Memarie Lane: December 2007

Monday, December 31, 2007

Auld lang what???

I've never been big on New Year's (heck, I've never been big! Ha! Ha?). In fact I'd even say it's my least favorite holiday, after National Hugging Day. I'm just not a hugger, mmmkay?

I don't like holidays that expect things from me. Stay up past midnight? Kiss everyone in sight, regardless of where their lips have been? Resolve to do something so horribly difficult that to resolve to do it any other day just wouldn't cut it? Not for me.

If there's anything worse than New Year's Eve, it's New Year's Day. Why is this even a holiday? All the fun was the night before, now all you've got to look forward to is Uncle Beauregard's Magic Hangover Cure and a freaking five hour parade.

And thus January begins, a month of guilt, bathroom scales and winter blues. I move that we petition NaNoWriMo to switch to January. No major holidays, you're stuck inside anyway, and depression, the ultimate catalyst of creativity, is so rampant that even Miss South Carolina ought to be able to string a few coherent words together.

As January oozes into your life, know that there is hope. In the first place, I am here for you. In fact, in case you haven't noticed, I have a strict anti-negativity policy on my blog. This is probably the most negative entry I've ever written. I strive to inject humor and positivity into a world overrun with mudslinging, corruption, violence, and opportunism. It may be January everywhere else, but here on Memarie Lane it's perpetual June.

In the second place, if your resolutions get you by the short and curlies, look ahead to January 17th, Ditch New Years Resolutions Day! Personally, I'm not making any resolutions. I'm just not resolute enough, and I prefer to take life as it farts in my general direction.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

In Memorium

Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to mourn a great loss. The loss of my blog traffic. It died Thursday, December 27, 2007, the first time ever my blog achieved a record zero hits.

It was good traffic, and is sorely missed.

Fortunately, my blog believes in reincarnation. I have faith that after the New Year, when everyone begins to settle back into a routine, it will come back. I'm hoping it comes back as something nice, like a horse or a Scottish actor, and not a flatworm or a kumquat.

Friday, December 28, 2007

Grin and Bear it.

We went to Build-A-Bear yesterday. Build-A-Bear is not a place for the feint of wallet, nor is it a good place for your friendly neighborhood anti-capitalism zealot to while away an afternoon. How could I not think about the starving whozits in Whatzitland as I plunked down eight bucks for a pair of pink suede cowgirl boots for Jessamine's cheetah? How could I pay good Federal Reserve Notes for little satin panties with a hole for the tail to go through it when there are blue-eared pygmy lemurs in Lichtentein wasting away for lack of flouridated bottled water?

Well, considering my kids are about as spoiled as a stream of milk still making its way from the udder to the bucket I figure I ought to do such things every now and then.

The things you can do at Build-A-Bear are mind-boggling. If you can think of something to put on a stuffed bear that wouldn't merit anything over a PG rating, they've got it. If you can think of anything to say substituting the word "beary" for "very," well, you can believe they've got that too.

Can you guess which one is mine?

I think what the world really needs is an adult Build-A-Bear. [All profits go to the blue-eared pygmy lemurs in Lichtentein, after expenses of course, which may or may not include a sporty little German convertible with a dove grey leather interior and a jaunty little Hermes scarf to knot under my chin. That's right, a two-seater! And the passenger seat will be full of shopping bags! (Sorry Shoog.)]

Ah, the things I could do to a bear in a shop like that!

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Not Quite Back Yet

Just had to pop on to update my layout. My parents and brother are on the road here from California at this very moment, so I probably won't be back on properly for a couple more days.

I hope you all had a nice Christmas, mine was a mixed bag. I'd sent out several boxes of presents to friends and family members on December 10th, and as of Christmas Eve not a single one had arrived. Now I can only hope they arrive at all. I feel like Santa, jetting away above Istanbul and suddenly realizing I'd lost my load over the Caspian Sea. All I can do now is spike my hot chocolate and drink it by the fire, raising my fist now and then to curse the laws of physics and the United States Postal Service. Why is it always the employees that go berserk and not the customers?

But we had a nice afternoon at my Aunt Lois' house, replete with dirty martinis, nostalgic Christmas music ("Little Red Baron from Germany!"), and Kelly's fart machine (I have got to get me one of those!).

So see you all in a couple more days, enjoy your post-holiday sales!

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Friday, December 21, 2007

Merry Christmas

From the Lane family to yours. Taking a brief hiatus for the holidays, hope to see you all back here in a week or so.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Errr... hi?

I had a dream the other night that I was married to Tom Cruise, who I've never been the tiniest bit attracted to. He had two little boys he kept in a cigar box, and Nicole Kidman kept calling me every five minutes to make sure I was taking proper care of them. The last time I liked Nicole Kidman was when she did Far and Away. Okay, maybe I liked Tom in that movie too. But not excessively.

Just like everyone else on the planet, and perhaps beyond, I am sick. I have a policy against sick blogging, perhaps I should add that to my Rules of Blogging. You don't need to know that my sinuses feel like someone's been packing tennis rackets into them with mallets, or that the rest of my head feels like a deep-fried vaseline filled water balloon, or that the germs currently making the trek through my throat are staggering, leaning into the sudden and intermittent bursts of wind, mewling for hydration in a barren land, when they are suddenly flattened by rocket propelled balls of phlegm, at which time tiny thought bubbles appear over their heads which contain their mothers waggling their little germy fingers and saying "be careful what you wish for son, you just might get it." But I won't bore you with the details.

Doesn't matter, I still have to get myself together, clean house and interact with the kids and such. I know, sometimes it's okay to slack. But I did that yesterday. In fact, I didn't even make it to the post office or the library even though I had access to the car for nearly four entire hours. Nope, I went to the wine sale at Smith's. I have my priorities.

So, what are you doing Saturday night at 6:08PM GMT? Busy? My pagan and Wiccan friends are getting all excited, they know it's the winter solstice. Well, if you aren't too busy, might I suggest having an orgasm at that time?

You know how people are always asking stupid questions like "what if everyone on the planet jumped at the same time?" And, "I wonder what would happen if everyone in Milwaukee flushed their toilet simultaneously?" Well, these folks want to see what will happen if everyone has an orgasm at once. Actually, they're pretty sure they know what will happen.

They believe that an orgasm is the ultimate positive thought, to send good joo-joo out into the world to counteract the negative joo-joo and make good things happen. They actually have scientific research to back this up, research which, by the looks of it, may well have been orchestrated by my cousin, the illustrious Dr. Electrica Venue.

I see a couple problems with this.

1. How can you time an orgasm like that? Wait. I don't want to know the answer to that.

2. Who's to say which is the good joo-joo and which is the bad?

It's like politics. Some people think Issue A is terrific, others think it's the end of the world. If the Universe decides Issue A is the best thing since Stand n' Stuff taco shells in spite of the fact that everyone that had orgasms at the prescribed time were hoping to see its downfall, will these people accept the results or will they swear off orgasms forever?

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

How to Make Your Husband Listen

Today's blog was written by my illustrious cousin, Dr. Electrica Venue. She has a PhD in Extrapolation from the prestigious University of the Principality of Sealand, where she also minored in both Nullification and Obfuscation. She now serves her Alma Mater as the dean of her field, and has made several televised appearances, on shows such as "Good Morning Sealand!" and "Great Sous Chefs of the North Sea." *

Recently I conducted a relationship study among the population of Sealand. I had observed that a great communication rift exists between men and women, especially married couples. I was fascinated by the claims of some women who say their husbands never listen, and in turn by those of the men in question, who confess they have no memories of even conversing with their wives.

Over the course of several months I studied these couples in their natural habitats, and made some fascinating observations. I believe the conclusions I came to can be of an enormous help to marriages everywhere, and am delighted to share them with you here on my cousin's blog.

Two years ago or so a study found that as men age they gradually lose their ability to hear high-pitched sounds. Of course, women tend to have high-pitched voices. It was not specified, however, whether the loss was physical or psychological in nature. I believe (though my husband disagrees) that it's quite possible that men deliberately, yet unconsciously, shut out such frequencies; as evidenced by my own observations that this phenomenon is particularly distinct among married men.

In fact, I found through my own studies that within two weeks of a marriage ceremony, a man's ability to hear high-pitched sounds decreases nearly 25% -as opposed to a mere 10% decrease among bachelors of the same age- a percentage which increases dramatically upon the birth of a child.

To get an idea of what your husband hears when his wife speaks, play a bit of this video. Only a few seconds are necessary.

You see the problem. It doesn't matter how important the information is that you're trying to convey, he simply cannot hear you. You may as well be speaking another language.

There is hope.

As I worked with my volunteers, I noticed that occasionally a word or phrase might come up that would jolt the husband into a state of awareness. The first time this occurred the couple had sat down to a chicken supper and the woman asked, "What'll it be, Sweets? Breast or thigh?" The man's heart rate accelerated dramatically and his pupils dilated so much he could have delivered a baby through one of them with ease. As a result he could not help but actively listen as his wife went on to detail her thoughts on new ways to trim their shrubbery.

It was quite a breakthrough, and I began to watch for such occasions, making note of the key words and phrases that caused this reaction. Here are a few examples:

Chaps
Nurse
Score
Pie
Navy

I've never quite understood that last one, but it quickly became clear that words referring to sex, a favored sport, or baked goods served to buy the women at least thirty seconds of actual unadulterated attention. It was amazing to watch.

I began to give the women lists of words to use when speaking to their husbands. I had to tailor these lists of course, one man's football is another man's crotchless panties. The results were incredible, and I believe some marriages may have really been saved.

I encourage you to try this on your husband. When you see his eyes begin to glaze over, try slipping a word into the conversation that will jolt him back. In a very dire situation you might simply try shouting "Sex!" Or "Beer!" Keep in mind that repetition of key words over time will dull the effect, so mix it up a little and be creative.

I'd like to thank Memarie for letting me take over her blog today, and I hope you all keep an eye out for my new book, The Proper Care and Heeding of Wives, coming out Winter 2008 from Sealand Press.

* This blog entry is a JOKE, and Dr. Electrica Venue is as fictional as her studies are. Therefore do not take it seriously. I do believe she has some good points though. -Memarie Lane

Monday, December 17, 2007

The Beta Complex

Bananas make my teeth feel weird. Is it just me?

Do you ever feel like you're trapped in a fishbowl that no one wants to look into? Not a nice bowl with gravel and a plant either, but one of those tiny cups Betas are sold in.

I've always felt bad for those fish. All the other fish that are for sale get to swim around in big, bubbly aquariums, but the beautiful Betas are confined and separated into spaces barely big enough to turn around in, their view obscured by a price tag. True, the big aquariums are full of fecal matter and bloated half-eaten corpses, but at least they can move in there.

Yeah, I know. If you put the Betas together they will kill each other. But do the cups have to be so small?

"While these fish evolved within the rice paddies of Siam, they cannot comfortably survive in a cup or a vase with a lily plant. They need room to swim and stretch their fins, and air to breathe."

I have been known to purchase a Beta or two, and put them into large, beautiful, separate containers. I soon learned why those little Beta aquariums are necessary.

Betas are suicidal.

When you use an aquarium, you have a filter system that constantly nourishes the water with fresh oxygen, which the fish need to survive. When you use a bowl, it's necessary to use a container with a lot of surface area to allow the water to breathe. Betas take advantage of this surface area to hurtle themselves into the great unknown void of death at the first opportunity.

Can you blame them? They're Betas. If they were Alphas, maybe they'd have a chance. If ever there was a fish with a complex, it's a Beta.

Back in the pet shop, the other fish across the way, those goldfish with the big googly eyes and the ruffled fins are saying to each other, "look at those Betas. They think they're so great, with their vivid colors and oversized dorsals. What I wouldn't give for a little cup to call my own, without Brian over there pooping in my face."

So I guess it's all a matter of perspective.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

My Celebrity Detox: Not for the Faint of Bowel

All names -including business names- in this series, except those of celebrities and of myself, have been changed for the sake of privacy. I've carefully chosen pseudonyms that I feel accurately represent the true names as well as the spirits of the people and businesses they belong to.

The subject matter of this blog entry may be disgusting to ~~all~~ some readers.

The experience of having a colonic, while memorable, is really not as fascinating as you'd expect. My own experience may be more memorable than most.

As concierge at You Can Do It, I had to explain the ins and outs (get it? Ins and outs?...) of colonic hydrotherapy often. Here's how it works.

The purpose of a colonic is to wash away build-up of toxins and clogged up fecal matter in your intestines, both to facilitate weight loss and to improve one's health. No studies have been able to support this idea, but none have been able to refute it either.

You lay on your side on a padded table, naked from the waist down. The colonic therapist opens a new package of sterile tubing, and your very own speculum, and attaches it all to the machine. She lubes up the speculum and sticks it in, then begins to pump water, which has been heated to body temperature, directly into your colon. She asks you to tell her when you feel "full," at which time she will reverse the process. The contents of your colon and lower intestine are then "released" through a different tube while she massages your abdomen.

This process takes about half an hour. Upon completion, she can put in an "additive" if you like: garlic to kill bad stuff, acidophilus to replenish positive flora, or a wheatgrass solution to "nourish." If you elect to have an additive, you basically hold it in as long as you can, then "release" it into the toilet.

Every once in awhile there will be a difficult customer. Someone, perhaps, who has swallowed too much Bazooka in his life, or has simply not discovered fiber. These pour souls were administered what we called a "beer bomb."

A beer bomb consists of one ounce of Castor oil mixed with half a can of beer. We used Bud Light. Mixing and delivering the beer bombs was part of my job. The other guests, seeing a can of beer making its way through the lounge area, would tend to get all excited and ask what they'd have to do to get one. Once they discovered its purpose, they were not so eager.

The recipient of a beer bomb would also be given the other half of the beer, because, we figured, they're going to be on the toilet for the next 48 hours, they may as well enjoy themselves.

You can well imagine that colonic virgins tend be apprehensive, especially when they are told they will be having a colonic every day. But after the second one or so they're pros.

Courtney Love, a regular guest at You Can Do It, rarely ventured out of her room; she was far too busy stubbing out cigarettes in her room's new carpet to mingle. But when she did come out, her favorite thing to do -when she was coherent- was assure the virgins of the wonders and delights of colonics. She would swear to them that the first time she had a colonic, she was watching the exit tube and saw a pair of Barbie shoes she'd swallowed when she was four floating along.

Many guests would also develop preferences for certain therapists. Nurse Ratched was intimidating, but she was also very thorough and was a real nurse. Julia was very nice and gentle, and also gave me the best eyebrow wax I've ever had.

My colonic however, was not with either of them. My friend Beverlee and another woman, Nancy, were training to be colonic therapists. In order to become certified it was necessary for them to clock a certain number of hours of actual hands-on colonic hydrotherapy experience, so the staff were all expected to succumb to the speculum at some point. Beverlee probably would have been the better choice, but I knew her too well. It would be weird.

I should have known it wasn't going to go well when Nancy had difficulty finding the machine's On switch.

And it just went downhill from there. She couldn't find this. She couldn't find that. Her hands shook. It would be fine, I told myself, breathing deeply. Twenty minutes later Nurse Ratched came in to check on things, and her eyes widened. She burst into the room and began aggressively massaging my distended belly, shoving Nancy out of the room. I had never liked her before then, but that day she became my hero. And when I reread One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest I was rooting for her.

You can imagine that we would get some interesting phone calls pertaining to colonics. Once a man called saying he had prostate trouble and wanted to know if a colonic would stimulate his prostate. It seemed like a legitimate question, so as with all legitimate questions I was BS'ing my way through it when one of my co-workers gave me the kill sign.

Locals would often come in for colonics without actually staying. For them, I kid you not, we had punch cards. Buy ten colonics, get the eleventh colonic free! I would pass these cards out to my friends, and they would hold them at a distance like one of Brad's used tissues.

Both Nancy and Beverlee ended up getting certified, and as I was concierge, it was Beverlee that I assigned to give colonics to Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. I knew they'd be in good and gentle hands, and that if nothing else they'd be protected by the purple alien plate she secretly kept under the padding of her table.

A week after his stay Matt went on the Tonight Show, and described his colonic experience. I was thrilled for my friend when he said "at least the therapist was pretty."

To make further sense of this rambling mess of a blog, click on the "My Celebrity Detox" tag and read previous entries in this series.

Friday, December 14, 2007

I've had a sex change!

I always kind of wondered what I'd look like as a man. I saw this on another blog (wish I could remember which one so I could give credit) and decided to give it a try. Who would I look like, I wondered? Emmy Rossum? Natalie Portman? Helen of Troy? Nope I got this guy. Have no clue who he is, but he sure is a handsome devil! Click on the play button to watch me grow facial hair.

And then, click on this button and vote for me your favorite picture!

Please vote for me at writefromkaren.com

More Poetry (Sorry) and Aloha Friday

It's true that we ladies are capable,
This fact is indeed inescapable.
Known for our ability,
Despite our fragility,
The effects of which can be debatable.

For example, while writing this rhyme,
I may also partake of some wine
While painting my toes
And admiring the snow,
Accomplishing naught in good time.

It's another limerick prompt from Mad Kane, this one on the subject of multi-tasking. I have always found it interesting that while we of the female gender are often lauded for our ability to multi-task, exercising this super-power generally hinders rather than helps. For example, we might try ironing and blogging at the same time, which would inevitably result in a melted keyboard. I, for one, cannot talk and drive at the same time, or do anything else while talking for that matter. So I tend not to talk much. My best multi-tasking is done while I'm relaxing. I can read a book and help Jessamine in the bathroom at the same time, while listening (sort of) to Brad read out new features that have just been added to our online video game (Lineage2) and helping Max find his fireman hat.

So for Aloha Friday this week, are you a successful multi-tasker?

Thursday, December 13, 2007

A Memarie Game!

I love to play with words, and was inspired by the Opus cartoon in this Sunday's paper.

So I put together a few little word puzzles! Aren't you excited? I tried to put them into a crossword, but the graphic just didn't work out on here (I have a few choice words for Blogger). Now, I'm not totally sadistic. In the first place I'll give you some examples of how these puzzles work, the very ones from this comic. And at the end I will provide the answers, just roll your mouse over each number to see them if you get stumped. Here are the examples:

Coffee- the person upon whom one coughs

Flabbergasted- to be appalled at how much weight one has gained

Impotent- willy-nilly

Ready? Alrighty then.

1. (8 letters) - One who gives small loans in exchange for post-dated checks.

2. (6 letters) - To retract one's signature.

3. (6 letters) - Liberated digits.

4. (7 letters) - Fake poop.

5. (8 letters) - 1/16 of a pound.

6. (9 letters) - Celebrity currency.

7. (6 letters) - Been there, done that.

8. (6 letters) - Kind of like a pear.

9. (7 letters) - To prepare for an angry outburst.

10. (9 letters) - What I become when someone mentions Clinton.

Answers:

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Dear Shoog...

We've been together for something like nine years now. You can burp around me. You can leave the bathroom door open when you pee. You can even fart around me, as long as you don't try to blame it on one of the kids or precede it by asking one of them to pull your finger. Hey, we're married, we have a certain level of comfort. But. No matter how interesting it may be to you, no matter how colorful or abnormally abundant, please don't ever, ever, ever show me the contents of your Kleenex again. Thank you.

We took the kids to see Santa today at the Coronado Mall. We agreed ahead of time that I would take the kids through the line while Brad would camp out unobtrusively nearby with the camera. There's no way we were going to pay $20 for a plastic keychain photo of our kids peeing on Santa.

But we got lucky. In the first place there was no line. In the second place Max took to Santa like a celebrity to Scientology, and Jessamine, who I didn't think would go anywhere near the guy, walked right up to him. She wouldn't sit on his lap, but she did tell him, tersely, that she wanted a bear for Christmas. In the third place, he had a real beard! In the fourth place, Brad was pretty blatant with the camera, and they didn't care.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Warning: Poetry

Annoying advice is prolific
From people who think they're terrific.
All you can do
Is try not to stew;
Not passing it on is the ticket.

So next time your in-laws get started
And you feel that you're being bombarded,
Don't raise up your bile,
Nod politely and smile;
For someday they will be departed.

I haven't tried my hand at poetry for awhile, which I'm sure many were very grateful for. But how could I resist a limerick challenge? Mad Kane asked for limericks or haikus about bad advice, and I managed to do one both about and containing bad advice. It's a two in one! Sorry, I just can't do haikus.

Monday, December 10, 2007

The Automotive Mystique

On Friday, Rachel asked us to discuss the personal superstitions we hold. Here's what I wrote:

In my experience, if I say anything negative about my car it will break down the next day. No matter how old or anything it might be, I can only speak well of it. I thought it was just me, but I was talking to my dad once and called the car a piece of crap or something, and my dad said, "quick! Say something nice! What are you thinking???"

I had a bad feeling as I wrote this. Our car is very sensitive. After an oil change (which I think our last one was in March... in Florida) or a car wash (ditto), it's very happy, seems to think it's a 2008 Corvette and not a 1985 Nissan station wagon. And even discussing this phenomena, I worried, may well have an adverse effect, in spite of the fact that we've given it two new tires over the past month.

Sure enough, on Sunday, as we piled into the car at Worst Buy with my shiny new wireless router (Merry Christmas to me) and Brad turned the key, the car began to sputter and shake. Our eyes locked, filled with dread. It was all my fault. It seems like the car just wanted to teach me a lesson though, it's been fine ever since. And it's a great car. Really, a really great car. I can't say that enough (you hear that, car?).

Yesterday I started reading Days of the Endless Corvette by Man Martin, and I'm astonished to discover that it's a book about my brother, if he lived in the 50's and was an only child with an irresponsible father and a mother with a plastic hand. This book is full of interesting automotive theory, and I'm only on page 85. The main two thus far are:

1. That cars are actually organically aquatic creatures. The character whose idea this is explains this in a surprisingly logical and believable fashion.

2. That cars shed so many excess parts that over time a twin car can be built, without ever visiting Pep Boys. This is also backed up with historical fact.

I think it's clear that cars are much more than large chunks of machinery. Computers, in comparison, are soulless beasts, like carrots or fruit flies or Vonage customer service personnel.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Whichcraft?

James Blunt really bothers me. I would say he rubs me the wrong way, but the thought of him rubbing me in any way at all gives me the creeps. In his new song, "Same Mistake," he says "My reflection troubles me." Well, you're not the only one, Jimbo. Doesn't he seem like the sort of man that would wear fishnets to bed? Like, to sleep in, alone? Along with a pink satin sleep mask, while listening to subliminal motivational tapes, including one entitled "how to sound like Rod Stuart only more yodel-y?"

Sorry, just had to get that off my chest. I feel much better now. Here are some hair bows I made for my niece.

I originally learned how to make hair bows intending to sell them, but now everyone's doing that. When I explained that to my sister-in-law, she said, "yes, but most of the people selling them either make them too plain or too big and wild." I think I have a nice balance here. As someone who is not crafty in the least, it pleases me that I can do so well with these.

In lean times such as these, more and more people are looking into making gifts instead of buying them. Recently there were two great posts with gift ideas, one on Are We There Yet? (my favorites are the marshmallow shooters and the lip balm), and Hollywood Flakes. There are definitely some great things that can be made for gifts, but I personally have always avoided making any because I am so horrible with crafts.

A couple days ago there was a great article on MSN Money about gift-giving (if you go to read it, make sure to check out the "worst gift you ever got" thread, it's both hilarious and poignant). Here is a quote from that article regarding handmade gifts:

"Inventiveness or desperation? Gifts made by your own $40-an-hour hands: At some point, the Spirit of Frugality will pin you to the floor and tell you that the best way to save money during the holidays is to make all your gifts by hand. Resist this impulse! First of all, just because you don't have money doesn't mean you have talent. Second, handmade gifts always cost more than you think, in both time and money. My truly talented sister-in-law, Deirdre, decided to make people jewelry one year. She quit when she found out how much it was costing her in supplies, never mind the all-nighters spent stringing tiny beads."

I thought this bit had some excellent points. What's great about hair bows is that the cost is really negligible, and they require very little patience or talent. I mean, look at me! If I can do it, anyone can (see my tutorial here).

Disclaimer: I am aware that Christmas is not about gifts, and that when gifting is involved it's the thought that counts. However, when giving, don't we want to give the very best gift we can? If that isn't a goal, what's the point? I don't think "best" necessarily means "expensive" either, you're talking to a girl whose favorite gift of all time was a stapler.

So, will you be handmaking any gifts this year? Or have you considered it?

Friday, December 7, 2007

It's not my birthday! (Aloha Friday)

To celebrate the fact that I am not 32 today, and in fact won't be until April, and in retrospect of my 100th post, I'm going to tell you eight random things that aren't about me. In fact, by the time you get through this list you will see that we actually have quite a bit in common. It's really amazing how alike we are.

1. I have not met the Dalai Lama. I did meet some other monks, and they were very nice, but not the head honcho. You either? Go figure! I did meet Gordon B. Hinkley, but I don't have a picture of that. I do, however, have a picture of me not meeting the Dalai Lama.

2. I have never won the lottery.

3. I have never eaten tripe, at least not to my knowledge, and don't plan to.

4. I have never been to Lapland, and don't see myself getting there in the foreseeable future. And I'm okay with that.
5. I have never been asked for my autograph, even though I've been practising it since 6th grade. What a waste!

6. I have never been tempted to swim across the English Channel. I don't even know how to swim, I only dog paddle.

7. I have never run for president.

8. I have never made out with Janet Reno.

Don't you feel so close to me now? Now it's your turn, what's something that's not about you?

This post is dedicated to Lisa, who tagged me for the eight random things meme. Hope you don't mind that I switched it around a bit.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

I shake my little tush on the catwalk...

Marie is wearing:

A red Dorothy apron with matching gloves from Carolyn's Kitchen, which she won via the Boutique Cafe, via Prizey, her very favorite giveaway directory.

And I'm going to stop talking in the 3rd person now, if you don't mind.

These aprons are perfect for getting your June Cleaver groove on. Even if you can't boil water, in this apron you'll be boiling a heck of a lot more than that. Especially if you get the matching garter!

You can be assured I will never actually cook anything in this get-up, and these gloves will never be sullied by something as revolting as dishwater. I will have to find people to invite over for gin and tonic and a rousing game of Parcheesi just so I can bustle around offering people stuffed prunes and cocktail weenies. Just for gits and shiggles.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

100th Post!

This is like a big blogging milestone. It's like I'm all grown up now, or at least think I am, like a kid that just turned 18 and thinks that now that she can vote and buy cigarettes people will treat her like an adult. I'm still waiting to be treated like an adult, and I'm 31. And it's all like, how many times can I use the word "like" in a four-line paragraph?

And I'm breaking number 6 of my blogging rules, because I sat down to write a blog without the slightest idea of a topic. But I didn't know how long I could really expect you guys to look at well endowed gingerbread men and stewed prunes.

So for the 100th post I'm supposed to put together a list of 100 things about me. I actually did try to do that, but around number 22 or so I figured if I'm this bored with myself, how can I expect other people to read this drivel? So I scrapped it. Instead I give you a post about nothing. If Seinfeld could do it, why not me? Well, Marie, maybe because he was already a successful stand-up comedian when his show piloted. Whereas you are relatively unknown and of the sit-down variety.

I actually got to leave the house today, as Brad had a day off, a very rare thing. And he's sick, so I'm hoping that he'll call in tomorrow. After all, it is a Man Cold, and these things can't be taken lightly.

Anyhoo, I went to the library, which I've been putting off because I turned my last load of books in about a week late. I figured I owed at least ten dollars in late fees. I'm terrible about library books, I check out a wagonload of them, finish them in a week, then forget to turn them in for two months, and then naturally I can't go back until I've put together the money for the fees so I'm reduced to reading my own bedraggled book collection. Again.

So I went up to the counter with a heavy heart, my head drooping with shame, and told the librarian it was time I got my come-uppance. She scanned my card and I braced myself.

"Nope, no fines." She handed back my card and snapped her gum at me.

"Are you sure? My last books were at least a week late."

"Oh, we don't do that here," she smiled. "We only fine you if you lose a book. As long as you turn it in at some point, your credit is good here."

If I ever had any doubt, now I know that Albuquerque is the city for me.

Here's what I picked up at the library today:

Days of the Endless Corvette by Man Martin
Florence of Arabia by Christopher Buckley
The Mermaid Chair by Sue Monk Kidd
Hocus Pocus by Kurt Vonnegut
Faking It by Jennifer Crusie

I promise I will put up a real post tomorrow. I even know what it will be about.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Is that a gumdrop in your pants or are you just happy to see me?

One of my favorite things about Christmas is the Williams-Sonoma holiday catalog. I receive a lot of catalogs, but this is the only one I actually read from cover to cover, and I look forward to this every year. It's like a good foreign film: I laugh, I cry, I drool, I wonder what it all means.

I mean, where else can you find such well-endowed gingerbread men?

If you think they're hot you should see the ladies.

There are some things I could just lick right off the page, like these champignons:

And this "present cake" (which costs $89! But it's the thought that counts, right?):

Obviously the folks at Williams-Sonoma do not live in the Southwest. If they did, they would know that anytime I get a hankering for tamales, all I have to do is drive around until I see a 1983 Cadillac with the trunk propped open surrounded by five or six men in cowboy hats who will sell me twelve of them, fresh and piping hot, for five bucks. And they would not think that I might be tempted to buy 36 of their "cocktail game tamales" for $65. Doesn't "cocktail" just mean "small?" (Note to Kathy- as I used these quotation marks I thought of you, just thought you should know.)

The rich duck filling is balanced with tart dried cherries and seasoned with ancho chilies and a jealously guarded spice mixture; the boar filling marries the earthy flavor of wild pig with pineapple and smoky chipotles; and the elk filling includes shredded sirloin beef, ancho chilies and other spices.

Boar? Elk? Why not throw in some raccoon and timber wolf while they're at it?

And then there are items of the Emeror's New Clothes variety. As in, if these disturbing concoctions do not tempt you, clearly you have a rather pedestrian palate and should return the catalog immediately, with a handwritten apology. Like these "French Kisses."

Don't they look delicious? Like rich dark chocolate with caramel filling? Except those are stewed prunes, not chocolate, and that smooth buttery caramel? Foie gras. Yeah. Still look good?

And last, but not least by any stretch of the imagination, the $300 toaster. Just in case your toast just isn't posh enough in your $20 toaster.

Did you see that Gerard Butler is dating Naomi Campell??? How could he do that to me???

Monday, December 3, 2007

Dear Santa

As the kids ate lunch today, I finally opened the Sunday paper. Did you know that the average Brit uses 31 gallons of water a day and the average American uses 155? I'm wondering where they got those numbers. Does that assume that every American has a swimming pool and lawn, does three loads of laundry, washes all three of her luxury vehicles and showers twice every day? Because I think my entire family uses maybe 5 gallons a day.

Another thing I learned is that the poorer a person is, the more she is likely to contribute to a charitable cause. I can see that, I think it has to do with the whole "there but for the grace of God go I" bit. Whereas a wealthy person might look at a homeless person and think "boo-hoo, survival of the fittest, Sport. I get to make my cake and eat it too, you make your bed and lie in it. The cake is all mine. MINE!" Somehow this reminded me that we hadn't written our letters to Santa yet.

So I pulled out a pen and some paper and prepared for endless lists of hundreds of unobtainable items. Well, Squirt, I don't know about a Wii. Santa doesn't like to bring stuff like that to our neighborhood because he doesn't want the home invasion crowd to bother us. How about a sock puppet? But to look at my kids' lists you'd think they were large-eyed urchins pushing packets of Chicle at the Tijuana border crossing rather than squinty urban New Mexicans.

Max:

Diego video
guitar
candy
pretend phone with a red robot on it
pajamas
a new magnadoodle (his broke)
paper

Jessamine:

teddy bear
pink lip balm
pajamas
pink socks
chocolate
chicken (like food chicken, not a live chicken)
water

I feed my kids, I swear I do. I feed them plenty. I even give them something to drink every once in awhile. And they both have plenty of pajamas and socks, I promise. And anytime they want some paper I'm happy to dole it out, as much as they like, I don't even care what they do with it.

What will Santa think of these lists? Is he good enough at geography to realize that New Mexico is a state, or will my daughter's bag of Tyson buffalo wings end up in Oaxaca? Will he be pleasantly surprised by the anti-materialism we've imbued in our offspring or will he be appalled and deluge us with Barbie dream houses and golden retriever puppies and Drop-Kick Me Elmos? (I pink puffy hate Elmo!)

I think I will slip in a note of my own. Heck, I've been good this year! Kind of.

Sunday, December 2, 2007

Marie's 10 rules of Blogging

I'm so glad NaBloPoMo is over. It was great not to feel obligated to blog yesterday. I never hurt for material all through November, but I think that was part of the problem. I've been thinking about what makes a really good blog post (in my humble opinion), and things that I tend to do that can sometimes keep my posts from being great. And so I have come up with these rules. Not that I'll actually follow them mind you, but these are things I have in mind as I blog.

1. Keep it short. If I visit a blog and see a very long post I tend to skip over most of it or just skim through quickly, and yet when I sit down to write one I just can't seem to shut up.

2. Never blog while angry, depressed, or distraught. Sometimes we just can't help ourselves, and a blog seems like a good place to vent. Except it isn't, because then you end up coming across like a crazed lunatic. I recommend writing your angry post, then saving as a draft rather than posting it. You can always post it later if you still want to, after you've had a chance to beat up your pillow and cry in your beer.

3. Keep it funny. I've noticed that the tone of my writing has a lot to do with what I'm reading at the moment. My recent funniest posts were from when I was reading Thank You for Smoking. When I pick up my doorstopper, Science: A History I become professorial. When I read Jane Austen, I write with an upper-class British accent, complete with obscure and pompous vocabulary. Personally I am much more likely to revisit a blog that is funny than one that merely posts a lot of memes and recipes. Right now I'm re-reading my Marian Keyes collection. Is it obvious?

4. Involve your readers. Three bloggers that I read regularly, Pointless Drivel (this blog can be very offensive on a variety of levels so don't read it unless you've got a very strong disposition), Hollywood Flakes, and The Junk Drawer, make a point to respond to most of their comments. As a reader I really appreciate that, I like to go back and see what they thought of my response. So I do the same. I think this gives blogging another dimension, allowing the conversation to continue rather than simply raking in the comments like poker chips.

5. Use pictures. Most of us can read pretty well, or we wouldn't be on the blog circuit, but using photos and graphics in posts is a great way to catch a reader's attention.

6. Never sit down to a blog with no clue what you're going to write. You'll either stare at a blank screen for several minutes before simply giving up or write a long, rambling nonsensical outburst. It's a good idea to keep a list of topics you'd like to blog about. It's an even better idea to write your posts in advance, so you can sleep on them and look them over again properly before posting them.

7. Don't take everything personally. Whether you're reacting to a commenter on your blog or to a post on someone else's blog, keep in mind that the likelihood of the writer having a secret agenda just to bash you is very very slim. If you really feel you must respond to something in a not altogether hunky-dory way, choose your words carefully and be polite. A contrary opinion is much more likely to be accepted, understood, and digested if you make it palatable. A spoonful of sugar if you will.

8. Please keep your readers' visual acuity in mind when designing your layout. I find it very difficult to read blogs with light colored text and often have to highlight the page in order to read it. Then I have to go take some Tylenol. I'm a lot more likely to return to a blog that's easy on the eyes.

9. Comments are bliss. Comments are everything that is precious and lovely and delicious. If you can at all manage it, comment! Even if it's just to say "hello," "great post," or "Happy Cheese Appreciation Day." If you are a blogger and you leave a comment, any comment at all, others are likely to click on you just to see who it was that said such a clever thing. It's karma! Only better, because you have some conscious control over it.

10. Take a break every once in awhile. If it's not NaBloPoMo, you don't have to post several times a day, or even every day. In fact, if you feel like you've written an especially great post, it's a good idea to let it stay front and center for a day or two (or three!) for maximum impact. Some of the best bloggers only post twice a week or so. Selective posting will keep your mind refreshed and your content potent.

Like I said, I don't know if I'll actually always be able to follow these myself (except maybe number 8), but these are things I'm going to try to keep in mind as I blog. I'm open to any disagreements, but if you do want to disagree, please keep number 7 in mind as you do. I'm also open to any new rules if anyone has any to offer, though I'd like to keep the number nice and round. ;)

Monday, December 31, 2007

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Friday, December 28, 2007

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Friday, December 21, 2007

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Monday, December 17, 2007

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Friday, December 14, 2007

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Monday, December 10, 2007

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Friday, December 7, 2007

Thursday, December 6, 2007

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Monday, December 3, 2007

Sunday, December 2, 2007

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