the appropriate murmurs on cue. She wanted someone to tell her what to do, just so long as they were telling her to do what it was she wanted to do. A collaborator in her actions. Someone to blame if it was the wrong thing; someone who would remember that she had made a good decision if it turned out okay.

Home Improvement

2010-04-03T10:43:00.004-05:00

I'm in the middle of some major home improvement. In the bathrooms, I had someone in to do the tile but I'm installing new toilets (one down, one to go), faucets, sinks, light fixtures (my brother's going to help with this one*) and giving everything a coat of fresh paint. I'm also painting the living room (started that last night), dining room, kitchen, and rec room.

The house is a disaster.

Yes, I know I should do one project before starting another but I have my excuses. Tile has to set, then be grouted, then dry. So, I skipped around a little bit. Then, when I was prepping walls for paint, the drywall mud had to dry. While it was drying, I'd either start or continue working on another project.

Yesterday, I had two folks come in to give me estimates on flooring for most of the house. I was torn. Should I explain that I'm in the middle of a lot of projects? It's kind of obvious. As they walked in the door, I was tempted to say, "Who could have done this? We have no enemies!" (credit to Phyllis Diller)

*I'm pretty confident about doing most of this stuff by myself. Electricity is a completely different story. It scares me. Many years ago, I lived in an apartment that had no overhead lighting in most of the rooms. I was in the process of moving out and the only things left in the apartment after cleaning up were me, my purse, and a lamp. I had my keys in my hand and went to unplug the lamp. My keys hit the outlet. The details are a little fuzzy but there was a flash of light, a boom, smoke (I think) and I was on my ass halfway across the room.

Wordy + Electricity = Fear

Love is...

2010-03-20T18:29:00.005-05:00

Get something to drink and go empty your bladder. This is a long one.

Do you remember those “Love is…” cartoons from so long ago? A woman named Kim Casali came up with the one-frame cartoons in the 1960s and her son now does the strip. Some were cute, others cheesy, most not very realistic.

I have my own feelings about what Love Is and one-line cartoons of naked folk don’t play much of a part in them. Love is too complex for one-liners. Sometimes, love is too complex to write about without help. So, this post will have a lot of quotes. As Somerset Maugham said, “I quote others only in order to better express myself.”

Since I’m stalled, I’m going to start off with a couple of quotes.

“There comes that mysterious meeting in life when someone acknowledges who we are and what we can be, igniting the circuits of our highest potential.” Rusty Berkus

“One is taught by experience to put a premium on those few people who can appreciate you for what you are.” Gail Godwin

MrWurdi not only acknowledges and completely accepts who I am, he encourages me to avoid complacency in that. He encourages me to continue to explore who I am and who I can be. It took a long time before I became confident enough in his love and acceptance to live truthfully and openly and share who I was and who I was becoming. I realized how freeing and beautiful it is to have a person in your life you can share every thought and every feeling. That’s real. That’s love.

Society has programmed us to keep certain feelings locked away, to be polite, to be tactful and diplomatic. We’re taught not to show our weaknesses, our flaws, our anger, our darkness. Sometimes, being truthful and open is difficult. Difficult, painful conversations end up being a result of all that truthful openness. The honesty is worth it, though. It means there isn’t subterfuge or keeping feelings locked away. There’s less resentment – not no resentment because, let’s face it, we’re human. But the honesty, well, the honesty is a type of love. It’s real. If you don’t have honesty in communication, you’re just playing. If there’s something you can’t share about yourself with someone you love, then you’re just playing at love. It’s not real.

“Some people will not tolerate such emotional honesty in communication. They would rather defend their dishonesty on the grounds that it might hurt others. Therefore, having rationalized their phoniness into nobility, they settle for superficial relationships.” Author unknown

So, just what do you do when you find someone who can handle your truth and is willing to share their truth with you? You celebrate it, revel in it, and appreciate every moment of it.

One problem I’ve seen in some of my past relationships and in those of my friends is the loss of self. Is it grand passion for the other person? Lack of esteem in oneself? Fear that if we are different, we will not be loved?

“Love is union with somebody, or something, outside oneself, under the condition of retaining the separateness and integrity of one's own self.” Erich Fromm

My aunt shared some words of wisdom with me recently. She said that no matter how good things are or how bad things are, “It will change.” Boy, howdy, was she right! And it’s not just those things external to us that change – jobs, other people, weather, finances, home – we do. Every single experience or interaction or observation changes something in us. I love what Anaïs Nin said about this.

She said, “Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.”

One of the biggest difficulties in relationships is that when we fall in love with a person, we fall in love with them as they are in that moment and as we are in that moment. People change. They can’t help it. Sometimes, we change in ways that are complimentary to our significant other and their changes. That’s pretty darned cool when it happens.

Sometimes, the changes put distance between us. When that happens, we can end up angry with each other – angry that what was once so perfect isn’t anymore. We’re angry that the beautiful, passionate, amazing, perfect romance has changed into something else. We grieve its loss. We are angry at the person who is responsible for making it go away.

“In real love you want the other person's good. In romantic love you want the other person.” Margaret Anderson

Sometimes, it’s hard remembering that the beautiful truth and openness and honesty that was the foundation of your relationship is still there. The anger and grief cloud the fact that you still have a beautiful, open, truthful connection with that other person.

“Life is a constant metamorphosis from one stage to another. But why do we live so hard against this fact? Why are we afraid? In truth, we never leave anything behind, but carry it inside. Nothing is ever lost, only when we try to hold on. Then all is lost. Our whole soul. But if we let go, then we can take everything with us, because we become strong in our own invisible centers, and the world becomes light.” Jim Ralston

While I don’t typically go into a lot of deeply personal stuff here, I feel the need to make an exception.

MrWurdi and I stopped being a couple almost a year ago. We still love each other but our relationship has changed. There's not any anger, in fact, we've had a very civilized year since we became single people. Not too many exes can share an address with each other. As with all things, this has changed, too. We live, we grow, we change, we move. Some people move several states away. ;-)

I will always love, erm, I guess MrWurdi isn't that appropriate now so I'll let him pick a new alias if he'd like. I want only happiness and abundance and good things for him and I believe he wants the same for me.

“We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other. To meet, to love, to share. It is a precious moment, but it is transient. It is a little parentheses in eternity. If we share with caring, lightheartedness, and love, we will create abundance and joy for each other, and this moment will have been worthwhile.” Deepak Chopra

So, remember when I said love is too complex for one-liners? I may have been wrong.

Love is truth.
Love changes.
Love is worthwhile.

I'm Taking Back My Blog

2010-03-15T19:02:00.003-05:00

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it too many times. I've been busy. I've been distracted. I haven't been blogging.

I'm taking back my blog from the spammers.

You know, it's rare that I'd have anything good to say about spammers but at least they inspired me to come back here and clean things up a little bit.

I'm back in school (yikes!), there have been some pretty major life changes, work is as busy as ever.

I'm planning to write about some of this soon. I don't usually share really personal stuff on this thing but I will be, vaguely, explaining why the last year has been short on my rambling wordy crap that I put out here.

Really, Internet, it's not you... it's me. I haven't even seen many of my "real life" friends recently. It's been a month and a half since I've seen Wormy - and she's the best real life friend I have.

I'm completely sucking at this work-life balance. I hope I can fix that.

The RANDOM, Random, random Wheel of FUNK, Funk, funk...

2009-12-06T19:04:00.005-06:00

In a previous blog post, I mentioned my truck. Well, actually, I mentioned crawling in the back of it to retrieve my canvas bags and included a drawing. It’s a Chevy Avalanche and it rides like a car. While it will carry five adults very comfortably, I can also fold down the back seats and get an 8’ bed for hauling stuff. It has a DVD player that occupies young children and ex-husbands equally well. It also has a remote start. This means that I can, in the comfort of my home or office, start it and it will be warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Super nice. I could go on and on about all of the fabulous features on this truck but there is one problem with it.

The random wheel of funk.

Many times, when I get in the truck, there’ll be an odd scent. It changes. Sometimes I smell old, gym socks; other times, mildew. Cigarette smoke and burning plastic or rubber are frequent smells. Undefined funky smells are also common.

It doesn’t happen all the time but it happens often enough that when I’m walking toward the truck, I wonder what the random wheel of funk has in store for me that day. I’ve heard about some kind of eco-filter and maybe I should check into that but I haven’t yet.

Earlier this year, I was traveling quite a bit for work and most of that travel was on the Gulf Coast. Let me tell you, working at or near the beach is freakin’ cool. Another huge plus was that I got to drive instead of fly. I don’t mind flying but having my own vehicle rocks. I’m not limited on space for all the various stuff I might need (like my chef’s knife) and I don’t have to deal with car rental places and the like.

While on my way home from one of these trips, I was meandering around a convenience store to stretch my legs and break up the travel a little bit. I saw this:

Too cute. It fit my working-at-the-beach-is-cool mood and it had an EXOTIC scent. I know this because it said so right on the package. I had to have it. I purchased the lovely palm tree air freshener, tucked it into my purse and then I saw something shiny*.

I didn’t think about my awesome new air freshener until I stopped again a few hours later. I was at a gas station/convenience store/restaurant/farmer’s market kind of place. Great stop to stretch my legs and meander a bit. I was about to get out of the truck when I remembered the palm tree air freshener. I quickly unwrapped it, hung it from my rear view mirror (I know), and went into the store. I checked to make sure the plumbing was operating correctly in the restroom, considered whether I should eat there (no), and checked out the store. I was probably in there for a good thirty minutes. It takes a long time to meander properly, you know. There was shiny stuff all over the place!

It was rather warm that day and I’d parked in the sun. Air fresheners get super-activated with warmth and sun. I don’t think I realized that before that day.

Since I’d meandered for quite a while and was still at least five hours from home, I left in a hurry. I jumped into the truck, cranked it and started driving… thinking to myself that the air freshener was damned strong.

Within a minute or so, I was on the Interstate. Within a minute and fifteen seconds, my eyes had started to water and I could taste the air freshener. Seriously. Oh, the taste? The exotic scent?

Pine. Exotic pine. PINE. Like pine trees. Kind of like gin but without the buzz. WTF?

I pulled over, removed the offending, stinky, nasty air ~~freshener~~ ruiner and tossed it in the back of the truck. I was tempted to throw it out on the side of the road but that wouldn’t be green. Plus, I was thinking about you, dear Internet. Blogs with pictures are better, don’t you think?

The new and disastrously unimproved RANDOM WHEEL OF FUNK – Now, with Exotic Pine and a Chemical Aftertaste.

* “Something shiny” happens to me a lot. I don’t know if it’s just because I have too much going on in my life but I’m easily distracted. Short attention span, ADHD, ditzy blonde, whatever.

Veteran's Day

2009-11-11T20:46:00.005-06:00

In my profile, I've mentioned that I'm a defense contractor. It's kind of a family business. My dad was a defense contractor, too, for over 25 years. However, before that, he was in the Army. He made a career of both with more than four decades of service to our country.

I grew up appreciating the sacrifices our military personnel make. I saw, first-hand, the dedication of our servicemen and women. The pay is low, the hours long, and the sacrifice for some, ultimate.

Today is Veteran's Day. It's a day for us to remember those who paid that ultimate price and a day to thank those who are still with us.

I frequently get frustrated at work. The red-tape and bullshit combined with the "who cares" attitude of some of my colleagues makes my tasks daunting at times. Recently, though, my dad let me have his old helmet from his Army days. I put it on my bookshelf at work and every single day when I walk into my office, I see it and remember who it is I'm working to support - the American Soldier. That's what makes it worth it, that's what makes my job mean so much to me.

Gene Castagnetti, USMC, (retired), director, National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific is credited by some as saying, "A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America' for an amount of up to and including his life. That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it."

Another tidbit: Colin Powell, while at a large conference in England, was asked by the Archbishop of Canterbury if our plans for Iraq were just an example of ‘empire building' by George Bush. He answered by saying, 'Over the years, the United States has sent many of its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom beyond our borders. The only amount of land we have ever asked for in return is enough to bury those that did not return.’

Thank you, G.I. Joe and G.I. Jane. I appreciate you more than I can ever say.

I rarely talk about family and I never post personal pictures but Dad gave me permission to share a few of his service photos. Thank you, Dad.

Hua, Hooah, Hoorah, Hooyah, Semper Fi, and Anchors Aweigh!

June? The last time I posted was JUNE?

2009-11-10T05:47:00.002-06:00

That's just ridiculous. June? That was almost half a year ago.

Issue One:
I've had some access issues to the blog.

Issue Two:
I have been sofa king busy at work I can't see straight.

Issue Three:
Non-blog-appropriate personal stuff going on in my life.

Issue Four:
Ennui (The link will take you to a dictionary and recording of the pronunciation.)

Risk Mitigation Strategies (Can you tell I have work on my brain? Substitute "Excuse" for "Issue." Then, substitute "Issue Resolution" for "Risk Mitigation Strategies" and we'll be back in the real world and out of defense contracting land... well, at least we'll be on the path there. Issue Resolution is still rather work-like but it's early and I haven't had enough coffee.)

Okay.

Excuse/Issue Resolution One:
I'm wicked smaht and I have gadgets. I can take care of this.

Excuse/Issue Resolution Two:
I'm working on my life/work balance and, while I really love my job, I need to make the time to do the things I like to do (like writing and such).

Excuse/Issue Resolution Three:
I don't wanna talk about it. Maybe later.

Excuse/Issue Resolution Four:
Note - I love that word. I'll snap out of it.

I can't wait to tell you about the Random Wheel of Funk!

Excuses, excuses - update - and good news!

2009-06-16T20:08:00.004-05:00

I've been on the road for work far too much lately and I've missed you, dear Internet.

************************
I have an update on Highway Treadmill Guy.

Highway Treadmill Guy is the owner of the health food store. He'd been working so hard with the store that he'd let himself get out of shape. The store wasn't doing that well. Heck, I drove by it every day and didn't even know it was there until I saw him on the side of the highway. He decided to combine exercise and advertising. It worked. I don't usually watch the local news but several tv and radio stations came out and interviewed him. Some folks pulled into the parking lot to ask him what he was doing. Business has really picked up for him, he lost 15 pounds, and now runs nearly every day.

************************
In other news, fans of good beer have achieved a major victory in Alabama. Up until a few weeks ago, The Code of Alabama, in §28-3-1(3), addressing the regulation of alcoholic beverages, restricted ABV to 6%. It stated:

"BEER, or MALT OR BREWED BEVERAGES. Any beer, lager beer, ale, porter, malt or brewed beverage, or similar fermented malt liquor containing one-half of one percent or more of alcohol by volume and not in excess of five percent alcohol by weight and six percent by volume, by whatever name the same may be called."

That meant that while wine could have an ABV of up to 24% and was not regulated to certain bottle/container sizes, many craft and gourmet beers were not legal in Alabama. That sucked.

A lovely organization and movement called Free the Hops got busy. They were (finally) successful. On May 22, 2009, the Gourmet Beer Bill (HB373) was signed into law by Governor Riley!

Alabama beer laws are still somewhat restrictive but this is a HUGE step forward. Free the Hops is still working to, erm, free the hops in Alabama. It's a rather slow process for the distributors to get the now-legal beers into local shops, bars, and restaurants but the good stuff is beginning to trickle in - even in North Alabama. There are still restrictions on container size, home brewers, competitions, etc. so Free The Hops still has a mission and I plan to support that mission as much as possible.

A local brewery, Olde Towne Brewing Company, has released a beer in honor of this auspicious occasion. Emancipation Double IPA is available in a few choice locations.

I realize there are several non-local readers who are probably a little bored by this part of the post but won't you raise a pint in celebration with us? You've had great beer available to you while we've made do.

I'll close this post with some Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy: "Sometimes when I reflect back on all the beer I drink I feel ashamed - Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery and all of their hopes and dreams. If I didn't drink this beer, they might be out of work and their dreams would be shattered. Then I say to myself, 'It is better that I drink this beer and let their dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver.'"

Cheers!

Boob Update

2009-05-01T10:58:00.001-05:00

The preliminary biopsy results show no sign of cancer.

I am so relieved.

National Poetry Month

2009-04-30T21:35:00.002-05:00

Can one month contain such fabulousness?

Grilled Cheese Month, National Poetry Month, the Dining with Friends Dinner, AND my birthday? ~whew~ I get exhausted just thinking about all of those fun things.

By the way, there's been an update to the Hamzilla Incident. Be sure to check it out. You never know if you might be able to help.

In addition to all of the fun and excitement of the above mentioned events, I've also had a little bit of my own personal drama to deal with these days. In the past, I've kind of shut down and stopped blogging for a while when life gets difficult. I'm not doing that this time. I, also, don't share too much deeply personal stuff. Mostly, I like to keep it random and, hopefully, interesting and not like a "Dear Diary" kind of blog.

I could procrastinate this all night but I won't. You get a two-fer this evening. Not only have I written a poem to properly acknowledge National Poetry Month, I'm also putting out* a little bit of personal info.

BOOB POEM
I live in Alabama
But I swear I’m not a rube
Yet I find it important
To write a poem to my boob.

Mammograms are quite awkward
The ultrasound showed stuff, too
A week of doctor visits
They decided what to do

My left boob has a problem
The surgeon has made a slit
He went in there to find out
What is wrong with that left tit.

I admit I’m quite nervous
Biopsies just are not fun
The waiting’s even harder
But the waiting must be done

The path lab has the sample
They will do their tissue test
Then Dr. Boob will call me
I will keep you all… abreast.

If you pray, please do. Light candles, do interpretive dance, get your mojo rising, wish on a star, stare at the lint in your navel while pondering the meaning of life and boobies, whatever. Please think positive thoughts. I hope to have results tomorrow.

*Calm down, Jeremy. It's not that kind of putting out.

It's National Grilled Cheese Month! Really!

2009-04-28T13:36:00.005-05:00

Just in case you don't have this marked on your calendar, I feel it's my duty to let you know about this fantastic, month-long holiday. Mmmm. Cheese.

For the past couple of years, I've been doing Grilled Cheese Night with any of my family who happen to be in the area. Each year, a favorite or two from the previous year gets to make a comeback. We make several different varieties of grilled cheeses, cut them into quarters (or whatever makes sense based on the size of the bread), then eat and rate. Grilled cheese purists would be outraged at some of the additions to these sandwiches but I consider myself a pancheesual person and I accept all types and kinds of variations on the norm.

Here are the sandwiches from this Sunday:

1. Turkey and baby swiss on sourdough
2. Peanut butter, granny smith apple, and cheddar on wheat
3. Pastrami, swiss, and spicy mustard on pumpernickle
4. Prosciutto, mozzarella, parmesan, and sun-dried tomato pesto on Italian bread
5. Blue cheese, dates, and bacon on pumpernickle
6. Havarti dill on white
7. Gouda and pear on Italian
8. Butterkase on sourdough
9. Avocado, cheddar, cumin, and chipotle chili powder on corn tortilla

~erp~

Number 1 is a favorite in the Wurdibitsch house and is eaten year-round. Number 2 was a favorite from last year that came back for round two. I think the Granny Smith was too tart or I just remembered it being better. Number 3 was well-liked by everyone but made us all think of Reubens and then it was kind of sad. Number 4 was popular with half the folks and just "eh" for the rest. I think it needs a spicier meat (like pepperoni). It just seemed lacking some ooomph. Number 5 was a surprise dark horse. The blue cheese got several raised eyebrows and a couple, "I'll try it but I'm not promising anything." We thought it might be too strong a flavor for the grandgirl who was awake for the event but we were wrong. This was one of most liked sandwiches. Number 6 is like eating a soft, warm, dill pickle. Simple and delicious. Number 7 was surprisingly good, too. The pear was just firm enough to provide a little bite to the bite and the gouda (non-smoked) was perfect with it. Number 8 was boring. Butterkase is excellent by itself or melted or maybe with something else but it got lost in the crowd. Number 9 was also a nice surprise. The chipotle chili powder gave it just a little bit of a kick.

With all of that cheese, a heavy side dish would have been a disaster. I made two salads. The salad on the left is fennel, orange, and arugula with an olive oil, lemon and pepper dressing. The salad on the right is my bok choy, jicama, apple slaw. Since we had orange in the other salad, I substituted pineapple juice (and some pineapple bits) for the orange juice. I was also not that thrilled with some of my bok choy and had some romaine lettuce that needed to be used so I did half bok choy and half romaine. Tasty stuff.

Happy National Grilled Cheese Month!

Since Sunday was also my birthday, we had cheesecake, made by MrWurdi, the masterbaker, for dessert.

Hamzilla

2009-04-27T22:02:00.006-05:00

This time of year is when folks in our area start hosting dinners called, "Dining with Friends." These dinners benefit the local AIDS Action Coalition and the Davis Clinic. For a donation, the invitees eat, drink, and make merry - all for a good cause.

My dear friend, Chef~H aka Wormy, has hosted for as long as I can remember. Although I wasn't there this year, I've heard what happened at this year's event. In addition to pig candy and other BBQ'd delights prepared by Pinky, Chef~H prepared a massive ham. Close to thirty pounds, this was an impressive piece of meat.

The ham is missing.

I modified a song from my youth to pay tribute to the missing:

HAMZILLA
With a benefit dinner and some tasty food
The thirty-pound ham roast set a good mood
Start the carving with a sharp knife
A mighty big porker gave his life
The folks started drinking and a few, they got sauced
That massive porker ended up getting lost

Oh no, they say to cook it slow, slow slow Hamzilla
Oh no, where did that big ham go, go go Hamzilla

Oh no, they say cook it slow, slow slow Hamzilla
Oh no, where did that big ham go, go go Hamzilla

History shows again and again
How liquor exposes the folly of man
Hamzilla
History shows again and again
Hamzilla
History shows again and again
How liquor exposes the folly of man
Hamzilla
History shows again and again
Hamzilla

Oh no, they say to cook it slow, slow slow Hamzilla
Oh no, where did that big ham go, go go Hamzilla

This verse goes again and again
The original song won’t ever end
Hamzilla
History shows again and again
Hamzilla
This verse goes again and again
But on this verse, this time, the song will end
Hamzilla
History shows again and again
Hamzilla

If you've seen the missing ham or have information as to its whereabouts, please leave a message in the comments section of this post.

***UPDATE***UPDATE***UPDATE***UPDATE***UPDATE***
A hambone was left in a unmarked cardboard box on Wormy's doorstep the other day. A note was with the bone. The note, unsigned, read, "Thanks for the ham."

What kind of sick porkalogical madman would do such a thing?

Again, if you have any information about this incident, please contact us through the comments section of this post. Remember, only you can stop pork theft.

***UPDATE***UPDATE***UPDATE***UPDATE***UPDATE***

Highway Treadmill Guy

2009-04-20T06:30:00.003-05:00

I mentioned Highway Treadmill Guy a while back.

I was driving to work one morning when all of a sudden, I saw this guy on a treadmill right on the side of the road. Now, I live in the freakin' boonies so when I'm driving to work, I'm either way out in the county or I'm on the highway. As it was, I was on the highway portion of my drive. By the time I'm on the highway, traffic is pretty heavy so the first time I saw this dude, it was a quick glance and I wasn't sure I saw what I thought I saw. Still, he was there the next day. And the next. And the next.

Dude. Treadmill on the highway? With all that traffic?

The first couple of times I saw him, I didn't notice any signs or advertisement so I was really confused. It seemed like a rather odd place to exercise.

It was really cold for Alabama on several mornings and this guy was still out there - very bundled up but out there every day. I started trying to figure out his story. I thought maybe he'd lost some kind of New Year's Eve bet. Then, I noticed a banner he had strung up by his highway treadmill.

Aha! He's promoting a health food store!

My logical mind kicked in and I was quite derisive. Dude, health? You're breathing in two county's worth of exhaust fumes every morning. That's fucked up.

But, yet, I was fascinated with this guy. He was dedicated. He was out there every morning. We had some obnoxiously horrible weather. He was out there. After a while, he started jogging - then running - on the treadmill. I found myself talking to him every morning.

"Good morning, Highway Treadmill Guy."

"Dude, you are seriously dedicated, Highway Treadmill Guy."

The weather got better and the layers of clothing lessened.

"Looking good, Highway Treadmill Guy!"

I don't know if he was trying to get healthier or promote the store but he was definitely getting my attention.

A week ago, he had a new sign posted: Last Week

Dude. That sucks.

I'm going to miss him but whatever he was doing, it worked. I'm going to the health food store tomorrow. I'm going to find out what the dealio is.

I'll be sure to let you know.

The Best Nest

2009-04-15T16:40:00.005-05:00

One of my favorite books when I was a child was The Best Nest by P.D. Eastman. What Mr. Bird says all throughout the book is:

"I love my house.
I love my nest.
In all the world,
my nest is best!"

I get that.

This past Saturday, I got new houseguests. I like these houseguests MUCH better than my previous ones.

Introducing the Dove family:

I thought it was kind of cool how they showed up the day before Easter.

Tap, tap, tap... Is this thing on?

2009-04-10T15:30:00.003-05:00

I have had so much bloggity-blog-blog stuff to share with you, dear Internet. Alas, I have been paralyzed by my last post. Every single time I had something to write about, I'd remember that I hadn't followed up on Electile Dysfunction. Then, the thought of writing about politics would make my head hurt.

So, you haven't read about Highway Treadmill Guy or the ancient iron or what's cooking in Ima's kitchen or my Flat Stanley project and the follow-on to that, Flat Stanley After Dark. I haven't written about continuing Publix Embarrassment or my searches for great service. No haikus (Haiked Up, Clafoutis, Redneck, Wine) or limericks or funny cartoons have made their way to the Not-So-Wordy-After-All-Bitch blog.

So, rather than write a long essay about each of my voting issues, I'll keep it short and get this over with so I can blog about trivial stuff again. Someday, maybe when I have a little more emotional energy, I'll expound but no promises (threats).

In my last post, I listed my voting issues as follows:

1. Pro-Defense
2. Pro-Gun Rights
3. Pro-Life
4. Pro-Gay Marriage

That's the wrong order, for one thing. Let me try again.

1. Pro-Life

The rest pretty much all tie for importance but I'm just not going to vote for someone who is not pro-life.

Now, I know terminology can get people all stirred up and I could devote this whole post to that topic (but I'm not). I'm pro-life. I call it pro-life. I don't use the term anti-life for people who are pro-choice. Please don't call me anti-choice. I'll use your preferred term for you and you use mine for me, okay? I'm not anti-choice. It might surprise you to know that I'm pro-choice in my own way.

I do not for a minute think that any person or agency or government should tell any sane adult what they can or can not do with their own body. After that is where my path and the pro-choicers paths separate. The way I see it, once a person is pregnant, it's not just their body we're discussing. It comes down to the question of when life begins. There are so many differing opinions on this. Whether it's at conception or when there are brain waves or at birth or first breath has been and will continue to be debated. Brain waves (one of the criteria for keeping an adult on life support) have been measured at six weeks after conception. For me, that's life - an innocent life. Technology may eventually show us that there's "life" earlier than that.

I believe a person should be able to do what they want to do with their own body but that involves being responsible about that body. We all do risky things, knowing the risks and taking precautions, but knowing the potential consequences. Don't want any more kids? You can take all of the precautions: condoms, birth control pills, vasectomy for your partner, tubal ligations, etc. but there's still the risk of pregnancy. The only sure ways are to either not have sex or not have a uterus (yay, hysterectomies!)

There are arguments for legal abortion that are worth civilized discussion (life of the mother being one) but the current laws allowing abortion for any reason means that many innocent lives are ended because they were inconvenient or would create a hardship or just because the mother wasn't being responsible about her body. I've seen it and I've heard it. I volunteered for a crisis pregnancy hotline many years ago and met women who used abortion as birth control. I understand how difficult it can be to be a pregnant teenager who isn't going to be able to take the scholarship - that was me.

Contentious topic, I know, but it's one about which I feel very strongly and, as the tagline says, "This is how I see it." That said, I'd be glad to have a rational, reasonable, polite conversation about this or any topic.

Since I promised I wasn't going to do a lengthy essay on each of my voting issues, I'll keep the other three really short for today.

~Pro-Gun Rights: I'm a law-abiding citizen. Taking my gun rights because others have abused theirs is not acceptable.

~Pro-Defense: We can not afford to be complacent.

~Pro-Gay Marriage: I am sure I'll do a long post on this at some point... Love is a good thing, baby. Marriage isn't just a religious thing - it's a legal thing. The laws are written using the word "marriage" to show a legal joining that allows for certain legal rights - legal rights that should not be infringed upon because of who or how you love.

Peace and Love and Congrats to Vermont this week for seeing the light!

Electile Dysfunction – Part One

2008-12-09T12:08:00.002-06:00

I know, I know… the election is over. Let’s just say I’m getting ready early for 2012. Or, I’m doing a little do-it-yourself psychoanalysis about my reaction to the election.

The title of this post comes from something I read several weeks ago. It defined electile dysfunction as, “the inability to become aroused over any of the choices for President put forth by either party in the 2008 election year.” That’s how I felt.

I don’t vote by party. I vote issues. There was no single candidate who I felt spoke for me, who would support the issues that matter to me. My main voting issues are limited to just four. My ideal candidate would be:

1. Pro-Defense
2. Pro-Gun Rights
3. Pro-Life
4. Pro-Gay Marriage

It’s pretty easy until you get to number four. Most conservative candidates are pro-defense, pro-gun rights, and pro-life. No one seems to want to stand up and say they support gay marriage.

McCain? I like mavericks. I think he’s an amazing man who doesn’t get nearly enough credit for everything he’s done (and sacrificed) for this country.

When Palin was chosen as the Vice-Presidential candidate for the Republicans, I was kind of excited. No, I didn’t necessarily think she’d be a great VP but I didn’t think she’d be any worse than the other choices. I was excited because she was different. She wasn’t afraid to go against her party. She didn’t seem to be intimidated by the whole process.

Still, I wasn’t going to vote Republican because… well, I’ll explain that in a little while.

Obama. Obama wasn’t going to get my vote because he threatens my paycheck, my right to own guns, and the right-to-life movement. He’s also pretty wishy-washy on the gay marriage issue.

Biden? Barely a blip on my radar. From what I’ve observed, read, and heard - he’s your standard Democrat-politician type. Not too much to get excited about there.

I’ve often said that if I was forced to choose a political party, it would be Libertarian. They believe in smaller government, lower taxes, and more freedom. That’s the short version. If you’d like to read more, check out the Libertarian Party Platform (It’s a link! Go ahead! Click it!)

Still, their candidate didn’t excite me all that much. Bob Barr seemed to be, again, more of the same stuff we’ve always had but in a shiny, new Libertarian package. Bob was a Republican until 2004 although he did, frequently, opposed several Republican-sponsored actions. He didn’t really appeal to me that much but he did get my vote.

Why, you ask?

Here’s why.

I live in Alabama. McCain was going to win Alabama. I could live with that. What I wanted was for my vote to make a difference.

I admit it. I was a bit jealous of my liberal and Democrat friends who had a candidate who made them feel excited and passionate.

I want to be excited about an election and a candidate during my lifetime. The only way I’m ever going to have that feeling is if there’s a viable candidate who isn’t part of the Republican or Democratic sameness. The only way we’re going to see other candidates is if the people who fund them believe they stand a chance.

Barr got my vote* because I wanted other Libertarian and Independent candidates to step forward in the years to come. I hope that if Independents get enough votes that, during the next election and the ones after that, there will be more choices. It won’t happen soon but maybe, someday, there will be a candidate for me.

Call me an optimist.

Over the next few posts, I plan to talk a little bit about my political issues. I’m not planning on beating anyone over the head with my beliefs; however, I’ve learned that simply understanding where someone else is coming from (even if you never feel the way they do) goes a very long way. Understanding, even with disagreement, leads to peaceful discussion.

Kumbayah, y’all.

*My vote was one of 4,991 for Bob Barr in Alabama. Other candidate totals: McCain – 1,266,546; Obama – 813,479; Nader – 6,788; Baldwin – 4,310. Just think! If I hadn’t voted for Barr, he would have only received 4,990 votes. It’s hard being an optimist some days.

Certain Things Make Me Uncomfortable...

2008-12-04T15:34:00.006-06:00

Apologies, even when they're heartfelt can be uncomfortable. You know, like apologizing for not blogging in freakin' forever.

Dear Chef~H, Pinky, AndiKandi and everyone else who has scolded, cajoled, pleaded, or given up on me ever posting again,

I'm sorry.

Sincerely,
Ima

Are we all over that now?
Super!

Apologizing about my absence isn't what has really made me uncomfortable, though.

It's toesocks.

Yep. Toesocks.

My daughter's really weird about feet. I mean, no one touches her feet. She doesn't like seeing or touching feet belonging to other people. She loves toesocks. She's a bit of a freak.

Me, I'm cool with feet. As long as they aren't dirty and don't have clawnails instead of toenails, they're mostly non-offensive to me. Don't tickle mine and we're going to get along just fine. I really don't like toesocks. I am also a bit of a freak.

I want to like toesocks. They're cute! The ones I purchased in yet another failed attempt to develop an appreciation for them even have monkeys on them! Monkeys! I love monkeys. I love socks! I like feet! Why, oh why, do I have such an issue with toesocks?

I was talking to my dear friend, Chef_H, the other day and she summed it up perfectly:

"It's like your toes are wearing thongs."

That Chef~H may have issues with fried chicken but she's a genius when it comes to toesocks.

Just a bit of a sidenote... I have Spock toes. If you know me in person, you've probably seen them sans socks. Seriously. Spock toes.

Live long and prosper, Internet.

Racing for the Cure!

2008-09-02T09:19:00.004-05:00

On Sunday, I will be participating in my 4th Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure.

Last year, I did a whole Boob Week to raise awareness. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to post as much recently. However, I am still raising money and would greatly appreciate any help you can give. Seriously, any amount helps. A dollar? Five? Twenty?

Today is the deadline for donations and you can reach my secure fundraising page by CLICKING HERE. That link will redirect you to my Susan G. Komen / Kintera fund-raising page. My nickname on the team is Mz Grinch (just in case you're wondering who the heck that is).

Thank you!!

Give Me Some Breathing Room, Okay?

2008-08-13T13:22:00.006-05:00

Close contact with other people can be one of the greatest pleasures in life.

Close contact with other people can be one of the creepiest experiences in life.

I'm a hugger. I hug my family. I hug my friends. I am quite affectionate and, usually, I really like people.

I don't like the inappropriate hug. I don't like the person behind me in the checkout lane who gets close enough to bang my foot with their shopping cart. I don't like people who breach the my space/your space boundary at my desk. I prefer you to keep your distance at the ATM. Please, keep your child at your table when eating out. If you're going to come by my house, a courtesy call announcing your intention prior to your arrival would be most appreciated; otherwise, I will porch* you.

I recently saw a lovely graphical representation of these kinds of social blunders. I have printed several wallet-sized versions so that I will be able to quickly hand them to the guilty. For your viewing pleasure, I have added one here.

If you are one of the guilty people, stop it. If you're not sure, hug me. If you get a card, you are one of those people. If you don't get a card, hug me again.

~~~~~~~~
*porch; v. the act of stepping out of one's house and onto the porch in order to keep an unannounced visitor from entering.

Pinky's Poem

2008-07-18T16:38:00.005-05:00

Pinky is a friend of mine
Pinky wears pink shoes
I promised Pinky two posts
To read when he webpage views

This effort isn't quite as good
As some others I've attempted
It's sad that I must work for pay
Dear Pinky's been pre-empted.

I Made It All By Myself!

2008-07-15T15:56:00.001-05:00

Finding Greek-style yogurt isn’t always easy. Finding Greek-style, plain, fat-free yogurt is even more difficult. Greek yogurt is much like regular yogurt only thicker. Plus, it doesn’t get that weird, icky, pale yellow yogurt juice on top. Blech. You can read more about it here, at Wikipedia.

I like Greek-style so much more than regular yogurt that if I can’t find it, I normally just pass on yogurt altogether. You can use Greek-style yogurt in place of sour cream in a pinch and, when sweetened, it provides an acceptable substitute for whipped cream.

Recently, while I was out of town, I really wanted some yogurt. No Greek-style yogurt could be found. I remembered that a friend of mine had told me how I could make my own so I gave it a try. It worked perfectly and I shared my yogurt joy with MrWurdi.

Me: You know how I’m always bitching about how hard it is to find Greek yogurt?

MrWurdi: (cautiously) Yes…

Me: I made my own! It was fabulous!

MrWurdi: How did you do that?

Me: I lined a colander with several coffee filters and put it over a bowl. Then, I put the regular yogurt in the colander, put a paper towel over the top, and put it in the refrigerator. The next morning, TAH DAH! Greek yogurt!

MrWurdi: No way!?!

Me: Exactly! No whey! Hahahah, get it? No whey! W-H-E-Y! Hahahaha!

I am such a dork.

It's Over

2008-07-07T15:55:00.003-05:00

The beginning of a relationship is so exhilarating. From the relief that it’s not like the old relationship to the thrill and excitement of all the new discoveries, it’s no wonder we get lost in the bright, glowing light of new love.

Even as the newness begins to wear off and we start seeing the minor (and not-so-minor) flaws, we try to hang onto that glorious rush of euphoria. We forgive the flaws. We tell ourselves that things will get better; things will change.

As time goes on, we try to focus on the positive and ignore the negative. We form mental pros and cons lists. We tell ourselves that the good outweighs the bad.

Eventually, the faults start accumulating and we find ourselves getting inappropriately angry over insignificant events. That’s when we know the end is near. We realize that all those things that infatuated us at the beginning are just glittery window dressing and that the substance just doesn’t exist. They aren’t really there for us when we need them. That’s what happened to me and that’s why it’s over.

I’m breaking up with Target.

Oh, I admit, I was smitten by the wide aisles and clean stores. The OXO brand kitchen implements and the whole wheat pasta selections wooed me. It may have just been the tint of the rose-colored glasses of infatuation that made the screaming, irritable babies less grating and irritating but even that seemed more tolerable at Target.

Sure, they weren’t open twenty-four hours a day and they didn’t carry the fat-free Fage yogurt but no one’s perfect, right? They had a Starbucks and they were less than five minutes from my office. Convenience, cleanliness, and caffeine all in the same place? What’s not to love? They even carried the elusive Honeycrisp apple for a few weeks each year.

Even with all the good, I realized there were problems in our relationship. The pharmacy failed to perform and the staff wasn’t exactly what I’d call satisfying. Still, I returned time and again hoping to recapture the glory of my early love for Target. I should have realized when I bought the pump spray bottles for my canola and olive oils that the end was near. I filled them, pumped them up, then watched in dismay as the oil went from a light, misting spray to a sputtering, dripping, disappointing drizzle. It made me think of old men with prostate problems and that’s not how you want to feel about things you use in your kitchen.

The final straw was a few weeks ago. I didn’t have time to go the long way and hit the drive-through Starbucks on the way to work. I debated the merits of stopping at the Target Starbucks. Sure, I’d have to get out of my car and it was raining but it was just a minute out of the way on the way to the office and it was only ten minutes until eight. I had time. I pulled into the parking lot, thrilled to be getting a spot up front. I unfurled my umbrella and made a damp dash to the door.

It was locked.

I was shocked.

I looked at the sign on the door and saw that they’d changed their hours. They didn’t open until eight o’clock. That was it for me. The end. Target just wasn’t there for me when I needed them.

I can’t close this post without a small confession. Recently, I was out of town on business and my customer wanted to run by Target. I wasn’t going to buy anything but I had a gift card. The lure of the Archer Farms Chai Cookie was too much and I really did need a hat.

I feel so dirty.

Bok Choy, Jicama, & Apple Slaw

2008-05-20T10:41:00.003-05:00

Gadget Girl, Transparent Boy, Chef Helen and several other friends made a special request that I post this recipe after I brought it to dinner the other night. The recipe below is how I prepared it and it makes a light and refreshing side dish. I've also made it and added diced cooked chicken and whole wheat couscous which makes it suitable for a light main dish.

Bok Choy, Jicama, and Apple Slaw
Salad
3 apples, sliced thin then chopped (I use whatever I have on hand; this time it was two Fuji and one Braeburn)
1 medium jicama (about a cup), sliced thin then chopped
One half head of bok choy, chopped with greens shredded

Dressing
1 cup orange juice or the juice from two oranges (pineapple juice would probably also be good)
2 Tablespoons fresh lime juice
3 Tablespoons white vinegar
2 Tablespoon mustard
1 teaspoon onion powder
2 Tablespoons brown sugar
1/4 cup fresh mint, chopped
dash or two of salt and pepper, to taste

Combine apple, jicama, onion and bok choy in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk all the dressing ingredients together and pour over the slaw.

Doubling the recipe for the dressing will give you a nice marinade for chicken or fish.

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In an attempt to be more entertaining, I'll be posting something that's NOT a recipe later this week.
***********

I Need a Break.

2008-05-08T06:45:00.003-05:00

The Scene
Monday night. 9:15 p.m.
After nearly a month of 60+ hour work weeks and putting in an absolutely brutal day at work, I'd hoped to get home for a relaxing evening before packing for my 6:30 a.m. flight the next morning. I was at work. I was tired. It didn't look like I'd be leaving any time soon.

The Conversation

Bossman: So, how are you doing? Hanging in there okay?

Me: I'm beginning to suspect that I have horribly wronged you in a past life and, as a result, you are trying to kill me in this one.

Fortunately, my boss appreciates my sense of humor.

I've Been a Little Distracted

2008-04-10T10:31:00.004-05:00

Once again, my blogging has stalled due to unforeseen events.

I have a new housemate.

This is my new housemate.

He showed up with about a hundred of his friends last week. Don't recognize him? Here are a few of his family members, also residing in my home.

Termites. Damned termites. Munching on the wood within the walls of my house.

I am not a happy camper.

From Ima's Kitchen - Core Granola

2008-04-03T11:45:00.006-05:00

First, a little bit of background. In order to balance out my love of food and drink, I also do Weight Watchers. Weight Watchers has two eating plans, Core and Flex. In 2004, I lost 30 pounds using the Flex plan.

Flex allows you to have any food you like but within a certain number of Points per day, based on your height, weight, and several other factors. Points are calculated using the calories, fat, and fiber in a serving of food. In addition to those daily Points, you get 35 weekly points to use as you'd like for extra things.

Core is the Weight Watcher "no count" plan. As long as you eat from a specific list of foods, you don't have to count the Points. If you want something that's not on the list, you can use the 35 weekly points. With Core, you eat until you are satisfied - not full or stuffed - just no longer hungry. It can take a little bit of time to learn where that "Comfort Zone" is but by eating mindfully and paying attention to your body's signals, it can be done.

While I used Flex to get to my goal weight, I did it by eating a lot of overly processed foods. The frozen meals, cereal bars, and other not-so-healthy foods were a means to an end; i.e., lose fat/weight. I was hungry much of the time because I wasn't eating real foods or getting enough protein or meeting many of Weight Watcher Good Health Guidelines.

What I love about Core is that it, mostly, focuses on real, healthy foods - whole grains, lean meats, fruits, vegetables, fat-free dairy products, and healthy oils. Note: This is not a complete list nor does it list some of the restrictions; that would be infringing on WW copyright. I still have those "extra Points" for wine, martinis, and carrot cake.

For this post, I wanted to share my recipe for granola. It is adapted, as most of my recipes are, from a combination of other recipes.

CORE GRANOLA
4 cups old-fashioned oats
1 cup non-fat dry milk powder
1/2 c. cream of wheat
1 cup kasha (buckwheat groats)

Mix together and add

1 cup SF syrup, any flavor (I've been doing a half-cup of Davinci sugar-free hazelnut and a half-cup of sugar-free vanilla)

Mix well, spread into a cookie sheet that's been sprayed with a healthy oil (I use canola) and bake at 275 degrees for approximately 60 minutes, stirring every 15 minutes of so. It's done when the granola is crunchy and dry, but be careful not to burn it.

Cool well. Divided into six one-cup servings, each counts as half a dairy serving.
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Oooh! Look! Pictures!

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I just picked up some sugar-free cinnamon syrup and will be trying it next.

My dear friend, Kay, at Gobstruck is blogging about eating clean and focusing on whole foods these days. Be sure to check out her blog.

Recycle Yourself!

2008-03-19T13:33:00.002-05:00

In the past few weeks, I’ve been talking a bit about what I’m doing to be greener. Several years ago, it wasn’t something I really worried or thought much about. I had other priorities (keeping the lights on, not killing my children, relationship drama). I depended on take-out foods and convenience everything. There weren’t enough hours in the day for everything I had to do. I was just trying to make life a little better for those living under my roof and I wasn’t that concerned about the bigger picture.

There was one thing I did do. I signed up to be an organ donor. It was just a little checkmark on my driver’s license but I also made sure I told my family that if anything happened to me, I wanted them to donate anything that could be used. I also told them to put whatever was left in a box and bury it with a headstone that read, “See? I told you I was sick.”

Don’t have the money to buy organic?
Don’t have time to cook from scratch using whole foods?
Don’t have time to separate your cans and plastics and cardboard boxes?

It’s okay. There’s still something you can do.

RECYCLE YOURSELF*

Unless your religion forbids it, why not give your body parts to people who can use them once you’re finished with them? From my recent reading, it turns out that humans don’t make for very good compost so why not put those parts in other people who can live a little longer and better because of them.

*I first saw this very cool phrase on one of my favorite blogs, Driving With the Brakes On in a post titled, "A Holiday Reminder." Her husband is an Organ Recovery Coordinator for the Donor Alliance. Driving is not only a supporter of the Recycle Yourself plan, she’s also growing her very own new human.

55 Fiction Friday! March 7, 2008

2008-03-07T12:04:00.003-06:00

All the details on what 55 Fiction is and how to play are at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

*****

Following her usual Friday afternoon routine, Janie stopped at the grocery store. Puzzled by the large crowd and full parking lot, she went about her shopping. The barren bread shelf should have been an indication but as she approached the empty milk cooler, it all became crystal clear.

The weather forecasters were calling for snow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here.. You can also click on the 55 Fiction label below to see what Wordy Bitch and Wordy Bitch readers have done in the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seriously, what is it about the threat of snow that sends everyone to the grocery store for milk, bread and toilet paper? Getting snowed in means you should eat French toast and go to the bathroom a lot?

I'm having a dinner for my parents and son this weekend and now I'm going to have to deal with all the alarmists. Boo. Hiss.

Publix Embarrassment

2008-03-04T15:15:00.003-06:00

I left my shopping cart in the Publix parking lot last night. They don’t have cart corrals. I left it right there. In the parking lot.

I am so embarrassed.

I didn’t want to do it.

I was under the influence of that dreadful condition… being nice.

Let me explain.

First of all, to understand how completely hypocritical I felt, you have to read my rant: Return Your Cart Here ~ or ~ People Irritate Me – Chapter2. I have publicly scolded people for their inconsiderate cart abandonment.

There I was, in the Publix parking lot. I’d just finished my little bit of shopping. Now, since you know I’m all about trying to be greener I was feeling rather proud of myself because I’d even remembered to grab my canvas bags out of the truck. This, in itself, was not an easy task. They were in the covered bed of the truck when I got to the store. They’d slid all the way up and I had to climb up in the truck. I was on my way home from work so I was wearing a skirt and heels. And it was windy. I had to boost myself up on the rather high tailgate (I’m short), then scoootch back, then lean back while holding my skirt down with one hand and reaching for the bags with the other.

Picture it.

Oh, hell, don’t bother.

Here’s what it looked like:

See? Not easy.

I went in and I looked at the organic produce. I didn’t need any of the produce they had that was organic but I did look at it. I did buy a non-organic cucumber because I like a cucumber garnish for my Hendricks martinis and I usually have cucumber as one of my snacks. I’m wandering, aren’t I? Do you see what’s happening here? I hate being hypocritical and I was and I’m just delaying the inevitable confession of my hypocrisy. And yes, it is inevitable. I’m a recovering Catholic and once you’ve learned how to confess you just can’t stop yourself.

I put the few things I needed in my cart, including my non-recombinant bovine growth hormone milk. I didn’t buy the organic milk. I was going to because that was my plan and I do like a good plan. They just didn’t have it in gallon size containers. More containers = less green, right? Plus, while I was blocking up the aisle, debating the merits of organic plus more packaging versus non-organic with less packaging, I noticed something in small print on the non-organic, Publix brand milk: No bovine growth hormones. Seriously. Store-brand milk with no hormones! Score! I’m still planning on trying some organic milk, it’s just going to have to wait until I can buy it a gallon at a time.

I was so pleased to see that the lady in front of me in the check-out line was also using canvas bags. I think the lady behind us was feeling guilty. She didn’t have canvas.

Usually, at Publix, a bagger person brings your groceries to your car and then returns the cart to the store. This eliminates the whole “return your cart” issue. Last night, there wasn’t a bagger person available so I got to bag my own groceries. Really, I’d prefer to bag them myself all the time because, well, because, um. Look. It’s like this. I know the best way to bag my groceries. I do.

Um.

I was just about to detail my OCD bagging tendencies but I think we all know that I’m just trying to keep from telling about how and why I left my cart in the parking lot. Besides, that can be a fun little story for another day.

~sigh~

I bagged my own groceries and wheeled my cart out to the truck. I was just getting ready to walk back to the store to return my cart when some (probably very nice) lady in a mini-van pulled up to my parking spot. It was a nice spot. It was pretty close to the store and the weather was getting worse and I could see why she’d want my spot. She rolled down her window, leaned out and said, “I’ll return that cart for you.”

“Great! Thanks!” I said, on the outside.

“But, but, I can’t leave the cart in the parking lot! I just can’t!” I said, on the inside.

I really had a problem with this. Yes, I know. I’m a dork but let me explain.

She would know that she’d taken responsibility for the cart. I’d know that she was taking responsibility for the cart. (Of course, I was planning on watching her in my rear view mirror and if she didn’t take that cart in, I was going to drive back around and give her a good scolding.) It’s just that anyone else watching would not know that Mini-van Mom and I had an agreement about the care and returning of the cart. It’s not that I care (that much) about what people think about me, either. It’s that someone watching might not be a regular returner. Seeing another person not returning their cart could nudge them right off the return-the-cart fence onto the “everybody leaves their cart” side.

THAT IS NOT A GOOD SIDE!

Still, what was I supposed to do? I had to leave the cart. There just wasn’t another good solution. I carefully positioned the cart so it wouldn’t roll into someone’s car and I got into the truck. Just as I was about to back up, a bagger person walked by. He was heading back to the store. He saw and retrieved my cart.

The.Shame.

You have no idea. Well, if you read my rant, you have an idea but, really, the actual shame was horrible.

He’ll probably not remember the inconsiderate woman in the big, honkin’, gas-guzzling truck who just lazily (not really!) left her cart in the lot. My concern was more that it might have colored his whole customer attitude for the rest of the evening. The ripple effect. He might have been testy with customers for the rest of the evening because his perception of the customer had been unjustifiably tainted by my cart abandonment.

Hmm.

I should probably get a hobby.

Oh! Oh! Oh! I'm Having an Organic Moment!

2008-03-03T10:08:00.002-06:00

In February, I posted about how It Ain't Easy Bein' Green. I mentioned that I’m buying some organic foods. These posts on being greener are my way of examining, out loud (out blog?), my actions and potential actions. Just writing that I was working on turning off the water while I brush my teeth made a difference. By acknowledging it, my attention became focused on it. I turn off the water now. As in all things, though, I think there has to be balance or there’s a danger of becoming fanatical. Here’s a bit of my balance.

It’s mostly haphazard, this buying of organic foods. I’m spoiled, you see. I’m spoiled by lower prices and prettier produce. Organics cost more. For far too many years, I’ve had to be frugal. I don’t know about you but I haven’t seen many generic organics. Spending more because it’s “better for me” seems kind of vague and hard to defend at times. Then we get to the arguments for and against organics.

There’s the whole “what makes it organic?” argument. There are reports and studies that show that some of the stuff that’s being touted as organic isn’t really organic after all. Then, you get all the conflicting reports about which foods are worth buying organic. Today’s general rule of thumb is that those foods with thick peels we remove, such as bananas and oranges, aren’t worth the cost of buying organic because any of the residual pesticides and chemicals won’t be in the actual fruit. Peaches, apples, and strawberries are a completely different story. The thin skin on these fruits make them worth buying organic. Some fruits and vegetables don’t, for whatever reason, absorb the chemicals. The Wall Street Journal has a pretty good article on “When Buying Organic Makes Sense -- and When It Doesn't”.

Okay. This is embarrassing. I have another problem. It’s part of that being spoiled thing; i.e., prettier produce. Because they’re not sprayed with pesticides and other chemicals, the organic fruits and vegetables have blemishes and spots and potential cooties. I have this nurturing thing going on. In fact, if I were a superhero, my tagline would have to be “Surprisingly Domestic!” I carefully choose the food I buy. Each piece of fruit or bunch of vegetables is carefully scrutinized. No bruises or dents for my loved ones! Cans aren’t dented. Meat is lean. The dairy has the furthest possible expiration date. (This obsessive attitude toward food is probably part of why I need Weight Watchers.) Honestly? A lot of that organic food looks kind of oogy. I should get over that but a lifetime of habit is hard to overcome.

Still, if I pick up something, intending to purchase it, and find out it’s organic, it really does make me feel better about it. I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading about organic meats and dairy (or at least recombinant bovine growth hormone, or rBGH free) and I think that’s going to be the next change in the Wurdibitsch House. rBGH is given to most cows to boost milk production and may cause higher rates of breast, prostate and colon cancer. That doesn’t sound like good stuff.

For my balancing act this month, I’m going to be looking a little closer at the organic fruits and veggies. I don’t know that we’re making the change but I’m considering it. I will be buying the rBGH-free milk and when the freezer full of FoodSavered meat is running low, I’m heading to the specialty butcher. Hold me. I’m frightened.

National Geographic has a quiz on Getting To Know Your Inner Organic Foodie. I liked this quiz because it has good explanations behind the answers. Unfortunately, you don’t get a score. I’m a competitive person. I like scores. I had to go to FreeRice.com and rack up some free rice donations (and scores) to get my competition fix.

In the interest of more balance, I discovered some very funny movies to balance out all the organic/hormone/chemical/cootie talk:

The Meatrix!
Be sure to see Meatrix 2: Revolting and Meatrix 2 ½. Leo, Moopheus and their pals explore the meat industry.

After you get done there, head over to Grocery Store Wars and check out Cuke Skywalker and friends as they battle against Darth Tater.

55 Fiction Friday! February 29, 2008

2008-02-29T12:49:00.002-06:00

All the details on what 55 Fiction is and how to play are at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

*****

There was a blogger with block
Stress built with each tick of the clock
No matter her drive
She could not fifty-five
She thought to herself, “What a crock!”

This blogger fashioned a rhyme
Hoping it’d work for this time
Feeling immense shame
Hoping it isn’t lame
And that no one calls it a crime.

--There is a new post this week at I Paid For That--

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here.. You can also click on the 55 Fiction label below to see what Wordy Bitch and Wordy Bitch readers have done in the past.
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Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Random Thought #10 - MRIs

2008-02-26T12:26:00.003-06:00

I once heard the experience of having an MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) described as follows:

Take a metal ironing board minus its cover and put it down on the ground. Stretch out on it with a metal wastebasket on your head. Have someone beat on the wastebasket with a rubber mallet for at least 20 minutes while you stay completely still.

This is an excellent description.

A friend's husband is having this procedure done today. Please feel free to support him by having your own faux-MRI.

55 Fiction Friday! February 22, 2008

2008-02-22T14:33:00.001-06:00

All the details on what 55 Fiction is and how to play are at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

*****
Her skin was bright and clear; her hair shiny and soft. The whole grains, lean meats, and boatloads of fruits and vegetables were healthy and aided in her weight loss.

She considered, happily, that she was going to save a fortune in future medical bills.

Unfortunately, she was spending that savings now on air fresheners.
*****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here.. You can also click on the 55 Fiction label below to see what Wordy Bitch and Wordy Bitch readers have done in the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It Ain't Easy Bein' Green

2008-02-20T15:45:00.002-06:00

Over the course of the past few years, I’ve been making some greenish changes in my life (and not just the new blog color!). Along with the seemingly never-ending quest to eat less (making a smaller, leaner Ima), I’ve been trying to consume less in other ways. I want a smaller, leaner life. More balance, less excess. I’m making the move to a greener existence.

Food:
I’m buying less packaged foods. By focusing on the outer edges of the grocery store, I’m purchasing foods that have less packaging. I still hit the aisles because I do need some convenience items but I try to stay away from overly packaged goods. I’m buying in bulk when I can and when it makes sense. I’m fine-tuning my grocery shopping in an attempt to not throw away food because it’s spoiled. I could go on and on about my love of the FoodSaver for protecting food from spoilage and freezer burn but Duchess Jane has already covered that topic completely AND with pictures. I make stock from chicken, ham, and beef bones (shrimp is next!) along with peelings from my veggies. There are articles on easy stock making here and here. I’m buying some organic foods.

General shopping:
I’m purchasing less stuff. I’ve never been much of a shopper, so that helps. I use lists to keep me away from those impulse purchases. I try to only buy those things I need and/or love. My new peep-toe black pumps fall into both of those categories!

Gasoline Consumption:
I play a little game with myself since, admittedly, I drive one of those shame-inducing larger vehicles. I have a gauge that tells me what my current gas mileage is. Sure, it does the average, too, but by keeping my eye on the current number, I can see that gunning it makes it go down (duh) while a slow, steady pressure on the gas pedal has less of a bad effect on my mileage. It’s an ongoing contest with myself to see how high I can keep it. I try to figure out the shortest route to where I’m going and I combine trips as much as possible.

Electrical/Water Consumption:
I suck at this. I’m working on it. I leave the TV on when I’m going to sleep; although I do put it on sleep timer. I have a hard time remembering to turn the water off while I’m brushing my teeth but am working on that one, too. I’m slowly but surely replacing my light bulbs with these super-efficient, long lasting ones. They last for YEARS.

Existing Stuff:
I’m trying to give away much of the stuff I have in my home that I don’t need or love. If I feel “eh” about it, it’s going to end up at Hannah Home or Goodwill sometime soon. I’m not going all FlyLady about it (she scares me) but I’m trying to get rid of at least five things each weekday. MrWurdi’s son was talking last year about people who let their stuff own them. He’d been preparing to hike the Appalachian Trail and was, therefore, figuring his bare necessities so I suppose that had him pondering what he (we) really need. We end up accumulating so much stuff that we soon have to live in a bigger place or rent storage to keep up with all that stuff. We spend large quantities of our time maintaining and repairing our stuff. With all the time and money and effort we spend on our stuff, it ends up being our stuff owning us rather than us owning it. I will not be owned by my stuff.

Recycling:
We’re just getting started on this. Our local pick-up doesn’t have a large range of items they pick up for recycling but I suppose every little bit helps.

How Green Are You?
NPR has a neat, little quiz to help show you how green you are. The Consumer Consequences game asks questions about your lifestyle. While you play the game, it keeps up with how many planet "Earths" of natural resources it would take to sustain the 6.6 billion people on this one Earth - if everyone lived the way you do.

****************************************
I know I’m not going to live completely green. I drive an Avalanche and a ’77 Corvette (with a high performance engine). That’s not at all green. So, I make the changes I can and am willing to make. I also try to balance the “me stuff” by doing for others. Whether it’s raising funds for breast cancer research with Team GDT or donating goods or volunteering for a local clinic or goofing off, improving my vocabulary, and donating food to hungry people or just trying to help my family when I can, I try to make it all even out. Balance, not fanaticism about anything.

I’m always looking for ways I can be more green. Any ideas?

From Ima's Kitchen - The Best Carrot Cake EVER

2008-02-19T08:22:00.005-06:00

A while back, Chef H aka Wormy, asked me to make a carrot cake for the birthday sillybration of one of our friends. I did what I usually do when asked to make something I haven't already made. I looked at about 50 recipes and came up with something that is a combination of most of them. I admit, I was nervous. The folks at this party know food. Hell, Chef H cooks for us on a regular basis and oh.my.god. can Wormy cook. I was told that this was The Best Carrot Cake EVER. It didn’t have a name prior to the party. That seems like a good one.

The Best Carrot Cake EVER
Ingredients
CAKE
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 3/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup applesauce
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 cups grated carrots
1 (8 ounce) can crushed pineapple, drained

FROSTING
1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese , softened
1/4 cup butter, softened
2 cups confectioner’s sugar

TOPPING
1 cup chopped pecans

Directions
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F and spray a 9x13 inch pan with canola oil.

Mix the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt and cinnamon; then, make a well in the center and add sugar, oil, applesauce, eggs and vanilla. Mix these ingredients together with a wooden spoon until they’re smooth.

Don’t lick the spoon. That would be horrible. That would be awful. You’d hate it. It’s not good for you. If you choose to disregard my advice, get a fresh spoon for further stirring because… well, ewww…

Stir in the carrots and pineapple.

NOTE: You can add the chopped pecans here, too, but I prefer to put them on the top of the cake so the folks who don’t like nuts can easily avoid them. The freaks. Walnuts are also okay but could be bitter so why risk it? Also, if your nuts are bitter it might… um, nevermind. This is not the right place for a sexual innuendo, is it?

Pour the batter into the prepared 9x13 inch pan and bake for about 45 minutes.

Do not run your finger around the almost empty bowl and through the batter for another taste. Use a spatula. You get more batter that way.

Allow the cake to cool.

While the cake is cooling, cream the butter and cream cheese until smooth then add the confectioner’s sugar and beat until creamy. (Another bad place for a sexual innuendo.) Frost the cake, then sprinkle the pecans on top.

Again, if you’re going to conduct quality control to guarantee a good dessert for those lucky enough to get some of your cake, I recommend using a spatula.

I make a decorative edging with the nuts so there are a few pieces of cake that are completely nut free. You know, for those freaky people don’t want nuts because they’re already nuts because they don’t like nuts. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean, who am I to judge? Nuts.

New Post!

2008-02-18T16:30:00.002-06:00

There's a new post at I Paid For That.

Wormy (aka ChefH)has been riding me about some recipes so I'll try to get them posted here tonight.

I'm also feeling a bit green and that has nothing to do with my dinner.

55 Fiction Friday! February 15, 2008

2008-02-15T13:11:00.002-06:00

All the details on what 55 Fiction is and how to play are at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

You Say 'Bitch' Like It's A Bad Thing
Meredith sang:

Bitch. Lover. Child. Mother. Sinner. Saint. Shameless.

Hell. Dream. Nothing in between.
All these characteristics have been admired.

“…take me as I am
this may mean you'll
have to be a stronger man.”

Bitch. Tease. A goddess, on my knees.
Trying to be there for hard times.

Sometimes just being yourself is hard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here.. You can also click on the 55 Fiction label below to see what Wordy Bitch and Wordy Bitch readers have done in the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

55 Fiction Friday! February 8, 2008

2008-02-08T07:22:00.001-06:00

All the details on what 55 Fiction is and how to play are at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

Kidnap!
Strange creatures emerged from the glowing light. One had hooves for feet. Another creature resembled a wolf yet walked erect. While Jill watched in horror, they reached out, grabbing her lover. Seemingly drugged, he went with them. He joined them in their strange, colorful land only returning home for short visits.

Damn World of Warcraft.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here.. You can also click on the 55 Fiction label below to see what Wordy Bitch and Wordy Bitch readers have done in the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

55 Fiction Friday! February 1, 2008

2008-02-01T10:21:00.000-06:00

All the details on what 55 Fiction is and how to play are at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

Untitled
The young woman strode into the library. Her golden hair shimmered brightly as she walked up to the counter and stated her need.

“I’d like a cheeseburger, fries and a chocolate shake.”

Frowning at her, the librarian responded, “This is a library.”

Chastened, the blonde whispered, “I’d like a cheeseburger, fries and a chocolate shake.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here.. You can also click on the 55 Fiction label below to see what Wordy Bitch and Wordy Bitch readers have done in the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From Ima's Kitchen - Split Pea Soup

2008-01-27T14:29:00.000-06:00

I used to always take the shortcut of using the boxed or canned broths when I made soup. Then, I read two interesting and, sometimes contradictory, articles on making your own stock. The first one was Michael Ruhlman's and he proposed making it in the oven. It seemed like a much simpler method than simmering on the stove all day so I tried it with the turkey at Thanksgiving. I also read an article called "Stock Tips" by Janet Fletcher of the San Francisco Chronicle. Between the two articles, I came up with my own method - a mishmash of everything I'd read.

I L o v e H o m e m a d e S t o c k. It is completely worth the effort.

Just this week, I made ham stock with two ham bones I'd frozen a few weeks ago. I guess it would be more honest to say that I helped make it. MrWurdi stepped up and pitched in with this one. I've been working way too much and he picked up the slack, repeatedly, on the making of the ham stock.

Today, I wanted to make split pea soup so I consulted about forty recipes and came up with a recipe I could almost call my own. I probably need to give credit to those other forty but I couldn't tell you what ideas came from which cookbook, website, or recipe card so I'll just say, "Thanks, everyone!"

I would like to note, for the record, that I did not talk to Duchess Jane while making this soup and, so, managed to avoid scalding my face.

Here's what I did:

Ima Wurdibitsch's Split Pea Soup
Ingredients
1 Tbsp. canola oil
1 medium onion, chopped
1 big handful of baby-cut carrots, cut into 1/4-inch dice***
1 pound dried split peas
About 3 quarts of ham stock
2 bay leaves
Salt and pepper, to taste
1 cup diced ham

Instructions
In a large heavy pan, saute onions and carrots in oil until they get a bit soft. Then, add the peas, stock, and bay leaves. Simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, for about three hours. When the peas get soft, run your immersion blender (finally got one!) through it a bit to let some of the peas thicken the soup. Add the diced ham and continue simmering and stirring, until the ham is heated through. Discard the bay leaves.

This recipe fits the criteria for the Weight Watcher's Core Plan.

Here's a picture of the finished soup. It's in a really small bowl so, for size reference the carrot pieces are about a quarter-inch big.

*** If you're not familiar with the baby-cut carrot conspiracy or the response from the World Carrot Museum, click the links!

Not Exactly a Standard 55 Fiction Friday - January 11, 2008

2008-01-11T07:27:00.000-06:00

Blogging’s stale and posting’s slow
I’m lacking my inblogspiration
There’ll soon be an overhaul
Perhaps, worthy of an ovation.

Today I’m skipping the regular post
(My weekly Fifty-Five endeavor)
Maybe you’re uninterested in this
And muttered, disgusted, “Whatever.”

Onward, with unwavering resolve
I’m forcing this silly rhyme
It’s completely unresistable
To fifty-five one more time.

;-)

New look, new goals, new posts - coming soon!

55 Fiction Friday! January 4, 2008

2008-01-04T11:15:00.001-06:00

*****
*************

*****

*
It's the first 55 of the New Year!
The 55s from MrWurdi and I were written last week but never posted.
*
**
******************
*****
**
*

All the details on what 55 Fiction is and how to play are at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

Roxie Rufus did!

Here's my 55 Fiction that I wrote last week and neglected to post:
Dr. Seuss Had It All Wrong

The hectic holiday time passed. Kids and grandkids returned to their homes. Turning to the love of my life, I took his hand in mine. Finally, we’re alone. Longingly looking into each other’s eyes, we realized – his knee was acting up and I was down in my back.

That’s how the Grinch really stole Christmas.

Without seeing mine first, MrGrinch wrote this last week:
Time Is Ever Fleeting

It has been forever since a good night sleep. And the stress has manifested itself in my mood and physical well-being. I walk with a limp and have seen disappointment in so many young eyes. Less money to give; it all seems painful. Growing old and missing the joy of Christmas past.

Christmas, Bah Humbug.

Despite the whining, we both really did have a great holiday. We stayed super busy with family and friends. I apologize for the lack of blogging. I haven't even read any blogs in weeks. That's changing. I have GOALS for the New Year.

We have a newcomer to 55 Fiction Friday - Roxie Rufus! She wrote several 55s. Unfortunately, I can't access them right now and will have to add them later so be sure to check back for them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here.. You can also click on the 55 Fiction label below to see what Wordy Bitch and Wordy Bitch readers have done in the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

55 Fiction Friday! December 21, 2007

2007-12-21T07:17:00.000-06:00

*
**
***
Still more excuses! I'll spare you the details and just say that I plan to be back to regular blogging soon. I, again, apologize for my lack of fresh content recently. I hope to add my 55 Fiction later today. For now, enjoy MrWurdi's contributions.
***
**
*

It's time again for 55 Fiction Friday! All the details on what it is and how to play at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

MrWurdi wrote TWO 55 Fictions this week:

Naughty or nice?

Christmas was always a time of wonder for little girls and boys. But as they grew older the gifts stopped being little children’s toys. They became more practical, useful and sometimes just needed, and in mature relationships, more secretive. Private rendezvous are often the best inspiration for gifts.

You been bad enough for adult toys?

Christmas Cheer for Mickey

Amazed at all the lights and quietly crawling under the tree. Tearing into gift after gift, eating and drinking what was left for Santa. Finally laying back taking it all in exhausted from mornings carousing.

Then the door burst open with screeching, smacked with a broom, running for freedom!

“Did you get it? Damn Mouse!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here.. You can also click on the 55 Fiction label below to see what Wordy Bitch and Wordy Bitch readers have done in the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

55 Fiction Friday! December 14, 2007

2007-12-14T07:26:00.000-06:00

~~~~~~~~~
Excuses, excuses.
I apologize for my lack of fresh content recently. Insomnia, stress, insanely busy work weeks, and now a cold/sinus thing have been kicking my ass.
~~~~~~~~~

It's time again for 55 Fiction Friday! All the details on what it is and how to play at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

MrWurdi found his muse this week and provides THREE 55 Fictions:

'Tis the Season
Twas night of the Christmas party, and all through the house
nothing was stirring not even the spouse.

No clothing left hung in the closet with care,
Finally dressed but nothing matched her hair.

Husband has waited all smug in the ‘Benz,
with visions of being late yet again…

How New Year’s Resolutions are made.

Under Pressure
Cause sleep's such an old fashioned word
And sleep dares you to care
For people on the edge of the night
And sleep dares you to change our way
Of caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves under pressure

Only sleeping can relieve… this pressure ZZZZzzzzzzz.

(Parody of “Under Pressure” by Queen, and David Bowie)

Insomnia
Drinking myself to sleep again, Insomnia
Flying high in golden skies, I'm flicking channels in my mind
Finding my utopia a different chapter in a book
Thinking back to younger days as I escape in Cooper's Break
It takes me back to 84 the future's knocking at my door
My brain, my poor brain

Insomnia

(Lyrics “Insomnia” by Feeder)

My 55 for the week:

Jingle What?
(sung to the tune of "Jingle Bells")
Dashing through the stores
Shopping lists in hand
Sweat flowing from my pores
It’s crowds I cannot stand.
Time is running out
Procrastinating’s wrong
Myself to blame, I whine and pout
Singing my silly songs.

Jingle bells, panic swells
I have too much to do
Wishing for simpler times
I’ll bet that you do, too

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here.. You can also click on the 55 Fiction label below to see what Wordy Bitch and Wordy Bitch readers have done in the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

55 Fiction Friday! December 7, 2007

2007-12-07T06:18:00.000-06:00

It's time again for 55 Fiction Friday! All the details on what it is and how to play at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

MrWurdi's 55 for the week:

Wild Kingdom
Real fear struck when she realized she was alone. She made it to a damp cave away from the lions and tigers. She didn’t know how long she could hold out. Even the giraffes scared her now.

Luckily, Dad found her before the crocodile did.

That’s the last time she would ever play putt putt.

My 55 for the week:

Today
Who would have thought that anyone would have the audacity to challenge us, the United States of America, on our own soil? Prior to the attacks that morning in September, most people would have thought it impossible. Those people had forgotten what happened sixty-six years ago today, the day that supposedly would “live in infamy.”

**Please remember and honor those who serve our country in the US Armed Forces.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here.. You can also click on the 55 Fiction label below to see what Wordy Bitch and Wordy Bitch readers have done in the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

55 Fiction Friday! November 30, 2007

2007-11-30T09:32:00.000-06:00

It's time again for 55 Fiction Friday! All the details on what it is and how to play at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

MrWurdi's 55 for the week:

Love Story
In all of time and books of rhyme
A story is told of love unkind

Unkind for all who fail to know
How deep love can truly go

To love enough by worldly beliefs
May simply continue life’s grief

But to find them and give one’s due
Can be called “The Taming of the Shrew”

My 55 for the week:

Deep Thought
Hands lightly resting on her knees, she meditated. As the repeating single syllable of her mantra caused the corporeal world to begin drifting away, her mind put a picture of the spelled-out word before her.

As she contemplated her ultimate reality, she was distracted by a single thought.

“Do electricians use ‘ohm’ as their mantra?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here.. You can also click on the 55 Fiction label below to see what Wordy Bitch and Wordy Bitch readers have done in the past.
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Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
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The End Is Near...

2007-11-29T19:51:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow marks the end of NaBloPoMo. It's been close a couple of times (like on Thanksgiving) but, assuming I'll be doing 55 Fiction Friday tomorrow, I did it. I feel like I've accomplished something but I don't know that I'll do it next year. At the very least, I'll do it differently. I may have to come up with a theme or something. It feels like I was really reaching on some days... I don't ever want to post something just for the sake of posting. Even if it's just for my own amusement, I want to have a reason when I post. That didn't happen every day this month.

Sinners Inc.

2007-11-28T19:04:00.001-06:00

Meme.

One of The Urban Dictionary's definitions is:

an internet information generator, especially of random or contentless information

That works for this.

I saw this out there in the blogosphere today and thought it was different and random enough to be at least a little bit interesting. Besides, it was either this or a conversation I had with my ex-husband about scrambled eggs. I think you might be better off with this meme.

MEME Rules:
1. Put your MP3 player on shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write the name of the song no matter what. No cheating!

IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY?
What's Simple Is True - Jewel

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Sex-O-Matic Venus Freak - Macy Gray (OMG! I nearly wet my pants when I saw this!)

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Halo - Soil (um, based on the previous answer, I guess opposites attract??)

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Get Gone - Fiona Apple

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
Sucker Train Blues - Velvet Revolver (yikes. That's depressing.)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
If It Makes You Happy - Sheryl Crow (too freakin' cool; so true)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Goody Two Shoes - Adam Ant (hahaha!! I doubt that!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Embrace - Korn

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
TNT - AC/DC

WHAT IS 2+2?
LoveStoned / I Think She Knows Interlude - Justin Timberlake

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
It's Been Awhile - Stained

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Beg For Me - Korn (oh, my!)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Forgive Me - Godsmack

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Dream a Little Dream of Me - The Mamas and the Papas (um, what if I'm already ~mostly~ grown up?)

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Control - Poe

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Crime For Crime - Ani DiFranco

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Time - Pink Floyd

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
When Worlds Collide - Powerman 5000

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
They Can't Take That Away From Me - Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Tiny Daggers - INXS

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Open Your Eyes - Staind

WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
Sinners Inc. - Rob Zombie

Some of these were just weird and some of these were so right they were really weird. Anyone else want to play?

Oh, and I'm thinking I have some really diverse musical interests.

Chantix Works But I Can't Take It Anymore

2007-11-27T16:27:00.000-06:00

Around 7:30 this evening, it will have been a week since I last smoked.

Now, when I get that "I want a cigarette" feeling, I just take a deep breath (it helps) and tell myself, "I don't smoke." And I don't. I thought about not going to play pool (temptation and all) but I really don't think I'll have a problem with it. I do believe I have it beaten this time.

I still occasionally have that little voice suggesting how great a cigarette would be but I don't want to take Chantix any more or again. It worked and it got me over the initial physical and chemical addiction. It just made me feel so awful that I had to quit taking it. I didn't take it for the recommended full 12 weeks. I only took it for one week. And while I had to stop taking it, I believe it really helped me quit.

While I was seriously depressed when taking it, fortunately, I realized it was because of the medication. However, I can understand why they're attributing it to suicide risk in some people. Nausea was a minor problem but nothing I couldn’t live with. The vivid dreams were okay. They interfered with my sleep but I didn’t have nightmares. I just woke up quite a bit. The headaches were pretty bad. The lightheadedness, shortness of breath, chest pain and palpitations were too much. I told MrWurdi on the way home from playing pool last week that if I hadn't read the info sheet and known that these were side effects, I'd be demanding he take me to the emergency room. The effects didn't get unbearable until the dosage doubled (after the first week). I probably could have stopped taking it a little earlier. It works so well in getting you off the chemical addiction. It was nice getting past that part while still being able to smoke (even though I wasn't getting any pleasure from it).

I probably could have continued on the week one dosing but I didn't (and still don't) think I need it anymore. I'm done.

My evaluation of Chantix? It's a great drug that really works to help get you off the cigarettes - if you can stand to take it. I’m concerned that there’s not been enough research done on it and there are going to be some really bad findings (think Phen-fen and Vioxx) before it’s all said and done. I hope I’m wrong.

Namaste

2007-11-26T21:47:00.000-06:00

I was reminded of this word and what it means earlier today and I wanted to share it with you.

"In India when we meet and part we often say,
'Namaste,' which means...
I honor the place in you where the entire universe resides,
I honor the place in you of love, of light, of truth, of peace.
I honor the place within you where if you are in that place in you
and I am in that place in me, there is only one of us. Namaste."

from Ram Dass, in Grist for the Mill

Weekend Recap Haikus

2007-11-25T19:28:00.001-06:00

Whining and crying
Shrieking and wailing non-stop
And that's just Grannie

*************

MrWurdi dotes
My heart melts just a little
Good thing we are "fixed"

*************

Grandgirls were enjoyed
Their parents have retrieved them
We're too old for this

55 Fiction F---Aw, Damn It. Saturday, November 24, 2007

2007-11-24T20:16:00.001-06:00

I can't believe I missed it. It was bound to happen at some point but I thought it would happen during a busy time at work - not on a day off. I missed 55 Fiction Friday! So, while it doesn't have the same ring to it, please feel free to play along with 55 Fiction Saturday! All the details on what it is and how to play at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

My 55 for the week:

Tribute
Gathered solemnly, they paid tribute. Taken too soon by fickle Fate’s whim, his body lay lifeless, cold. Held gently by the man who brought him here, he was lowered for his final journey.

Speaking a few words of comfort to the children, the man leaned over and flushed the toilet.

“Rest in peace, Mister Guppy.”

MrWurdi's 55 for the week:

Submitted for your approval
Imagine if you will, a six year old boy home watching his TV in 1968. Left alone to entertain himself he has three choices, one is a children’s movie he innocently watches.
What unfolds will change his life forever, especially the S&M dungeon, safely from the mind of Dr. Seuss.

5000 Fingers of Dr. T

Plus! A Bonus 55 From MrWurdi

Thanksgiving Thankless Job
Bones lay amongst the uneaten flesh, waiting for the band of scavengers to pick it clean. But it has been un-attended too long and it starts to smell and attract the unwanted. I must remove it before it’s too late, in a silent procession that ends with a thump.

The bird rests until trash day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giving Thanks

2007-11-23T20:30:00.000-06:00

The “fancy eatin’ table” post is just going to have to wait.

I find myself unable to continue without giving thanks. While I’m very thankful for MrWurdi and the children he brought into my life, my parents and other family, friends, employment, home, and so very much more, there is one thing – today – for which I am most thankful.

I don’t give a lot of details about my personal life on my blog. Sure, I tell true stories and I write about things that are real but I’m, purposefully, short on some of the specifics. In order for you to understand the depths of my thanks in this post, I must open up my life to you a little more.

Earlier this year, I came face-to-face with the big Four…uh. um… the big FOUR… (deep breath) okay, here goes…. The Big Four-OH-MY-GOD-I’M-FORTY!!!!!!

Whew.

Yep. I turned forty. Really, it’s not that big a deal. I just like being a little bit dramatic. I’m completely fine with it.

More pertinent details:
I have two grown children who I adore. My son will be twenty-one in just a couple weeks and my daughter is twenty-three.

Go ahead.

Do the math.

I’ll wait.

Done?

Okay. I started a little bit early. My daughter is married to a great guy and they live about an hour away from me. Together, they have provided me with The Grandgirls. These two Grandgirls make me glow with happiness when I see them. They are eleven months apart in age. The eldest was two in July; the youngest turned one in June.

My daughter and son-in-law have gone on a short vacation and MrWurdi and I are babysitting.

Did you know that there are women my age who are just starting to have their children? At my age?? On purpose!?!?!?!!!

Do you know what I’m truly thankful for today?

Spongebob.
Spongebob Squarepants.

This guy (in yellow) with his friends:

I’ve taken a few liberties with the opening lyrics of his show:

Are you ready kids?
aye aye Captain
I can't hear you!
aye aye CAPTAIN!!!
OOOOOOO
Who lives in the cable-box in my TV?
Sponge Bob Square Pants
Absorbing and noisy and cartoon is he
Sponge Bob Square Pants.
If mesmerized children be something you wish
Spongebob square pants
Then turn on the TV and watch all the fish
Sponge Bob Square Pants
Spongebob Squarepants Spongebob Squarepants
Spongebob Squarepants Spongebob Squarpants!
do do do do- do-do do do!

I adore Spongebob. I really do. He gave me several minutes of blissful peace and quiet today.

Thank you, Nickelodeon. Thank you, Spongebob Squarepants creators.

In Just Under the Wire

2007-11-22T21:27:00.000-06:00

Rather than do the standard "I'm thankful for..." which I probably will do sometime this weekend, I'm racing in here to get my NaBloPoMo obligation satisfied. Today has been the hardest day to NaBloPoMo.

We ate and drank and made merry. The "fancy eatin' table" wasn't as Clampett-ish as I thought it would be and there'll be more about that tomorrow.

I was just about to whine about all the hard work but I won't. It was so worth it. I love having a houseful of people.

I'm still smoke-free. It's a good feeling.

That's all I have for now.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving Eve Haikus

2007-11-21T18:49:00.000-06:00

Wine gal consulted
American wines purchased
Can't wait to try them!

The foodstuffs are bought.
The store crowds navigated
The cooking begins.

Uh-oh. Big problem.
The oven's thermostat quit
Temp testing tonight.

I'm so glad we discovered the problem with the oven tonight. With a little testing, we should be able to determine how to adjust and still get dinner served on time (and not blackened). I hope to have a picture of our "fancy eatin' table" for you tomorrow.

*****************
Day One of not smoking is good. I'm having some minor urges/craves but I'm recognizing them as more habit that actual want. The Chantix has been bothering me. The dose went up to double yesterday and I felt miserable. Really bad. I don't think I'm going to continue taking it but I'll post more on that later.

Brining Your Turkey

2007-11-20T16:51:00.000-06:00

Brine? That’s saltwater, isn’t it? Like really salty water? Well, yes. However, it is one of the very best things you can do to your turkey. But first, a little backstory:

When I roasted my first turkey for my then in-laws, I was terrified. If any of you are old enough to remember, it was back when Butterball had that commercial where the elderly women of a family were over at the new bride’s house for Thanksgiving and they were whispering, cattily, “I bet the turkey’s dry.”

I was terrified that my turkey would be dry. I was a really young bride and felt I had to prove myself. The Thanksgiving turkey was the way to do it. I bought my frozen turkey, I called the Butterball hotline for information, I consulted my mother. I thawed my turkey according to the instructions. I basted the hell out of that bird. Every 30 minutes, I had that bird on the counter with my basting bulb in hand, squirting butter all over it. The turkey had one of those built-in, pop-up thermometers and I had the timetable for all the sides down to a science. It was perfectly planned and all the sides were almost ready for serving as I began carving the turkey.

My turkey was not dry.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t done, either.

Oh, and did you know that you’re supposed to remove the “parts” before you roast it?

I don’t know if it was a faulty thermometer or the repeated removing of the turkey from the oven but you can’t serve reddish-pink turkey. As the side dishes cooled, I stuck the turkey back in the oven and felt like a failure. I think we ended up taking several slices of the turkey and popping them in the microwave. I know, I know: Blasphemy!

I learned some hard lessons that day. Don’t trust the built-in thermometer. Remove the neck and giblets before roasting. I also suspected that, maybe, the turkey hadn’t been completely thawed.

The following year, I was ready. I had a meat thermometer. My frozen turkey had been thawing, per the instructions, in the refrigerator for days. On Thanksgiving morning, I cut the plastic wrapping from the bird and went to remove the giblets. They wouldn’t budge. They wouldn’t budge because they were still frozen in the turkey. Nearly hysterical (I was such a drama queen in those days), I called my mother. She said I needed to thaw it in cold water and that I should probably call everyone and plan on having dinner a little bit later.

I lived in an apartment that had doll-sized sinks. There was no way I was going to be able to submerge my turkey in cold water and thaw it. The only container big enough was, ew, the bathtub but I had no options.

I went and scrubbed the bathtub. I scrubbed it again. I rinsed it repeatedly. I thawed my turkey.

It wasn’t dry. It wasn’t raw.

No one other than my then-husband and my mother knew that the turkey started it’s day in the bath and they weren’t telling.

I have used fresh turkeys every year since.

Oh, yeah, brining!

The short version:
Brining 101
This site has a LOT of information about brining (Q&A, recipes, brining times, etc.)

I use a cold brine and I rinse, dry, and put it in the oven. I still get crispy skin and I don't have to let it rest in the refrigerator after taking it out of the brine. One of the tips on the above site said you'd have to do that. I disagree but the rest of the information is really good.

Oh, one more thing. The turkey NEVER tastes salty. It's just moist and flavorful.

Here’s what I do for my brine:
1 gallon water
1 cup kosher salt
1 1/2 cups sugar
4 ounces cracked black pepper
Any other seasonings you want (I use a bit of sage, some garlic, and whatever else strikes me as I rifle through the spice cabinet)

NOTE: You may need to double this for a large turkey. I figure out how much liquid I need by putting my turkey in whatever I’m using as my brining container and, with a measuring cup, I pour in water until the turkey is fully covered. Then, I know how much brine to make.

Bring all ingredients to a boil in large pot then simmer 15 minutes. Let cool to room temperature.

To prepare turkey: Remove contents in main and neck cavities, reserve for other uses if desired. Rinse turkey with cool water. Place bird in cooled brine, fully covered, for 8 to 10 hours in refrigerator (assuming a 20 lb bird).

Remove from brine and rinse turkey, inside and out, with cool water and pat dry. Roast as usual (although I've found my turkeys seem to cook faster when they've been brined).

Some sites say you can brine for up to 24 hours; others say that brining that long can mean mushy meat. 8-10 hours has been perfect for my turkeys.

**********
I need to tell you something else. My dad has, in recent years, become THE bargain shopper. Seriously, we can’t let him go to case lot sales anymore. When we had to move everything to the center of their house for the de-brown-reclusing (long story), he had 1,120 light bulbs. Really. Not special lightbulbs, not Christmas lights. Nope. 1,120 standard light bulbs. Case lot sale. I’m never buying lightbulbs again. Ever.

I digress.

My dad called me last week from the commissary. They had turkeys on sale for THIRTY-FIVE CENTS A POUND. (He was so excited.) He really wanted to buy one for me.

They were frozen.

I was less than excited.

He was SO excited.

I let him buy the turkey.

I’ve been waking in a cold sweat every night since.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Letter to a Former Friend

2007-11-19T15:06:00.001-06:00

Dear Virginia,

You’ve been with me through some of the darkest moments of my life. You’ve also been there with me to celebrate the most joyful occasions. I can’t remember a time that you weren’t there for me. It didn’t matter what time of day or night it was; you always had time for me. You were always there and, odd as this may seem by the time you finish reading this letter, I really appreciate that.

In those times when I felt anxious or awkward, you knew just how to ease my nerves and make me relax. When I was so angry I could scream, you helped me step back and re-evaluate the situation or just blow off steam. You were there as I became an adult. You even helped ease that transition. Oh, I know you didn’t make me any more mature but you had a way of making me feel like I was.

I would have done anything for you, too. I’d get out in the nastiest weather just to pick you up and bring you to my house. I’d scrimp and save during the lean years so we could be together. I’d leave the company of my family and other friends just to be with you. In fact, I’d even give up a little of my precious time with the grandgirls just to hang out with you for a few minutes.

We had our little rituals, you and I. Tap, tap, tap, a quick spin of the wheel with my thumb, a deep inward breath followed by a relieved exhale. Even though I began to realize that you didn’t always have my best interests at heart, I still hung out with you. I still welcomed you into my home.

Over time, our relationship began to change. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to hang out with you anymore. You even started hurting me but I always forgave you and welcomed you back. Yes, I’ve been burned more than once with you. It’s just that we’ve been together so long I had trouble imagining not having you around. I’ve wondered how I’ll deal with the nervousness or anger. How can I hang out at the pool hall without you by my side?

Our relationship has caused some problems. It got to the point where my family and friends didn’t want you around, either. MrWurdi didn’t want you in the house so I started hanging out on the front porch with you. I froze my ass off in the winter and fought the bees and other flying buzzy critters in the summer just to spend time with you. My mother let you ride in the car with us but made pained grimaces and coughed meaningfully even with the window down.

I hate to break it to you but they all think you stink. No, there’s really nothing you can do about it. Cologne or perfume won’t fix it. Although I love the way you smell when I haven’t seen you in a while, even I am beginning to find your particular scent offensive.

But that’s not why I’m writing this letter. I’m not writing this letter to you because you stink or because you’ve hurt me or because I’ve spent too much money and time just to be with you. I’m not writing this letter to say how bad for me you are. You already know that. I can’t even say you didn’t warn me that you were bad news. Hell, every single time I picked you up, the message was loud and clear.

I’m writing this letter to tell you that while I may miss you in the days and weeks to come, I don’t need you in my life. Not only that, I don’t want you in my life. So, here’s your notice. I want you and your stuff out of my house, purse and car by midnight tomorrow. As of November 21, 2007, you are no longer welcome in my life. I’m sure I’ll see you from time to time but I don’t want to reconnect with you. Ever. We’re done. Good-bye, Virginia.

Smoke ‘em if ya’… erm…nevermind.

Ima Wurdibitsch

P.S. If you see those friends of yours, Salem Slim or the Marlboro Man, tell them I don’t want to see them, either.

From Ima's Kitchen - Cranberries and Sweet Potatoes

2007-11-18T17:02:00.000-06:00

As promised yesterday, the recipe for the Bourbon-Spiked Cranberry relish (pictured above) can be found by clicking the link. It's from the folks at Farm to Philly, a group of folks who encourage eating locally.

Since I've never actually made the Bourbon-Spiked Cranberry relish, I wanted to give you a recipe for something I have made. A little history, first. We've always served sweet potatoes because my dad likes them. Sometimes, they'd be doctored up a little bit but they mostly went uneaten. One year, I found my ex-mother-in-law's recipe for sweet potato casserole and thought I'd give it a try. It couldn't hurt - after all, sweet potatoes were mostly ignored at our house.

It was really good. It disappeared. I've had to double the recipe in the years since to keep up with the demand. As you can see from the recipe, it's kind of like getting one of the desserts early.

Sweet Potato Casserole
Casserole
3 cups sweet potatoes
1/2 cup melted butter
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
dash of salt
dash of cinnamon (I add a bit more)

Topping
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup flour
1 cup nuts (I use pecan)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Farenheit. Heat the sweet potatoes to boiling, then drain. Mix the potatoes, 1/2 cup melted butter, eggs, sugar, vanilla, salt, and cinnamon to a smooth consistency and put in a baking dish.

In a separate bowl, mix brown sugar, 1/2 cup melted butter, flour and nuts together. Spread evenly on top of sweet potato mixture and bake for 30-40 minutes.

Keep an eye on it so your nuts don't burn. You may need to lay a sheet of aluminum foil on top of it.

I Plan to Plan My Plan

2007-11-17T16:44:00.001-06:00

This time of year, I actually get a little bit organized. I probably need to stress the little bit part. My closet still is unorganized. My winter and summer clothes are all out in various places in the house. My home office looks like a filing cabinet exploded in it. You get the point.

On Thanksgiving, everyone comes to my house. We have a group that includes our kids, grandkids, parents, friends, ex-spouses (MrWurdi's and mine) and their new spouses (just MrWurdi's because my-ex hasn't remarried), ex-step-children (when they're available) who are counted among the ones we gave birth to but for the sake of this post and clarification we'll call them that and anyone else who doesn't have other plans. We usually have between twelve and twenty people and I love it. With that large a crowd, my normal winging it for meals has to take a backseat to my rather analytical side.

I have a spreadsheet (See Figure 1.). It lists all the food items - broken down by category; i.e., appetizer, main meal, dessert. It lists the serving dish that will be used to serve it and any special preparation requirements (stuff I might forget) or the recipe itself. The final column is the list of grocery items I need to pick up at the store. Then, it's shaded if someone else is bringing that dish.

Figure One. Anal-Retentive Spreadsheet

I'm working on the timeline. There are several things I can make or start making on Wednesday. With the oven being used for the turkey, I need to plan for what needs to go in it the minute the turkey comes out. I need to figure out what I can put in the toaster oven. I have to remember to brine the turkey (I'll probably be doing a post on this later in the week. I'm a brine-pusher. It makes the turkey so flippin' good). That's not something you can do at the last minute.

I'm also pairing wine with each course. My mom will try it and might have a glass or two, my dad might put down his beer for a taste, MrWurdi will taste it and proclaim, "It tastes like wine!" and I'm hoping someone (ehem... you know who you are) will be here who might appreciate the fact that I thought about this.

My mother has agreed to make the bread dressing because MrWurdi loves it (as does -ehem-) and will be preparing a few other things that she absolutely excels at making. I'm handling the rest of the food. I'm so looking forward to it, even if we are having cranberry sauce from a can and the green bean casserole. There are some traditions you just can't break. I will be adding a few new things, including the Bourbon-Spiked Cranberry Relish - I'll be posting that recipe and a link tomorrow. If you're at all interested, here's what's on the menu. Stop by! We always have plenty of food.

Appetizers
Shrimp cocktail
Hummus (homemade, spicy 3-pepper) w/ pita chips, warm pita wedges, jicama, celery
Crab dip
Pate
Almond-stuffed dates wrapped in bacon

Thanksgiving Dinner
Turkey
Cornbread dressing
Bread dressing
Whipped potatoes
Gravy
Green bean casserole
Deviled eggs
Corn
Mixed veggie casserole
Sweet Potato casserole (my ex-Mother-in-Law's recipe)
Rolls
Cranberry sauce (from a can! with lines!) and kiwis
Bourbon-Spiked Cranberry relish
Sauerkraut (a traditional Thanksgiving dish for us)
Relish Tray (celery, olives, pickles, etc.)

Desserts
Bourbon Chocolate Macadamia pie
Pumpkin Bars
Butterscotch Trifle

55 Fiction Friday! November 16, 2007

2007-11-16T09:52:00.000-06:00

It's late but... it's time again for 55 Fiction Friday! All the details on what it is and how to play at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

MrWurdi's 55 for the week:

When We're Apart
“I’ll call you and tell you goodnight,” was the dish.
Promised later, with a dollop of love.

An elaborate dish, yet hazardous offering.
If left unattended, it poisons the heart.

Yet the call comes, in the wee hours.
Like an antidote, rescue for the heart.

The banquet was saved, lusciously consumed.
Love endures, once again.

My 55 for the week:

Mission
They had a mission to accomplish. One went for supplies. The second member planned while yet another built up his strength and a fourth abstained from food. The fifth member was a weak link with an incontinence problem who pissed himself all the way home. They were the members of the This Little Piggy crew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do-It-Yourself Psychoanalysis

2007-11-15T16:16:00.000-06:00

I was planning on writing a poem about my lack of planning for next week’s Thanksgiving Feast. Unfortunately, that particular muse is not with me today.

In honor of my new co-worker, I was going to create a How To Make A Bad First Impression on Your New Co-Workers post but I’m trying to keep from posting any specifics about my job here. It would suck to be Dooce’d.

I’d considered whining about how it’s cold here and expected to get colder but, for Pete’s sake, I live in Alafreakinbama. It could be worse.

I considered sharing some recipes but I’ve done that a lot recently so I’m trying to abstain.

Yesterday, my topic was “I’m Just Not Feeling It.” Today, I could write the same thing. So, I’ve been thinking about that. You know, a little of that Do-It-Yourself-Psychoanalysis. Here’s what I think is happening:

There’s nothing really wrong with me, yet I’m in a major funk. I don’t feel like I have the energy for a good rant and, believe me, there’s fodder for one. I am normally a very (obnoxiously, even) upbeat person. I’ve been out in the sunshine. ~sigh~ My weight is down. ~okay~ I have good music on my iPod and just recently figured out how to play it in the car. ~cool~

Everything is pretty good in my life but I’m overwhelmed with ennui.

I think I figured it out.

CHANTIX.

Don’t get me wrong, I think Chantix is great. I believe I’m really going to finally quit smoking for good. I’ve already noticed that even when I do smoke, I end up putting it out after just a few drags.

Chantix supposedly blocks the nicotine pleasure receptors in your brain. This stuff, because it keeps the nicotine from reaching those receptors (and releasing dopamine), makes that pleasure disappear. If I'm not getting any dopamine release from the nicotine, all I'm left with is the stench and the habit.

Apparently, I was getting A LOT of pleasure from cigarettes. MrWurdi said something that made sense to me. Since my brain isn’t getting what it needs to feed that addiction to the pleasure/dopamine, I’m already going through withdrawal even though I’m still smoking.

I’m hoping this means that by next week, the worst of it will be over. I just realized that I planned my quit day to be the day before Thanksgiving. That wasn’t too bright. Or, maybe it was.

I'm Not Feeling It

2007-11-14T10:18:00.000-06:00

*
*
*
Dreary Day Haiku
Gray clouds overhead
Coupled with not enough sleep
I'm cranky and glum
*
*
*

********
Chantix update: Although I don't think the medicine is built up enough to be making a difference, I'm smoking less. I'm also experiencing one of the major side effects: Nausea. That's not so much fun but, maybe, it will help keep me from gaining weight as I quit.

...And Awa-a-a-a-y We Go!

2007-11-13T14:03:00.000-06:00

I started taking the Chantix today. I've heard so many good stories about how effective it is. So, I'm very hopeful that this time will be it and I'll finally kick cigarettes to the curb once and for all.

I think it's time. I'm not (yet) feeling that panic I normally start to feel at the thought of giving them up for good. I've, as suggested, picked a quit date: November 21, 2007 - next Wednesday. The literature tells me that I might feel like giving them up before then and that's okay. In the past, the quit date has loomed ominously and I've smoked almost frantically up until that date. I don't feel that need or desire this time.

It will be interesting to see how I feel at the beginning of next week. I'll keep you posted.

From Ima's Kitchen - Hearty Chicken and Corn Chowder with CORE-nbread

2007-11-12T18:04:00.000-06:00

As mentioned previously, I'm doing Weight Watcher's Core Plan. Because there are certain foods allowed on the Core plan, I'm always on the lookout for recipes that fit my plan. If a recipe is close enough, I'll modify it to fit or just "count" the non-Core ingredients.

The following recipe (modified quite a bit from a friend's recipe) is Core, as is the Core-nbread recipe (just substitutions to make it be Core) that follows. Neither taste like "diet food."

Hearty Chicken and Corn Chowder

1 tsp olive oil
1 tsp onion powder (you could use an onion but MrWurdi has texture issues with onion, so I use powder or pureed onion)
1 clove garlic, minced
1 roasted red bell pepper, diced
1 15 oz. can diced potato
1 small can chopped green chiles
1 1/2 C fat-free chicken broth
1 C evaporated skim milk
10 oz skinless, bonelss chicken breasts, diced
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
2 C frozen corn kernels

In a medium saucepan, heat the oil until hot but not smoking, over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, roasted red pepper, green chiles and potato. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, about 5 mins. Stir in the broth and evaporated milk. Bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer. Cook, uncovered, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes.

Stir in the diced chicken, salt and black pepper, and cook until the chicken is cooked through, about 5 mins. Stir in the corn kernels and cook until the corn is just heated through, about 2 minutes longer. Ladle the chowder into bowls and serve with cornbread.

Makes 4 servings

I made this ahead of time and put it in a crockpot to heat the day we were going to eat it. It was very good. The next time I make it, I will "mash" up some of the corn and potato to get a slightly thicker consistency. The original recipe called for creamed corn but since it's not Core, I didn't use it.

For the Core-nbread, I just use the recipe on the bag of cornmeal and use skim milk instead of regular and substitute applesauce for the oil. You can't taste the applesauce at all.

Weekend Haiku Review

2007-11-11T21:53:00.000-06:00

Old friends seen again
Truth clouded, revealed anew
Peace and happiness

It's funny how we can lose sight of what is authentic to ourselves, what's real, and what is integral to who we are. Sometimes, it's the simple things that revitalize us and make us cut loose the minutiae of our day-to-day and see clearly.

Sometimes, that simple thing is a romp in the woods.

~much thanks to the weekend speaker for helping clear the cloudy lens~

Random Thought #9

2007-11-10T09:34:00.002-06:00

There are two good reasons for clothing.

1. Extremely cold weather.
2. Wicker furniture.

Frolicking in the woods but still finding a way to keep NaBloPoMoing.

55 Fiction Friday! November 9, 2007

2007-11-09T08:48:00.000-06:00

It's time again for 55 Fiction Friday! Details on what it is and how to play at the end of the post. Come on, you can do it!

MrWurdi's 55 for the week:

Parodying the Parody
And I've been lift’n and tote’n so long that
Everyone thinks that my back is gone
A man with a plan, I'm into discipline
Got a whip in my hand and a beard on my chin
But if you finish all my chores and you finish thine

This weekend we're gonna party like it's 1699

My 55 for the week:

Dilemma
He frowned. Squinting, as the sun rose higher in the sky, he sighed deeply and paced impatiently. This was supposed to be the start of a great weekend. Unfortunately, circumstances beyond his control were conspiring against him.

His woman was running late. Again. She had to write her 55 fiction and she had writer’s block.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here We Go Again - The Final Chapter

2007-11-08T14:15:00.000-06:00

I've failed at this too many times. I will succeed this time.

I'm quitting smoking. Again. Finally. For good.

As I've said before, not counting a few unremarkable, short-term quits and one three-month quit, I’ve been smoking for over 26 years. That’s a long time and a lot of money - not to mention what it’s done to me health-wise.

So, I’m quitting.

I went to the doctor today. I got a prescription for Chantix. They say it has a 70% effectiveness rate. I'll let you know how that works out for me.

Behold, the Power of Cheese!

2007-11-07T12:47:00.000-06:00

The following cartoon is from the archives of one of my favorite places to visit on the Internet when I need a good chuckle. I hope you enjoy it.

What A Bitch!

2007-11-06T12:15:00.000-06:00

A few years ago, I was deliberately mean to someone.

I’m not talking about unintentionally hurting someone through a misunderstanding. Nor am I talking about physical hurt, either. For many, many reasons, I don’t do that. I’m talking about the deliberate, malicious, hurting of someone because that was my intent. I’m talking about hurting someone emotionally – of getting to that vulnerable part of someone and twisting them up inside in a way that hurts so badly they’ll never risk pissing you off again.

In my opinion, this particular woman had wronged me and she deserved whatever it was she got. So, I thought about it. I thought about what would hurt her the most and, when I had the opportunity, I did it. I really hurt her. I felt so justified in my meanness. I felt no guilt because, after all, she’d hurt me. That made it right; she deserved it. Right?

Wrong.

It took a few years before I realized I was wrong. In those years, I would gleefully recall my vindictive meanness. With pompous self-righteousness, I would justify my actions to myself and anyone who knew about what I’d done. I had every right – No, I deserved – to treat her as I did. I was still lily-white. She made me be mean.

One day, I dug a little deeper. I thought about what she’d done and what I’d done and how I’d justified it all those years. I thought about how I’d convinced myself that what she’d done made what I did okay. Except it didn’t. Sure, she hurt me and I’d used that as my excuse to hurt her – to be mean. She made me be mean? Bullshit. She didn’t make me be mean. That meanness was and is part of who I am. She was just the excuse for letting it out in the open.

I was horrified.

I’ve always considered myself to be a kind person. In high school, I was the teenage “Dear Abby.” I stood up for the underdog. I helped people. I rarely gossiped. I’d once written in a journal that if I died tomorrow, more than being funny or smart or anything else, I would want people to say that I was kind.

Kind people don’t maliciously hurt other people. No matter what.

It was a hard realization, this understanding that I could be that mean. I didn’t want to accept that about myself. Mean. Me. Hateful, spiteful, malicious, and mean. Me. Unfortunately, I’ve been on a never-ending quest for truth so I had to accept it.

When I got over the massive pity party of realizing I was so awful, I called the woman I’d hurt. I asked her if she’d consider meeting with me for a cup of coffee or something. She was, understandably, cautious but still agreed to come.

I apologized to her. I apologized sincerely and wholeheartedly. She, hesitantly, accepted my apology. She also tried to explain what she’d done and why and that she hadn’t meant to hurt me with her actions. Truth be told, I didn’t care about that. It didn’t matter whether she meant to hurt me or not. I can only be responsible for my actions. Only I can determine whether I will be kind or mean in any situation. Whether she meant it or not, I was hurt. That didn’t justify my being mean to her – or to anyone.

There may be a part of me that is hateful, spiteful, malicious, and mean but I get to decide if that’s how I will act. I have accepted that part of myself but I don’t let it define me or my actions. I choose, everyday, to be kind. Some days, that’s harder than others but the alternative is not acceptable to me.

I may be a wordy bitch but I am no longer a deliberate bitch.

Room 101

2007-11-05T15:17:00.000-06:00

George Orwell’s novel, 1984, is a bleak and scarily prophetic look at the future, one where Big Brother watches everything you do. Your neighbors, children, and the two-way telescreens monitor your actions to ensure you do not commit “thoughtcrime.” Punishment for committing thoughtcrime is torture and, eventually, death. The torture is part of the re-education of the criminal. You see, you shouldn’t execute someone until they’ve renounced their criminal ways.

Why, you may ask, am I telling you about such a dark, creepy book? Two reasons. One, I really like it. Despite the dark, hopelessness of the tale, it’s a great book. The other reason, there’s a fantastic blog post topic in it!

The ultimate torture for everyone is Room 101. How can the ultimate torture be the same for everyone? Room 101 is where your greatest fear is forced upon you. Since everything you do your whole life is monitored by the government, they know exactly what would be the worst for you. For the main character, Winston, it’s rats. Cage on his head. Rats in the cage. This is doubleplusungood. If you want more details, go read the book.

My Room 101?

That would be being forced to eat pickled beets at the mall while listening to Celine Dion. Add some unruly children screeching all around me and I’d be willing to do just about anything to escape.

So, what’s your Room 101?

Lazy Sunday Haiku

2007-11-04T16:47:00.000-06:00

Sleep late; brunch at will.
Don't be at all productive.
Make sure to take naps.

I feel refreshed.

From Ima's Kitchen - Spicy Turkey Sausage

2007-11-03T09:11:00.000-05:00

I love puttering around in the kitchen. Even when I'm exhausted, something about cooking appeals to me. Plus, I like to eat. I really enjoy food. As I've mentioned in the past, I do Weight Watchers. Right now, I'm doing their Core plan.

I made the recipe below earlier this week. We sampled a few patties. Wow. This stuff is really, really good. I'll be experimenting with the recipe over the next few weeks and months. I think a chicken, apple, fennel sausage will be next. In the meantime, you might want to try this one. It's unbelievably easy to make and as good as, if not better, than any sausage from the grocery store.

Spicy Turkey Sausage
1 lb. Lean Ground Turkey Breast
2 Tablespoons Onion, chopped finely
4 Cloves Garlic, minced
1/2 Tablespoon Sage
1/2 Tablespoon Thyme
1/4 Tablespoon Allspice
1/2 Tablespoon Salt
1 1/2 teaspoons Cayenne Pepper (less if you don't like hot and spicy)
1/2 Tablespoon Black Pepper

Mix all ingredients together. Using a 1/4 measuring cup, scoop out the sausage to make balls. Place each ball between 2 pieces of wax paper and flatten with the underside of a plate to desired thickness. Cook in a skillet coated with nonstick spray over medium heat until no longer pink.

Note: This is pretty spicy (hot), but you could cut down on the cayenne pepper if you don't like really spicy sausage. You don't have to cook all of the sausage at once. Just freeze each sausage patty between 2 pieces of wax paper and place inside a zip lock freezer bag. Store in the refrigerator for up to 5 days or freeze. When you're ready to cook, simply defrost and follow the cooking directions above.

Serves: 8
Per Serving: 90 Calories; 5g Fat (48.3% calories from fat); 10g Protein; 1g Carbohydrate; trace Dietary Fiber; 45mg Cholesterol; 454mg Sodium.

Core or 2 Points

We're having this with breakfast tomorrow.