Big announcement!

I'm so excited to announce the release of my very first novel, The Last Elder!* I've kept this a secret because I didn't want to count my chickens and all that, but it was picked up by Sealand Press last fall, and is now slated for release next month!

I was inspired to write this book after reading The Da Vinci Code, The Last Templar, and The Templar Legacy. The same story was told three times in a row by three different writers, with very similar success. So, I decided, why not me? Only this time, instead of The Vatican, my characters seek to save the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints... or do they seek to destroy it?

Follow Slade, Andromeda, Professor Butters, Elders Pine and Oak, and the sinister Rupert Maddox as they follow a series of clues to locate the very crux of the Mormon faith: the Golden Plates. Here is a brief excerpt for you.

Slade is a former CIA operative who finds himself chasing a trail of decades-old clues hinting at a secret that could shake Utah to its very core.

Andromeda Smythe-Fleetwood is a stunning and buxom freelance photojournalist who seeks to avenge her brother’s gruesome, mysterious death.

Professor Butters is a wealthy salt baron whose family has been in Utah for generations. When his faith is threatened, he turns to Slade for help.

Rupert Maddox left the church in disgrace as a young man, and has sought its demise ever since. Will he succeed?

A long way from the potato fields of Idaho, Elders Pine and Oak didn’t know what they were getting themselves into when they knocked on Andromeda’s door. Now they find themselves swept along in a whirlwind of danger and intrigue unlike anything they’d ever known.

"Is this really it?" Andromeda breathed, scanning the room with her luminous azure eyes. It was airless. Cool. Dank. She shuddered and moved closer to Slade.

"Careful," said Slade, placing a strong, virile hand on her shoulder. "We don't know what's down here."

"If my calculations are correct, this is indeed 'It'," said Professor Butters, adjusting his monocle in the dim torch light. "The secret cellar of Brigham Young. Legend has it that he built this place in order to conceal the Golden Plates, secretly entrusted to him by Joseph Smith as he lay dying in Nauvoo, Illinois, after being gunned down by an angry mob."

"But the room is empty," said Andromeda, her silken eyelashes fluttering like tiny butterflies in a sunlit meadow. "There's nothing here!"

"And that's exactly what they'd want us to think, Andromeda." Slade took the torch from Elder Pine and thrust it manfully into the corners of the small room. "Elder Oak, do you have the Codex?"

"I do," said Elder Oak.

"What is the first cryptogram?"

"Well, it took me several minutes to work out, but I think I've got it. It's a scripture from the Bible."

"A scripture, you say?" Professor Butters peered over the young man's shoulder to see.

"Matthew 4:9."

"Well?" Said Slade, "who's got a Bible?"

"I do," Andromeda extracted a thick volume from her generous décolletage. "It belonged to my brother, Hermes, who was heartlessly tortured to death by Rupert Maddox. I keep it with me always." She caressed its tear-stained cover for a moment before passing it to Elder Pine.

Elder Pine, his rosy cheeks glowing in the subterranean gloom, quickly located the passage and began to read. "And saith unto him, All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me."

"But what does it mean?" Andromeda gasped.

"Slade, do what it says of course. Fall down." Professor Butters said.

Slade passed the torch to the Professor and threw himself onto the floor.

"Anything?" asked Professor Butters.

"I may have aggravated an old bullet wound, but it doesn't hurt too bad," said Slade, prone on the dusty stone floor.

"I mean do you see anything?" asked the Professor.

"No. What's the next clue?"

"Genesis 48:14," said Elder Oak.

Elder Pine flipped to the page. "And Israel stretched out his right hand, and laid it upon Ephraim's head, who was the younger, and his left hand upon Manasseh's head, guiding his hands wittingly; for Manasseh was the firstborn."

"Okay. He's trying to trick us here," said the Professor. "Traditionally, the firstborn always stood on the father's right. So if Manasseh was on his right, yet he touched him with his left hand, that means he actually crossed his arms as he did this. No wonder Maddox failed! Slade, cross your hands and stretch them out."

"But I'm lying on my-" Slade groaned.

"Do it!" Professor Butters commanded, and Slade obeyed, though with difficulty. "Next!" The Professor said, his excitement fogging his monocle.

"Um... Luke 21:28," said Elder Oak.

"And when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh." Read Elder Pine.

"You hear that Slade? Look up!" Said the Professor."

"How am I supposed to-"

"Just do it!"

Slade strained to look up, and as he did, something popped in his hip. He was far too manly to cry out in pain, so he grit his teeth and looked upward. "Wait! I see... I see..."

"Aha!" Called a high, nasal voice from the doorway. Everyone except Slade turned to see a tall shadowy figure with a fedora, holding a torch in one hand and a pistol in the other.

"Rupert Maddox!" Andromeda cried. "I thought you were-"

"Dead?" He chuckled. "Indeed, you certainly thought so. It was very difficult for me to stay my breathing as I lay there cuffed to the bedpost, naked but for my prosthetic elbow, my shame exposed for all the emergency personnel to see. And all I could think of was your heaving-"

He was cut short when Andromeda slapped him soundly across the face, her eyes blazing with blue fire and her bosom straining angrily against the delicate fabric of her blouse.

"Andie," he laughed, rubbing his cheek. "No need to be sore with me. Why, I've brought you a gift!" He pulled a scarf from his pocket, long and light and patterned with gold. "I saw it and I thought of you."

She fingered it for a moment, then dropped it with a start. "It's an Hermes! Why, you callous-"

"Now, now," Slade rose and came up behind Andromeda, calming her with his steady presence and his heady smell of leather and man-sweat. "No need to get excited. It's just a piece of cloth, Angelface."

"That's right Andie, it's just a simple piece of cloth. You women, always reading so much into things that are of no consequence." Maddox grinned sickeningly. "Now you!" He pointed his pistol at Slade. "You're going to tell me what you found when you were practicing your yoga just now."

Slade pushed Andromeda behind him, where she clung like a piece of linguine cooked exactly twelve minutes in four quarts of boiling water. "You go ahead and make me." He growled.

Want to read more? You'll have to buy the book!

* I hope you realize this is a parody. I haven't written a book and probably never will.

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Cream Puffs!

As I've mentioned before, those of our family who are local converge every Sunday after church at my Aunt Lois' house for brunch. It's been a great way for us all to get reacquainted, since this is the first time we've all lived in the same area. It's also a great opportunity to try new recipes and enjoy each others' creations.

Last week I decided to make cream puffs. I love cream puffs and had always wanted to try making them, but they seemed like something that would be very difficult and complicated to make. I found a recipe for them at my favorite recipe site and they looked much easier than I'd expected. As always, I read through all of the reviews to get a good sense of the ins and outs of the recipe, and made some adjustments to it based on them before I began. You can click on the link to see the original recipe, this is the version I developed and followed based on the reviews.

filling:
2 (3.5 oz.) packets of white chocolate pudding
2 cups heavy cream
1 cup milk

puffs:
1/2 cup butter (or 1 stick)
1 cup water
1/4 tsp. salt
1 cup all purpose flour
4 eggs
1 tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. vanilla

I made the filling the day before to give it plenty of time to set. I simply mixed the three ingredients. Since we don't drink milk, I keep powdered milk on hand, and I mixed up a cup of it for this. I always worry it will be too thin, but it has yet to fail me. After it set the filling was very thick, as it should be to keep its shape and not soak the puffs. I mixed it by hand, but next time I make this I will use the mixer, as I couldn't get all the lumps out. No one seemed to notice though.

Then I rounded up some helpers.


I always like to gather and set out my ingredients before I get started. It facilitates clean-up as it keeps any mess localized, and makes me feel like a TV chef. I also turned the oven on to 425 to preheat.


I put the water and butter in a pot on the stove to boil, then mixed all the dry ingredients in a bowl and broke and scrambled the eggs. I knew I would be adding these things to a hot liquid, and by prepping them in advance I would be minimizing the possibility that they would cook before they could be well incorporated.


Brought the water and butter to a rolling boil.


Removed it from heat, then quickly added the dry ingredients and mixed it until it formed a ball in the center of the pot.


I transferred the dough ball to the mixer, where I mixed it on low for about thirty seconds to allow the steam to escape. I was still worried about the eggs cooking when I add them, so I let the dough sit and cool for about two minutes while I cleaned up a bit. When it was just a little warmer than room temperature I added the eggs, started up the mixer, then added the vanilla and mixed it until it was satiny.


I lined a cookie sheet with parchment and dropped the dough by the tablespoon. The recipe was only supposed to make 20 puffs, so I put 20 on one sheet, but it ended up making 40.



I baked them exactly 20 minutes and immediately poked a hole in each one with my handy dandy little cake tester thingie my parents gave me for Christmas. The holes are supposed to let the steam escape to prevent collapse, but they didn't seem to be in any danger of that.


After they had cooled completely I cut them each in half to fill with the pudding mixture. They were completely hollow inside, perfect!


So I deposited a generous spoonful of filling into each one. If I'd had a pastry bag I might have used that instead, but this worked out just fine.

They were a hit, especially with Max. The white chocolate pudding simply tasted like vanilla, so I don't know why so many people had suggested it. Next time I will just use vanilla.

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Some helpful diagrams for pregnant women

Jessamine is being featured at Terence Chang's A Smile a Day blog, the happiest blog in the world. Check it out here. Thanks Terence!







Click on pictures for attribution.

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Making Men Happy

Shannon wanted us to write today about the things we do for our husbands that make them happy. I asked Brad, and he was -predictably- all sorts of help. "Everything," he said.

"Can you be more specific?" I asked.

He shrugged. "You cook, you clean, you take care of the kids..."

I blog...

It would be a lot easier for me to list the things he does to make me happy, but that's not the topic here. So it was left to me to come up with the answers.

So where do you look for answers when all else fails? Google of course! And Google had plenty of answers, but it expressed concern at such a selfless search.


So nice to know Google cares. It's not a soulless corporation after all! One thing I found odd though. I looked at several of the search results, and everything had to do with dating. Men like to complain that women go to seed after marriage, but their own help columns take things no further. Coincidence?

I could get all deep here and talk about how in order to make Brad happy I must first make myself happy, or get all sacrificial on your hiney, but that would be very Dr. Laura of me. I have a very special place for Dr. Laura, and that place is most definitely not in my heart.

Instead I turn to AskMen, those proud purveyors of Axe and Degree and stuff that either removes hair or restores it or makes it smell better. I'm not going to post every bit of their list as it's rather long, just the highlights.

Ask Men's Top 10 Things That Make Men Happy, by Shawn Croft

10. Charm. Charm is what draws men to those women who are not as good-looking as the others in our black book. Lucky for me I'm good-looking, because charming? I'm not.

9. A Statuesque Body. We may not admit this to them, but when we're walking down the street with our women, we want to show them off. Show off what? Their crazy curves and full figure. Time for Mr. Croft to buy a pocket dictionary. Statuesque means (I paraphrase) "of size and dignity suggestive of a statue." Statues are generally pretty big. So what he's saying here is men want women who are at least seven feet tall with the demeanor of the Venus de Milo. Do you know anyone like that? Me neither. Well there is this lady, but I'm pretty sure she's taken.

8. A beautiful face. A pretty face can get away with murder. Who wants to wake up every morning of the rest of their life next to Shamu? I thought Shamu had a pretty nice face actually. Doesn't comparing a woman to a whale usually insinuate a weight issue? Shouldn't he have referred to Janet Reno or Sarah Jessica Parker? Someone needs to hire a new writer.

7. Honesty & trust. The most successful relationships are built upon trust, candor and honesty; anything else is equivalent to building a house on quicksand. Now we're making sense, and this is the first thing on the list women actually have some control over.

6. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Gentlemen, there is nothing wrong with admitting that we are excessively proud and sensitive to criticism, but if done right, constructive criticism from the one person who knows us best can only make us better men, fathers, lovers, brothers, and human beings. Why do I say this? Next time your woman tells you something, do not cut her off and put her in her place; listen, pay attention and remember: actions, not words, are what matter. True, we may not have Tammy Wynette standing by us in a state of oblivion, but respect in a partnership is about praise as well criticism, not shutting up and telling it like it is. It helps when it is done with humor (well, not at our expense). Finally the ladies are tossed a bone!

5. Sense of humor. We work hard, we put up with a lot, and we need a woman who will put a smile on our faces when things are gloomy, and make us laugh when things are down. That goes both ways. Brad is really good at this. Me? Not so much.

4. Intelligence & confidence. If a housewife, mother and maid is all that you are looking for, you are selling yourself short men, so go out and find someone who will learn from you as much as you will learn from her; imagine the powerhouse couple that you will make. I need to learn how to sell myself some short men. Maybe I can get a killer deal and then offload them on ebay. That aside, I definitely agree with this point. A couple that thinks compatibly and well is a force to be reckoned with. That's us Shoog!

3. Ambition & drive. Challenges start at home and end on fields, boardrooms and life, so make sure that you meet your match, because practice does make you perfect. Huh??? That's the best he could come up with? I thought ambition and drive had to do with long-term goals and such, but what do I know? I'm neither ambitious nor driven.

2. Heart of gold. If you are looking to get involved for the long haul, a kind woman with a heart of gold will nurture you and offer the compassion, sincerity, warmth, and affection you need to make it to the top. Mommy!

1. Love. We want to love and we want to be loved. Sounds cheesy? Of course. But am I lying, guys? Probably not. Cop-out!

What? No cooking? I'm off the hook? I didn't mean to turn into Grammar Girl, but come on! This guy was terrible! And he left out so many important things for the sake of things like statues and whales. Mr. Croft? Are you listening? Put the Thesaurus down and walk away. Mmmkay? Good.

The thing is, women know what men want. Sex, food, and sex. And the occasional tube of Preperation H. Everything else is either a bonus or a distraction. Isn't there a movie where Helen Hunt is trying on a jock strap while trimming her nose hairs and falls into a urinal and gets electrocuted and after that she can hear men's thoughts? And it's this huge breakthrough because no woman had ever been so perceptive of a man's needs?

That's right, there isn't. Because men make no secret of what they need, what makes them happy. If only they would!

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Five Confessions

1. I don't like eighties music. Especially not Madonna. If Borderline, Lucky Star, or Holiday come on the radio I cannot shut it off quickly enough. I will actually injure myself and break things in my rush to shut that woman's trap. I know a lot of people love eighties music, but I have many issues with it. The voices are nasal and whiney, or they sound like they've got laryngitis or a severe case of hiccups. The subject matter is ridiculous and shallow and completely nonsensical. Not that today's music isn't shallow, but then I didn't say I like today's music, did I? I can't do classic rock either, which Brad loves. The only classic rock bands I can handle are Aerosmith and The Doors.

2. When I was in high school I was a bit of a Trekkie and I had a crush on Wil Wheaton, who played Ensign Crusher on The Next Generation. Not a huge crush, but enough of a crush to have a good-sized poster of him on the back of my bedroom door. I lost interest in the show when he left it. Now he's a writer, but I haven't read any of his books, and I find it off-putting that he looks exactly the same.

3. I actually don't like pink. My favorite colors are red, black, yellow, and white. I chose pink for my blog because it's easy on the eyes.

4. I'm not busy. I know we SAHMs are supposed to say we are, and that by admitting I'm not I may be rocking the SAHM boat. Someones in their various somewheres are shushing me right now. I'm supposed to defy the stereotype by going on about the millions of things I have to do, and the piles of laundry I've been unable to get to as a result of all this running around like a chicken minus the head. But it's true, I don't have a million things to do, and my laundry basket is never full. I have plenty of time to sit here telling you how very un-busy I am. I'm even barefoot and pregnant. At least I'm not in the kitchen.

5. I've always wished I needed glasses. My parents and my brother all wear them, but I am cursed with perfect vision. I can only hope that my vision deteriorates with age. People that wear glasses seem so intelligent, even if they aren't, and mysterious. I guess I see glasses as tiny doubled tele-prompters that only the wearer can read. They also give an extra layer of protection to the socially inept, and boy am I socially inept. If I knew where to get perfectly clear specs I'd buy some.

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Starbucks!

This giveaway is now CLOSED the winner is Sarah of SassyFrazz.

Want to win a $10 gift card to Starbucks? Pay close attention.

To enter, post a relevant comment to any post in my blog, except this one. Include the word "Starbucks" in your comment so I'll know it's an entry, as well as an email address so I can contact you if you win. Multiple comments will get you multiple entries, as long as the comment is relevant to the post, one comment per post. I hope that makes sense.

You don't have to try to include the word "Starbucks" in context with your comment (although you can if you want to of course), you can just type it at the end.

I'll randomly select and not so randomly announce the winner on Friday, April 25th. Then I'll just pop it in the mail and you can get your jitters on.

Open to U.S. and Canada. Good luck!

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The Five Faces of Jessamine

I don't know where she gets it.

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Five Moral Dilemmas

Pick one to answer in a comment.

1. A good friend has been working on a book for years. Writing is her source of pride and joy in life. She finally asks you to review her manuscript, and it's truly terrible. What do you tell her?

2. Your plane crashed in the Andes and no help seems imminent. You ran out of peanuts and tiny bottles of vodka days ago. The only remaining survivors are you, your mom, and Obama. Who do you eat first?

3. One of the neighbor kids keeps banging on your windows, day in and day out. You've spoken to both the kids and the parents, but it continues. Both parents have served time in jail in the past for assault. What do you do? (Really could use some help with this one.)

4. You're boarding a full flight that's going to take several hours. To your surprise and dismay, you find you've been assigned a seat next to the writer or actor (your choice) you can least stand. He / she is in a chatty mood. Who is this person and what do you talk to them about for the next five hours?

5. Out of the blue, you receive an email from a long lost love, from a relationship that did not end well. They want to make apologies and such, tell you a bit about their current life, and want to know about your life. Do you answer?

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5 Things: some to love, some to shove.

This is not a sponsored post.

Okay, so I wasn't going to enter any contests. I ended up entering TWO contests. Shannon at Rocks in my Dryer is giving away a year's supply of Ben and Jerry's , my go-to third trimester essential food item. And this blogger is giving away a SIGG water bottle, which I really want but don't want to spend $20 on. And I just realized that I've been sitting here listening to the same song on repeat all day. I don't even like this song.

Anyway, I've been trying a lot of new stuff lately, some things I just stumbled across and others that I read about on other blogs and was curious about. Here are my reviews of these items.

1. Pond's Clear Pore Strips. My nose has been looking like a strawberry lately so I wanted to get some Bioré pore strips, which I haven't used in a long time. The Pond's variety was a dollar cheaper, so I picked them up instead.

The directions said to wet the smooth side of the strip with water, then apply it to my nose. One tiny problem. Both sides were the exact same texture. I held it up to the light to see if perhaps one side looked different than the other, but they were identical. So I chose a side randomly, wet it, and stuck it on my nose. But then the outside felt sticky, so I hastily turned it over before it could dry.

I kept it on my nose for about twenty minutes, until it was rock hard, and peeled it off. With the Biore strips you can see all sorts of gross things stuck to the strip that had been in your pores. With this one? Nothing. If I could at least be sure of which side was the correct side I'd have a better idea of whether or not this is an effective product, but I'm going to go with ummm... NO.

2. Aquafina lip balm. I loooooove lip balm. I started out with cherry Chapstick as a teenager, then branched out as I got older. I especially love lip balms that tingle, like Burt's Bees and Carmex. I have lip balm stashed everywhere, and if I can't find some when I need it I get twitchy.

No matter how seemingly great or expensive the lip balm may be though, my lips tend to peel and dry out quickly. Brad says they do that because I use so much lip balm, but I wasn't buying that. I even tried the Mary Kay lip mask, but it didn't help. So I'm constantly trying new lip balms, looking for the one with the perfect texture, the perfect flavor, the Neo of lip balms that will make my lips stop peeling.

I have found it at last. I bought a 4-pack of Aquafina lip balms at Wal-Mart for only $2.44. They're made with jojoba and almond oils, and rather than just sitting on your lips and sort of lubricating them, this stuff actually moisturizes and softens them. The first lip balm I've ever tried that managed this. There are four flavors in the pack: regular, raspberry, citrus blend, and wild berry. The only flavor I don't like is the wild berry, because wild berry and mint just do not mesh. Otherwise I highly recommend this lip balm.


3. Scrubbing Bubbles Action Scrubber. I am not the sort to buy these silly cleaning products. I do not own a swiffer, or an automatic shower sprayer (too dry for mildew here) or a disposable toilet scrubber pack. But after reading about this on several blogs I decided to give it a shot.

Cleaning the bathtub is my most loathed chore. It generally requires a series of toxic cleaning products and at least an hour of my time, so I rarely do it. As a result, my bathtub stays pretty disgusting, which I hate.

They should have called this thing the Bathtub Messiah. It took all of thirty seconds to swipe this thing around my bathtub, and it looks better than it did when we moved in. The last bathtub I saw this clean was on display at Lowe's. One word of warning. The fumes produced by this product could knock an elephant flat at twenty paces, even in the very short amount of time its use is required. So if you own a scuba kit you may want to employ it. If you don't, turning on the fart fan will have to do.

4. Skin MD. It's very dry here in New Mexico's high desert, and I'm constantly applying lotion. So I became very interested in Skin MD, a shielding lotion which claims to "exceptionally enhance your skin's hydrating and protective abilities."

I find it to be most effective to put it on over another heavier cream for regular use, as it seals the other lotion in and keeps it from drying out. But what's most remarkable about it is its regenerative qualities. I wore a new shirt one day, and the armholes hit me the wrong way, rubbing me raw and chapping the skin. I put on some Skin MD, and the chapping, which would normally take at least a few days to clear up, was gone the next morning. Amazing stuff!

5. Trader Joe's Refresh shampoo. I bought this because I was low on shampoo, and I happened to be at Trader Joe's when I thought of it, and this stuff happened to be only $1.99. I normally use Suave Daily Clarifying shampoo. I know Suave is supposed to be the red-headed stepchild of hair care, but it's honestly the only shampoo I've ever been satisfied with.

I really wanted to like this shampoo. It has natural stuff, it's citrus-y, and it's orange, and I like to have orange stuff in my shower. It makes me happy.

Unfortunately I don't think I'll be buying this shampoo again. The citrus smell is so subtle as to be nonexistent, and my pregnancy nose is so sensitive that I had to walk out of church on Sunday because I couldn't take all the comingling odors. So if I can't smell it, there's simply nothing there to smell. In addition, it's a very thin shampoo, only somewhat thicker than water. It doesn't lather well. My hair's only shoulder-length and is not thick, but I have to lather three times with this stuff to get my hair clean. Sorry Trader Joe, love your store, but your shampoo sucks.

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Five Funnies

Happy Bearthday Jason! Get it? Birthday? Earth Day? Wokka wokka! Jacki's on a blogging break this week, but here's my TMT anyway.

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Five things not to ask a pregnant woman.

Usually uttered with a wink and a smile, these questions are generally received about as well as a box of Omaha Steaks delivered to PETA. I know how overpowering the urge can be to say these things. You're standing there at the salad bar, and you feel obligated to make small talk with your pregnant co-worker who's loading up on pickled beets and green jello. But for some reason, rather than commiserating over parking issues or the impending switch from the Swingline to the Boston stapler, you just can't stop staring at that huge belly and something trite just slips out. I've been there. But as a third-time preggo, I've also had to stifle the urge to scream back, "don't you think that's kinda freaking rude?!"

It gets to where I'm afraid to talk to people. They look at me, look at my belly, and a crooked smile begins to form. Their lips begin to part, and I just want to say, "yes, I'm pregnant, but I'm also a plain old human being. Can't we talk about inflation or 'kids these days' or something?" But it's always one of these, and it only gets worse as the pregnancy progresses.

1. Wow, you're really showing, aren't you?

2. Eating for two, eh?

3. Sure you're not having twins?

4. When are you going to have that baby already?

5. You know what causes that, doncha? *wink wink*

So if you are a non-pregnant person and you get that urge, here are some questions to ask that are quite acceptable.

1. When are you due?

2. Have you picked out a name yet? (which is not to be followed by any criticisms or suggestions.)

3. Beautiful day isn't it? (Okay so only the first two are acceptable pregnancy questions. Everything else is just too loaded. But I promised you five things, and I'm going to deliver! No pun intended.)

4. Can you tell me the time?

5. May I buy you some ice cream?

Just stick to those five questions and you should be safe.

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A Week of Things

This week is the quarterly Bloggy Giveaways, and, sadist that I am, I'm requiring those desirous of my $10 Starbucks gift card to actually read my blog in order to qualify. I know what it's like to enter all the bloggy giveaway contests, I entered 500 or so last fall (and won twelve! Woot!). So much winning made me feel guilty, so now, while I will continue to offer a prize every quarter, I won't be entering any contests myself.

It may not seem like such a big project at first, but hundreds of unwitting freebie seekers end up spending days rotting in front of their computers, guzzling caffeine and forgoing basic hygiene. A sort of madness takes hold, and you just! can't! stop! entering! From gift cards to devotionals to handmade sock monkeys, they're there for the taking, if only Mr. Random Number Generator would be your friend. You get into a routine, pasting prepared entries into the comment boxes. "What a great gift! Count me in!" And captcha boxes become the bane of your existence, especially the ones that that say "qgpbdgq" or "lijijijji". You begin to seriously consider purchasing a bot program to do the work for you.

And because I am evil, I change the rules. You blearily click on my link, scroll down, and spam the area that normally says "comments." But wait! What's wrong? OMG I'm actually going to have to read this post. Okay fine... OMG I have to read her blog??? Screw that! But wait... it is Starbucks... okay fine. But I hate her.

And so you click on my header and scroll down looking for a short post.

And you scroll.

And you scroll.

And you scroll some more.

So I've decided to take it a little easy on you poor souls. This week I'm making an especial effort to keep my posts short. Which I realize I've basically failed here, but this post doesn't count.

I've imposed upon myself a theme of "five things" for this week. Every day I will simply (or convolutedly as the case may be) jot down a list of five things. And how do I define "thing?"


So there you have it. Good luck to all you crazy contest entrants. May your eyes be bright, your coffee strong, and your mouse fingers dextrous. And most of all, may you win many prizes!

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Do I get Dental too?

According to this website, a SAHM in my neighborhood should be making about a hundred grand a year.

Two things.

1. Where do they get this information? I am the only SAHM in my neighborhood. In fact our neighbors think that Brad is a saint for not making me get a job, and that I'm some kind of nutso slacker. And honestly, they're right on both counts.

2. Where's my money?

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Message from the Past

I was looking through some old files and found this freewriting assignment I did four years ago, how I saw myself in five years. So I still have one year to go, but I found this a little funny, a little mortifying, and a little uncanny, so I thought I'd share.

October 27, 2004

Today’s assignment from Pen on Fire: describe how I see my life five years from now.

Okay, this one is a little tough for me because there are so many things that I don’t want to happen and I spend so much time worrying about those things happening that the fun part of hoping fails to get in. But I’m going to make a serious effort here. Okay, in five years I will be 33, and Brad will be 38, and Max will be 6 and a half. Wow. We will probably have at least one other child by then. Let’s assume for hope’s sake it’s a girl, who I’ve already named Faith Elizabeth.

(I still like this name, but it's way too normal for me to use if you know what I mean.)

Faith also has Brad’s dimples, but looks more like me than Max does.

(Jessamine has one dimple on her left cheek that is barely visible.)

She has my hands and feet, which are small, thin, and elegant, whereas Max has Brad’s farmer hands and feet.

(El oh el. If anything Max takes after me physically and Jessamine takes after Brad.)

We are living in a two bedroom apartment, so Max and Faith actually have to share a room. We’ve had to rent a storage unit as a result, because we don’t want to throw anything away in case there’s a third child. Max and Faith fight, but are still buddies. Faith is three years old, and has just graduated to a big bed from the crib, which has been retired to the storage unit.

(No storage unit, we don't have enough stuff to require it. We never used a crib.)

Brad is bugging me about having a third child because he wants a total of four. I’m not sure how I feel about this because while I was originally planning to have a large brood, I was wonderfully satisfied when it was just Max. I certainly don’t regret Faith but feel the family is complete.

(Number three squarely in the oven.)

Brad is still working for Condo-Trader, and also helping at Dirty Works on the weekends, and not making a whole lot more money.

(Thank God we no longer live in Florida, so this did not happen.)

I , however, have just published a novel, and interest is being shown in the children’s books I’ll be doing with Melissa. In addition, I’ll be doing more work from home for Melissa.

(How presumtuous was I? Melissa and I couldn't agree on whether our main character would be a hot dog or a macaroni, so that nipped that in the bud right there. And as for writing a novel, I find that prospect nauseating.)

Brad wants to use the extra income to buy a house, preferably in some horrible place like Montana, I want to start my own business.

(LOL how about New Mexico?)

Maybe a coffee shop, maybe a boutique, maybe a gift store. I want a real rented space with a physical inventory, where people actually come in and buy things at my cash register while Faith and Max work on their lessons in my office, frequently calling me in to settle a dispute or explain something to them and tell one of them to stop touching the other.

(Would still love to do this, but I don't see it happening.)

My hair will be pretty long by then, and I’ll have a much better wardrobe thanks both to the added income and my inside track with Melissa.

(This may be the funniest park of the whole thing. Maybe when fashion designers start making clothes for skinny people again, which will happen about the time Al Gore personally takes an axe to an Arctic ice shelf.)

Brad will have quit smoking.

(Almost three years now.)

OMG, Arielle will be 18.

(My niece, she'll be 17 soon.)

Max will be doing well in Karate, and Faith will be starting ballet, both will be learning piano (we will have a piano weighted keyboard, seeing as our apartment will be too small for a piano), and we’ll be planning for Faith’s karate days. Life will be more hectic than it is now, but still manageable. I will be teaching Max how to cook, and he will certainly be helping with the dishes and laundry.

(I wish. I'd have to have a mode of transportation to do that stuff. Also I'm too impatient to let Max help much with the housework.)

I try to envision what our apartment will be like, and I see clothes strewn everywhere, and toys all over the floor, juice stains on the carpet, dead plants… please God, no! It looks alarmingly similar to Bill and Rebecca’s apartment in Oregon, which reminded me of an old storage trailer we came upon in Sky Valley, where the dust bunnies had evolved into enormous creatures that could both fly and breathe underwater.

(I have since learned to keep my house clean on a regular basis. And not to bother with plants, which WILL die if I go anywhere near them.)

Maybe I should write another five year letter. I won't get any ideas about #3. Here goes.

April 17, 2008

My predictions for 2013

I'm 37, Brad is 41, Max is almost ten, Jessamine is seven, and number three is four. I have been forced to learn how to sew properly, as the infants' department no longer sells clothes that fit me. As it is the pattern makers don't plan for skinny people either, so I've enlisted the help of a former FLDS lady, who has assisted in outfitting me with several puffy-sleeved purple dresses. I hate dresses, but what choice do I have? Now people are too busy laughing at my dresses to even notice I'm wearing socks with my Birkenstocks. Brad finally has the kilt he's always wanted, but he refuses to wear the matching bloomers. It is made of the itchiest wool I was able to find, but he persists in wearing it. I finally got a vehicle, a refitted mail truck. We installed several sturdy nylon loops for the kids to cling to as we go about our business, as there are no seats in the cargo area. Sometimes people try to chase me down and hand me a bill they forgot to send. I used to correct them, now I just take it and pop it in the mailbox when I get home. It took some time getting used to driving on the right side of the car, but I've decided it makes me feel very European, especially since I stopped shaving my legs. Max is about average with his "schoolwork," but excels in art and has been learning to play the guitar. Jessamine is very studious and is active in the AYSO. Brad's vasectomy was apparently very successful. I even catch him crying sometimes when Daniel Radcliffe, who is being billed as the next James Bond, makes an especially spectacular rooftop jump. My hair bow business venture failed, but at least Jessamine has plenty to choose from when she does her hair. The economy bounced back just fine, and the price of gas stabilized at around $4.00. Forever stamps are up to $.45 now, and I just kick myelf when I think of the three dollars I might have saved if I'd bought a roll of one hundred back when they were still $.41. Not that I mail anything anymore, but you know, if I did mail stuff I'd have saved a whole three dollars. Dad made a name for himself with the local dealerships and after about two years he and Mom moved into a nice McMansion near Rio Rancho, and they built a little adobe casita for us on the back. It's a little smaller than our apartment was, but we just put the kids in hammocks on the porch to make room for our computers and such in the second room. Jessamine got nibbled by a prairie dog once, but we screened it in and there haven't been any problems since. It's nice to have a hammock or three to lay in of an evening while the kids are doing stuff like washing the dishes, working on their blogs, or helping my dad in the garden. Brad is doing just fine at work, is now a closer with his own team of salesmen. We just closed the deal on a piece of land out in the boonies, and hopefully we'll begin construction on our Earth Shelter home soon.

There, that's slightly more realistic.

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Celebrating Every Baby

Baby showers. Some people love them, most people just go for the cake or out of a sense of obligation. Mainly we have them because new mothers depend on them to help prepare for a new baby.

It's no secret that having a baby is an expensive venture, especially if you go by the checklists of "essential" baby items stores hand out to pregnant women. I got one in the mail the other day that listed a grand total of 193 items, many that I -as a third-timer- know to be completely useless. But new moms don't know this, and can't know it until they learn for themselves. So they have to have everything on those lists, from those ridiculous burqua-like nursing covers to the nail clippers they'll end up being afraid to use to the diaper pails that stink to high heaven no matter what they promise.

And that's why I'm trying to come up with my own useless baby product to market. Too bad the pee-pee tee-pee has been done.

Anyway, there is a fierce ongoing debate about whether it's appropriate to host a baby shower for a mother who is on her second, third, or what-have-you baby. Many people feel adamantly that baby showers are only for first-time mothers, and that having a shower for a second-time mother borders on greed. Others think that such showers are okay, but rather than baby items, guests should bring things for the mother or books for the baby's library, things of that nature. Both camps agree that if a woman has already had a baby she should already have everything she needs.

Not true. Here's why.

• Not everyone plans to have another baby. People think they're done, get rid of their baby stuff, and- surprise!
• Very often, when #2 is born, #1 is still using many of the necessary items.
• Let's say the first baby was a girl, so the mom gleefully buys a pink stroller, pink bouncy seat, a mobile with butterflies, etc. Then she finds out #2 is a boy, and she's going to have to replace everything.
• Families move, more now then ever before in history. And when they move, they have to get rid of a lot of stuff, anything that's not currently in use.
• Sometimes people will lend their baby things to a friend, who is often still using them when their owner is ready to have another. This can be an ugly situation.

And the biggest reason a 2nd timer ought to have a baby shower should be the most obvious. A woman with no children has a heck of a lot more money to be spending on pee-pee tee-pees and burquas than does a veteran. In fact that veteran is often lucky to have the money for a haircut every couple of years, let alone to prepare for yet another little bundle of debt. And is in a heck of a lot more need of a couple hours with friends and presents and cake than a first-timer who as yet has the liberty do such things whenever she feels like it.

And as a third child myself, I think it's important to show that every baby, from the first to the fifteenth, is equal cause for celebration.

And no, I'm not asking for a baby shower, you can get that idea out of your head right now. I'm with Cookiebitch on this one.

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ConsuMarieports

This is not a sponsored post; I don't do sponsored posts or advertising of any kind.

I've been buying my coffee (amongst most everything else) at WalMart for years. My coffee of choice is Starbucks Half-Caf Breakfast Blend, which costs $9.99 at a Starbucks store. When I first began to buy it at WalMart it cost about $4.50, a pretty darn big difference. Then the price of coffee (and everything else) started to skyrocket, but I noticed that the price of my coffee seemed to be going up more than the others. While other brands were going up a quarter here, a quarter there, my Breakfast Blend was going up by at least a dollar each time I'd buy it, every two months or so.

I pulled my tinfoil hat down a bit lower on my head (Brad made it for me and it's quite effective, I've been trying to get him to make more and sell them on Etsy), and wondered what's the agenda here?

Last week it became clear. It was time to buy coffee again. Usually Wal-Mart has four shelves of Starbucks coffee, they had reduced it to two, and the price had increased to $9.98. You know, cuz they figure that if people are going to buy hundreds of Forever Stamps to save a frickin' penny surely their .98 prices in comparison to the other stores' .99 will draw crowds! And those other two shelves were filled with a new brand, Sam's Choice, with an oddly familiar green circular logo, for only $5.88. It was by far the cheapest coffee there, so I decided to give it a try. Agenda revealed!

Sam's Choice coffee is Fair Trade Certified, which means:

Fair Trade certification is a market-based model of international trade that benefits over one million farmers and farm workers in 58 developing countries across Africa, Asia and Latin America. Fair Trade certification enables consumers to vote for a better world with their dollars, simply by looking for the Fair Trade Certified label on the products they buy.

Fair Trade empowers farmers and farm workers to lift themselves out of poverty by developing the business skills necessary to compete in the global marketplace. By guaranteeing minimum floor prices and social premiums, Fair Trade enables producers to invest in their farms and communities and protect the environment.

Not a bad idea. I think I'll find something to certify so I can make some bank too. It's funny to see Wal-Mart used in a sentence with a phrase like Fair Trade. But it looks like more and more mainstream companies are picking up on the idea that consumers are looking at more than just price tags and ingredients these days, and that this is not simply a trend that will go away.

So how does it taste? I was surprised to find I actually prefer it to Starbucks. It has a nice smooth, rich flavor with no ashy or bitter aftertaste. It's not technically half-caf, but anything that's not Starbucks is half-caf in comparison.

In this same outing, I had on my list to buy some toilet cleaner. I especially wanted something without bleach. I normally use a lot of products with bleach, but since I'm pregnant I wanted something less toxic. I discovered that Clorox has come out with a line of natural cleaning products. Maybe you guys already knew this, but I don't watch TV so it was news to me. It was priced the same as the other chemical based products, so I decided to give it a try. I bought the toilet cleaner and the all-purpose spray, which cost $2.50 each.

But how does a company like Clorox, synonymous with bleach, the most potent cleanser I know of, define "green" and "natural?" I went to their site to find out. Bolding is mine.

"Much of the ingredients used in Green Works™ natural cleaners are biodegradable helping to minimize the impact on the environment." So some of the ingredients do not fit this criteria.

"Petrochemicals are chemical products made from raw materials of petroleum. Green Works™ natural cleaners minimize the use of petrochemicals and are 99% petrochemical free." That means that 1% of these products is 100% petrochemical.

They seem to work just as well as anything else I've ever used. Since I clean frequently there wasn't anything truly disgusting I could test it on, but it worked just fine for my usual stuff. And it smells like lemon-lime Gatorade. Kind of strange, but not gross. Next time I think I will buy the floor cleaner too. It's clearly not as green (well it is literally the color green, but it's not green) or as natural as their advertising lets on, but it is a step in the right direction, and affordable, and easy on my sensitive pregnancy nose.

In other news, apparently my blog is the 4th most popular blog in Albuquerque, out of 86! Esp. strange when you consider that I only have maybe four readers in Albuquerque. And according to Blogshares, my blog is valued at nearly forty million dollars! Now who do I see about cashing that in?

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Hot Dog on a Schtick

Imagine. You're at the mall, waiting for your Hot Dog on a Stick. Suddenly the girl at the counter, along with others around you, burst into song, spinning an apparently spontaneous live musical.

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Optical Delusions

A couple months ago I showed you some disturbing images I found in one of Max's books.

It's interesting how kids don't always see the same things we do. We only see what we expect to see, what we've been programmed to see. Kids' minds are still entirely their own, and perhaps since they can't read words yet, they read pictures. We know things by sight, they're still sounding them out, so to speak.

What do you see in this picture? I see a grandmother trying to soothe her crying grandchild by offering him a toy.


Max doesn't see this at all. He sees a woman gleefully and repeatedly whacking the baby on the head, making him cry. The young cellist behind them is rather astonished by this behavior and wondering if he should intervene.

How about this one? Mr. Sprat can eat no fat, so he's eating a carrot while his wife, who can eat no lean, is pigging out on a chicken leg.


Not according to Max. This woman is a soulless cannibal eating the face off of a defenseless baby.

An addendum to Friday's post about spicy food. Here are some tips for people who would like to try something spicy, but are afraid, or for people who've had bad experiences with spicy food.

- Do not taste the food with the tip of your tongue. This is the most sensitive part of the tongue, and it will not be happy with you. Use the center.

- Do not drink water to kill the burn. Water actually serves to increase the potency of the heat. Instead keep a glass of milk handy, whole milk if you're really afraid. The fat will immediately neutralize the burn. However, if you're not totally uncomfortable and would like to keep eating, don't drink anything. As you continue to eat you'll get past the burn and be able to enjoy the flavors. But if you've neutralized your palate with milk, you'll have to start all over again.

- If you've gotten spicy food on your hands, rub them with oil before washing them. Soap and water will remove residue, but capsicum, which makes hot things hot, is not water soluble. Rub with oil, then wash with soap and water. Do this before using the bathroom. Right Jenni? ;)

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¡ Caliente !

I have to warn you guys, now that I'm in the second trimester, I may be discussing food a lot more often. Right now I'm really into spicy food. I like my food spicy to begin with, I dump sprinkle cayenne or crushed red pepper on just about everything.

Last night I made some hot wings, using this recipe (if you try it, make sure to read through the reviews first for more thorough instructions), and now I find myself dumping Frank's Red Hot Cayenne Sauce on everything. Amazingly enough it was actually a group of Tibetan monks that introduced me to this type of hot sauce. Since Tibet is extremely cold, Tibetans like all of their food and drinks to be as hot as possible. They also make their tea with butter and salt rather than sugar, which was... interesting. One night the monks made some dumplings, and I stood in the kitchen with them, drizzling them (the dumplings, not the monks) with Louisiana Crystal red pepper sauce and eating them from my fingers.

As I've mentioned before, my Aunt Lois' husband Kelly makes the best salsa. Each time we go to their house he sends me home with a ration, which I try to make last as long as possible. I asked him to tell me how to make it. Turns out he's one of those people (like me!) that just throws stuff in and sees what tastes good, but he gave me a general idea of what to do.

The ingredients:

A bunch of cilantro (coriander for you Northerners, eh?)
White onion
Tomatoes on the vine
Tomatillos (toh-mah-TEE-yos, those weird looking green things on the right)
Bulbs of garlic (as opposed to cloves)
Misc. chile peppers

One bulb of garlic seemed like plenty to me. I was unfamiliar with most of the peppers, but just grabbed a few. The cashier didn't know what they were, so she just rung them all up as jalapenos. I wasn't sure what they were myself or I would have helped her out, but I've got it figured out now. The red one is an anaheim pepper, the larger green ones are jalapenos, the smaller green ones are serranos, the yellow one is... yellow, and the little orange one is a habanero. That's right, a habanero. The pepper of peppers.

I'd never used a food processor before, so I used these very helpful instructions. First I peeled the garlic and clipped the stems off of the peppers. I wasn't about to cut them open, I did that once when I made some jalapeno appetizers and it made my eyes bleed and tempted me to aim a fire extinguisher directly into my nasal passages. I put the garlic and peppers into the processor, then called my mom to figure out how to turn the thing on. I pulsed it once before I remembered to take a picture.

I wanted the peppers to be smaller than this for an even distribution of flavor, but I knew they'd end up smaller once I added the cilantro and onion, so I stopped here.


Added the cilantro and onion, at which point the processor was too full to add anything else. So I transferred the pepper mixture to a separate bowl so I could chop the tomatoes.


I've never made anything with tomatillos before and was curious. Once I removed the onionskin-like covering they look kind of like tiny granny smith apples. Cut them open and they look like this, firm -but not crisp- white flesh with tiny seeds throughout. I licked one and it tasted like a potent hybrid of a tomato and a lime. I was surprised by the strength of the flavor because most Mexican fruits I've tried are pretty bland.


So I chopped the tomatoes and tomatillos together. I wanted to keep the pieces fairly large, but they ended up smaller than I wanted. Oh well.


Added the tomato mixture to the pepper mixture and folded it in. Then for the most important part:

The flavor was good, but there was something lacking. I think it was the garlic. I only used one bulb, and I think Kelly said he used three. So next time I will definitely use a lot more. The tomatillos gave it a nice light citrus kick without overpowering it the way lime juice would. The heat was perfect, enough to make my nose run a little without causing any discomfort. Right now I'm just letting it marinate, hoping the garlic will take over a bit more on its own. If not I'll add some from my enormous jar in the fridge.

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buıbbo1q ɔıɹʇuɐʇ

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.ɐ1nʌn ʎɯ uo buıʞoɥɔ ɟo ɹǝbuɐp ʇuǝuıɯɯı uı ɯ,ı puɐ pɐǝɥ ʎɯ oʇ buıɥsnɹ sı poo1q ǝɥʇ 11ɐ ʍou ʇnq

.ǝɔuǝpıɔuıoɔ ǝq ʇ,uɐɔ ʇɐɥʇ .uosɹǝdʎɐ1 ǝbɐɹǝʌɐ ǝɥʇ uɐɥʇ uıɐɹʇsǝʎǝ puɐ 'sıʇıuopuǝʇ 'uıɐd ʞɔɐq ɹǝʍo1 ɯoɹɟ ɹǝɟɟns oʇ ʎ1ǝʞı1 ǝɹoɯ os1ɐ sı ɹǝbbo1q ɐ ʇɔɐɟ uı .ɯsı1ɐpǝdıq ɹo sǝʎǝ ǝn1q ǝʞı1 'sʇuǝɹɐd ɥʇoq ʎq uʍop pǝssɐd s,ʇı uǝɥʍ pǝssǝɹdxǝ sı ʇɐɥʇ ǝuǝb ǝʌıssǝɔǝɹ ɐ sɐ pǝʇıɹǝɥuı sı buıbbo1q 'ʇɥbıɹ s,ʇɐɥʇ .ʍouʞ noʎ 'ɔıʇǝuǝb s,ʇı ǝsnɐɔǝq .sɹǝbbo1q uı ʇuǝsǝɹd ʎ1uo suoɹnǝu 1ɐıɔǝds ǝsoɥʇ 'buıbbo1q ɹoɟ ǝ1qısuodsǝɹ suoɹnǝu ǝɥʇ ǝʇɐ1nɯıʇs ʇɥbıɯ poo1q ɟo ʍo1ɟ ǝɥʇ ǝqʎɐɯ 'ʍouʞ noʎ .uʍop-ǝpısdn buıʇıɹʍ ʎɹʇ oʇ pǝpıɔǝp ı os 'ʎɐpoʇ ɹǝɥʇǝboʇ sʇɥbnoɥʇ ʇuǝɹǝɥoɔuı ʎuɐ buıɹʇs uǝʌǝ ʇ,up1noɔ ı



To turn your blog upside down, .ǝɹǝɥ ob

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Public Notice

Three years ago, the Terry Shiavo case got a lot of people thinking about living wills and such. Brad and I had already discussed it when we were dating, so we were set. I told him that if my brain is still working I'd like to keep ticking along, as I think of my body as nothing more than a useful tool anyway. Sometimes I forget it's even there. Then nature calls or I stub my toe or something and I think, "oh right. You again. Still there, eh?" So doing without my body I think I could handle. But if my brain is complete mush, go ahead and give my organs to people that can make better use of them.

And then I want to be cremated. I can't stand the thought of my body being closed into a box and buried or sealed into a wall. I like the thought of cremation, of the insignificance of my body being refined into a handy, portable little package. And don't stuff it into an urn to collect dust on a mantle either, no thank you. My maternal grandparents-in-law (who were morticians btw) were in urns for awhile, and their children passed them around the country for final family portraits before burying them back in their home state. Well, Max's home state anyway, Wilhelmina was Dutch.

And then there was my midwife in FL, Gina. Her mother, a crusty old shrimp boat captain, died and they put her in an urn. They figured she'd want to be scattered in the waters that had been her home, so they took the urn out into the Gulf on a boat. Except the urn wouldn't open, and they were trying to be secretive about it because they really weren't supposed to be dumping ashes into the Gulf. So Gina just chucked the urn into the water, and to her initial horror, it floated. It bobbed along in their wake, and she was terrified someone would see it and they'd get in trouble.

Nah, I want to be useful. And I don't like water either, water scares me much more than fire. I'd like to be tossed out into some beautiful flowery meadow that gets lots of sun and could use a little fertilizer. No markers or anything, just let me turn with the seasons.

And then we have the ceremonies. I don't want any. I've been to a few memorial services, and I've always found it amazing that people that barely knew the guy two weeks ago were suddenly his best old fishing buddy. Or his kids, who'd always thought he was a terrible father and even downright abusive, changed their stories and turned him into a paragon of paternity. The thought of people who have or haven't known me standing at a podium and reading bad poetry or scriptures and weeping about all the ways in which I wasn't great until then almost makes me want to live forever. Almost.

We never did put anything in writing, but I am now. So when the time comes, hopefully several decades from now, I'm counting on you guys to follow through. If you find the lack of ceremony disappointing, I invite you to have a private little ceremony of your own. Light a candle, play Oh Happy Day (or maybe Sex Bomb), and eat some really good cheese and chocolate. You can even toss some cheese and chocolate out into the meadow for me. And a nice dark beer in case I get thirsty.

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Memarie Lane, the Musical

This is not, I repeat NOT a meme.

I was just thinking the other day about my old habit of imagining myself in a movie about me, usually when I was driving through the desert in a car that actually did have a name, soundtrack and camera angles and the whole bit. I wasn't the least bit interested in acting or writing a screenplay or anything like that, it was pure fantasy. I guess I thought everyone did this, but when I'd talk to others about it they'd raise one eyebrow and step back a little. But that's okay, people do that pretty much no matter what I'm talking about. I'm used to it.

Credits begin to roll on black screen to a light musical chime. Cue music. Black gradually fades to reveal endless desert dunes. As the music gradually comes to a crescendo, the camera zooms further and further in until it focuses on a small green car zipping down a winding pass. There's a young woman driving the car, dressed all in white. She shifts gracefully into fifth gear, then smiles as she zooms past a a Jeep full of incredulous Marines. She's driving fast, but not recklessly, just enjoying the speed and the curves of the road. Vocals begin as her car eases into the valley...

I realized that I don't do this anymore. I don't drive like that anymore either. I just turn the radio on and half listen, if that, as my mind busies itself with an inner monologue too inconsequential and uninspired to warrant any kind of soundtrack. "I hope that car sees me. Does he see me? Oh crap, almost missed my turn. Which place has the better green chile cheeseburger? The Owl Cafe or Blake's Lotaburger? Not that I've ever had either, but one of these days I'll stop and get one of each and figure it all out. What should I make for Sunday brunch? No more bananas. Haaaayl no. OMG I forgot to tell Brad not to give Max any more grapes..." etc. etc.

I used to be so inspired. I used to tsk to myself over people like my friend Sherri, whose life revolved around All My Children, McDonald's, and her Disney snow globe collection. People who saw no poetry in life, who would one day just die and that would be it. I saw myself as some sort of advanced soul, who could find beauty everywhere and just drink up the world like a big glass of lemonade on a hot day. Now I'm just like Sherri, minus the particulars of snow globes and soap operas. I look at the spot where my joie de vie used to be and all I see is an Extra Value Meal. Or maybe a pile of lemons.

I decided it was time for a new soundtrack. My plan initially was to do a sort of chronologically autobiographical soundtrack, with different songs for different periods of my life. But the abundance of Christian pop in my childhood and then the boy bands of junior high made for a very dull movie indeed. So instead I challenged myself to choose ten songs that I think tell the story, not of my boring life per se, but of me.

In no particular order:

1. Love Me Still, by Chaka Khan. You've probably never heard of this song. It's not at all typical Chaka Khan fare. It's a quiet ballad about love and longing and loss. Its one of those songs that grabs you by the aortas and wrings your heart like a used-up Scotch-Brite sponge.

2. Oh Happy Day, by the Edwin Hawkins Singers. This song is very old. My mom listened to it a lot when I was little, so it makes me think of hot dusty wind and creosote bushes and telephone poles, avocado and mustard flower print vinyl chairs, and the smell of a warming iron. It also is just a beautiful song, they don't make them like this anymore. Today's music has had all the heart and soul produced right out of it. This song has so much heart and soul it makes me want to watch Big.

3. Keep Holding On by Avril Lavigne. Okay, I am NOT an Avril Lavigne fan. In fact, I hate her pink and black faux Burberry plaid guts. But I love this song, it's sort of a reminder that I'm not alone, that Avril Lavigne herself (and Brad and my parents and etc. of course) is there for me, and it sounds great in the shower.

4. Ojos Asi by Shakira. It means "Eyes Like Yours," and is the song I used in the film scenario I described earlier. It's about tearing the world apart to find that one set of eyes that seared you to the very soul that one time at band camp and has haunted you ever since. She did an English version of it on her later crossover album, but I prefer it in Spanish. Here is a translation of the chorus:

"I’m asking heaven for just one desire
To be able to live in your eyes
I’ve already seen the whole world
And I’m coming to say one thing to you
Traveled from Bahrein, to Beirut
Went from the north to the south pole
And I could not find
eyes like yours"

Verdad! Who hasn't felt like that?

5. Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani. This is pretty self explanatory. Even if I never heard the song I'd be thinking, "sweet escape? Swing low, sweet chariot!" But the rest of it makes sense for me too. I can be something of a shrew, I know, and although Brad still thinks of me as his favorite girl, I often think, "if I could be sweet..."

6. Imaginary by Evanescence. This is another escape song, but this is more about mental escape, about going to my happy place. I have a few different happy places. One is a big round bed covered in sleeping puppies with cello music and trays of my favorite snacks. It used to include Brendan Fraser, but have you seen him lately??? Oi!

7. Uninvited by Alanis Morissette. Actually, anything by Alanis would be applicable. Except for Ironic, which is not ironic at all, and irritates me to no end. It was between this one, Forgiven, and Jagged Little Pill, but this version of this song is so friggin' beautiful that it won. If I were a singer-songwriter, I'd be Alanis.

8. Cowboy Take Me Away by the Dixie Chicks. Ah, for the simple life! My life actually is a lot simpler than most people's, but I'm also stuck here at home all the time, and while much of Albuquerque is open and beautiful, my little corner is not. So the thought of sleeping in the grass and watching a wide blue sky is very appealing indeed. As far as growing something wild and unruly, been there done that.

9. Sympathique by Pink Martini. I've hung with this band a few times. Well, I sort of hung in their presence while they joked around and knitted and basically ignored me. This song is in French, it's about a woman who's always just stuck in this room that's a cage to her. Here is a translation of the chorus:

I don't want to work
I don't want to eat lunch
I just want to sit here alone
And smoke.

I don't smoke, but otherwise I can relate. Ah, to be alone! Of course on those rare occasions that I am alone I can only think about the lack of those little extensions of my soul that I usually can't shake. So when I say alone, I mean really alone. No people, nor thoughts of them.

10. The Middle by Jimmy Eat World. As much as I worry, I need a song like this to remind me that everything, everything, will be all right! All right! Of course it actually bothers me when people stay things like that, because sometimes it really isn't alright. Sometimes things don't work out. Sometimes there is no escape, no relief, no return. Sometimes people lose their homes. Sometimes there really is nothing to eat. Sometimes someone really does drive through your living room wall. Sometimes people really do die, and there's no last minute cure or magic bag of groceries or miraculous resuscitation. But my worries are typically groundless, and this song helps me remember that.

Like I said, this is NOT a meme. I'd be curious to see what others' soundtracks are like, but there will be no viral tagging if you please.

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Something's Missing

When I was trying to come up with a title for this post, I began listing a series of applicable adjectives in my head. But then I realized I was just reciting the lyrics for Justify my Love by Madonna.

This one isn't actually funny. It is cute, but mainly sad I think. But sad in a cute way. Mainly. Clicking on the picture will take you to a blog with similar images, but most of them are political in nature.

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Six Steps to a Sexy Bedroom

There was this article on CNN the other day called Six Steps to a Sexy Bedroom. I was curious about two things: how my bedroom would stack up, and how they would define "sexy." I mean, most people think Angelina Jolie is sexy, but Brad thinks Sarah Jessica Parker, recently named the #1 Unsexiest Woman Alive by Maxim magazine, is the cat's pajamas. I'd have to agree with Maxim, but if Brad thinks she's hot, what does that say about me?

So let's go to the article and see how my bedroom does. BTW the typos are theirs, I left them in on purpose. ;)

1. Clean up your act.

Get rid of all the junk that accumulates in your bedroom. Don't use it as a dumping ground for kids' art projects, laundry, newspapers and magazines. No one feels sexy going to bed in a warehouse. First get everything up off the floor, store the things that warrant it and trash the things that don't. Clear of the surfaces of chests and tables, and only replace what is meaningful or pretty.

You don't want to see anything that reminds you of chores or obligations. Everything your eye lands on should make you feel relaxed and confident.

Check!



Well, where else am I supposed to put this stuff?

2. Can the can lights

Overheard lighting is notoriously unflattering. There's nothing sexy about a well-lit room. You want shadows, highlights and the soft glow of filtered light. Place a pair of lamps with ivory shades on each side of your bed, and make sure the bulbs are no more than 60 watts.

For even more impact, replace the white bulbs with pink tinted bulbs. Everybody looks good in this light -- the only thing more flattering is candlelight, and pink light bulbs don't pose a fire hazard.

Um...
Well, I read a lot, and no puny little pink 60-watt bulb is going to do the job. I like light, and lots of it, thank you very much.

3. Scents and sensibility. Take the same approach to smell that you took to sight. Get rid of anything that doesn't smell great. Remove the laundry hamper to a bathroom or closet. Evict the dog, just for one night. Wash everything, down to the mattress pad in good detergent. And make up your bed with the sheets folded back the sheets invitingly, the way they do in fine hotels.

Choose a scented candle with care. One that's too floral will be off-putting to a man. A better bet is one that smells fresh and clean, like Jo Malone's Grapefruit candle. The flicker of candlelight will enhance your sexy lighting scheme.

Okay, I've got that covered. I love me some smelly candles, but I'm a vanilla girl.

4. Soundtrack

The "Law & Order" theme song is not sexy music. Turn off the television! Better yet, banish it from the bedroom. The bedroom should be for two things only: sleep and sex. Install a small stereo in your bedroom and play your favorite music -- it's a great mood enhancer.

Well, we don't watch TV, we do this:



But how's this for a soundtrack?

I made this music player at MyFlashFetish.com.

If you're worried about being overheard by children or neighbors, add sound insulation. Hang curtains and a thick rug -- fabric absorbs sound.

Um...


A padded headboard helps in this department too.

How about a wall? Will a wall do the job?

5. Ban the Beanie Babies

The bedroom is your own private sanctuary, but beware what message you're sending by using it as a display case for your hobbies. Stuffed animals are a no-no, as are too many tiny pillows. What looks good in a bedding store just looks fussy and high-maintenance at home -- not the message you're trying to send.

No problems there, I am not an afficionado of stuffed animals. There is, however, the little matter of Brad's gnome collection. Can't find the picture of it, but I'm sure the image has been burned into your memory in previous posts.

6. Take a look

Add a mirror somewhere. It doesn't have to be attached to the ceiling, but a cleverly positioned mirror, or even a mirrored piece of furniture, can really spice things up. It will add glimmer and shine, both sexy qualities. Plus, you might discreetly catch of a glimpse of the proceedings.

A closet door left "accidentally" ajar, with its inside mirror angled toward the bed, can give you a thrill without risking embarrassment.

Right. It does look like there was a mirror on there at some point. But somehow I don't think a mirror would improve this door very much, and catching a glimpse of myself in it would probably scare the crap out of me when I get up to tinkle at 2AM.

Have you figured out what this article describes? It describes a basic single at Motel 6. So don't worry about buying fancy lamps or Freecycling your beanie babies, there's a Sexy Bedroom waiting for you just down the street for only $39. And you don't even have to clean it!

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In which I say "sex" twice!

This is my new favorite song. It does have the word "sex" in it, but is not otherwise dirty.

And here is the Tom Jones version. Groovy!

I made this music player at MyFlashFetish.com.

When we saw Horton Hears a Who a couple weeks ago, there was a preview for Gerard Butler's new movie, Nim's Island. I was more than a little perturbed that there were only a couple brief shots of him, the camera preferred to linger on Jodie Foster and the girl from Little Miss Sunshine and some lizard percussionist. So I looked for a better preview, could not find one that showed the man for more than 1/10th of a second, and found that he actually has third billing. Third billing! Do they really think all the housewives of America are going to drag their families to this movie so they can ogle Jodie Foster??? I did find some great videos of him on YouTube though. I love the way he says paaayr-r-r-rfect and caaayr-r-r-rtain. Honestly, what does anyone see in Brad Pitt?

I hope you all took some time to check out The Art of Darkness, my Blog O' The Week, details in the sidebar. I will be featuring a different blog each week. Also, The Book Nook is starting monthly selections for discussion. I chose the book for May, Sex Wars by Marge Piercy. If you'd like to join in, just read the book and head over there for the discussion next month.

Comment O' The Week was written by Kenna, in response to this post about our apparently imaginary recession. She said:

"I know! Everyone use your stimulus package and go straight to Old Navy to save our great fashions at low prices. Yeah, that's right! See, if we spend it all, then that will fix the economy (gosh, Bushy, you're so smart!) and all will be right again. What? You're saying that makes things WORSE, not better? Nonsense! Money makes EVERYTHING better! In fact, let's print some more. Let's print a $1 bill for every $1 bill that's currently in circulation and that should do the trick for at least another few hundred years. Wee! No more recession. Wee! No more mortgage crisis. Wee! Old Navy rulz!"

My mom (who is only 56 by the way) is out of the hospital. She was supposed to take a stress test to see if there were any blockages, but a nurse screwed up and let her drink coffee, so now she has to wait until Monday. They wanted to keep her through the weekend until they could test her, but who would want to spend their weekend in a hospital? Especially a hospital that tries to serve fried sausage and hash browns to someone that just had a heart attack. She asked for some fruit and they brought her a can of fruit cocktail. My dad had to bring her some carrot juice from home. So she's home now, and hopefully the test on Monday will be an all-clear. In the meantime she would appreciate continued prayer.

I'm making cream puffs! Happy weekend!

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Memarie Snopes

My mom had a mild heart attack today and she'd appreciate some prayers. I know people like to say they'll send "thoughts," but she doesn't have much faith in telepathy.

I'm telling you guys, you have got to take fish oil. I started taking it because it's good for the baby, and good for my heart, and I was hoping it might keep the blond gene from taking over while I'm pregnant. Because if you've ever been pregnant or have been married to someone who's been pregnant, you know that they'll go from Marilyn Savant to Miss South Carolina in nine months or less. I'm not sure what Mother Nature had in mind when she made this so. Maybe she felt a severe drop in I.Q. would serve as a buffer between the mother-to-be and the inevitable realization that motherhood is not all rocking chairs and lullabies. She should know, right? I mean, she gave birth to a planet.

Anyway, the fish oil is certainly working. I feel like the guy in the film Pi, who discovers the meaning of life, the universe, the stock market and everything (and it's not 42!) just by looking at some goo he found on the wall. I found this site of brain twisters, which would normally have me stumped, and just read down the list, the answers immediately popping into my head. So I'm eating a lot of spicy food too, I heard it makes for a baby with hair. Jessamine's almost three and I'm still waiting for hers to grow.

So I thought I'd use this newfound brain power to write about a couple subjects I've seen come up lately and debunk them. I accept the possibility that I could be wrong, and welcome any alternate theories.

Buy hundreds of "forever stamps." Okay, so right now you can buy stamps for $.41, and they're slated to go up to $.42. I've seen more than one person suggesting that now is the time to load up on rolls of $.41 forever stamps, which will still be good for the full rate after the price goes up. Sounds right in theory, doesn't it?

Do the math. If you buy a roll of 100 stamps today, it will cost you $41.00. If you wait until the price goes up it will cost... are you ready for it? $42.00! OMG! You could have saved a whole entire dollar! Now, I'm all for saving even the tiniest amount, but considering that (a) a dollar is currently worth less than the paper it's printed on and (b) stamps aren't even really a necessary commodity anymore, what's the point? If I bought a roll of 100 stamps, I could live to be 100 myself and not use half of it. Brad sends out a lot of cards and such for work, but the savings is still far too negligible for this to be a sensible move.

Making daily trips to the gas station to buy only the gas you need for that day will cause the gas stations to lose money, have too much stock, and force them to lower the prices. Okay, so let's say you start visiting the corner gas station every morning before work and purchase one gallon of gas, rather than making one trip once a week to fill the tank. And you're so fired up about this idea that you get all your neighbors to do it too.

Is the gas station making less money or sitting on an abundance of stock? No. They are selling the exact amount of gas they would otherwise be selling. In fact they are probably making more money, assuming they add a penny (and 9/10) to the price every day, as they certainly seem to do. So you could have bought ten gallons one day at $3.10, but instead you spread it out over a week, paying a higher price each day. The only way this would cause them to actually lose money is that they might have to pay more fees for the additional credit card swipes.

As an added effect, you'd then have to compete with your entire neighborhood every morning to wait in line for gas. You'd probably be late to work. And everyone driving past, seeing the long lines, would start to get the idea that there's a shortage, freak out, buy fifteen gas cans at WalMart and stock up, thereby creating an actual shortage, which would lead to even more inflated pricing as well as rationing.

This scheme is a terrible idea in every way.

Using reusable shopping bags will save the environment. When I first heard about these a few years ago, I thought it was a great idea and considered buying some. But then I realized that if I did that, I'd have to start buying trash bags. I hadn't bought trash bags in years; why bother if the grocery store hands them out for free? Then I began to wonder what the point of trash bags is in the first place. What's so hard about carrying the small trash can to the big outside one and emptying it straight in? Just rinse out the can, let it dry, and sprinkle some baking soda in the bottom. And yet we buy specially made non-biodegradable plastic bags just to line the things.

It seems especially silly considering that we often choose certain products for their biodegradable properties, then encase them in non-biodegradable plastic before pitching them in a landfill. People follow their dogs around with little plastic bags and wrap their poop in it, turning a biodegradable fertilizer into a canine monument that will continue to float around in space long after the planet has been incinerated. How does that make sense???

I also noticed that the bags sold by the big box stores are composed of some percentage of plastic, and began to wonder what will happen to them once they become outmoded. Which will inevitably happen. I have a feeling they will end up in the landfills, where they will refuse to decompose.

I'm not saying these reusable bags are a completely terrible idea, certainly one reusable plastic bag is better than hundreds of disposable ones. I think they may be an important first step to a better solution. But I think it's important to really think through their use and composition as we work out that solution. The ones made of natural fibers are more expensive, but a much metter alternative.

I also think there are other areas to look at that have a far larger impact, like the insanely excessive packaging of products, and our mentality of replacing broken items in favor of the latest and greatest thing rather than repairing them (like in the Story of Stuff). I mean think about it... what are people carrying home in those reusable shopping bags? How much of it is product and how much is trash? And how much of that trash is shiny plastic window dressing?

Sometimes you have to pick your battles. This one is well-intentioned and it's an excellent statement to make, but in all practicality it's like putting a band-aid on a severed artery.

I went on about that longer than I intended, but I felt like it needed to be said. If I'm wrong, please tell me so. I'd love a reason not to take fish oil. Despite what the packaging says it truly does give me the nastiest burps.

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32

I have to write quickly because the power supply went out on the desktop, and since it's Brad's rare day off he's dying to get on here. After a long hard day of hogging the car, making me wait all day for my weekly trip out of the house and beyond the ghetto.

I was supposed to write about feminism today, but I simply cannot blog when Brad is in the room with me. Sure, he's lying across the bed with his eyes closed, which he knows irritates me all to heck (why can't he lie down straight? Why?). But I have a real issue with people reading over my shoulder, and even if he isn't actually reading over my shoulder at the moment he generally does, chronically, so that his mere presence when I'm on the computer saps all creative energies from my soul. Now he's snoring, but I'm not buying it. Brad is one of those rare beasts that snores convincingly even when he's awake.

So since it's my birthday (April 3 is anyway, I'm posting this on the evening of the 2nd) and I'm working under restrictive conditions, I'm going to exercise my right not to write about feminism. At least not today. I will go and read the other entries though. And I will leap upon my new little pile of library books like... like... a desperate homebound blogger that just got a new batch of library books.

In the meantime, if you know what's good for you, go watch The Business of Being Born. If you have Netflix and a good connection it's available to watch on your computer right away. And remember to buy a silly drink for yourself for my birthday. Or some other treat, whatever you want. Then come tell me what you got.

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It's All in Your Head

This picture has nothing to do with this post, I just wanted to use it.

This just in. The recession is a myth! That's right, it's a lie perpetuated by the fear-mongering media to... what? Sell newspapers? Do they still make those?

So you know how food prices have almost doubled? And how your qualified and experienced cousin / dad / friend can't get a job? And half the homes on your block have been foreclosed? All in your head my friend, all in that imaginative little head of yours.

This guy says that sure things have gotten a little tight, but really they aren't any worse than they were under Clinton (I imagine him typing this on a MacBook Air as he drinks a silly complicated coffee drink). The difference, he says, is that then we didn't even know we were in a recession, and now we think we are even though we really aren't.

And hey, "Housing has obviously been a big drag on the economy, but many other sectors of the economy, such as exports, have been doing well, some extremely well. For example, aerospace exports increased by over 13 percent last year."

Yeah, I'm sure there's a huge universal demand for aerospace exports. Children all over the world are putting bonnets on the things and giving them names, it's bigger than Tickle Me Elmo ever dreamed!

This guy puts too much faith in the media, or he thinks we do. I don't need some fluffy blond in a blazer with blinding teeth to tell me there's a recession. All I have to do is look at my receipts from the grocery store and the gas station, see the increasing desperation of friends and family that can't find work, hear the crickets chirp at Brad's car lot.

I'm no economist. In fact, I'm an uneducated, unemployed housewife living below the poverty line. But I'm not an idiot. And I remember a little something from the one Economics class I did take in high school, which I just barely managed to pass. The strength of an economy depends a lot on the confidence of the consumer, and right now we just don't have any. We're constantly pushed and pulled and punished and robbed and deceived until all we're left with is one stack of useless plastic and another of bills we can no longer pay. And there's a nice little line-up of shiny new politicians flopping around on their puppet strings promising to fix it all. Which we totally buy. Because we're Americans, and we'll buy anything, right?

The most interesting thing about a recession, this one in particular, is that the balance of power shifts dramatically (see my abundant qualifications to make such statements in the preceding paragraph). Corporations are dropping like flies, and the job market is flooded with over-educated investment bankers and mortgage brokers.

It's suddenly the age of the blue collar worker. No one needs a 70k per annum stock broker, what are they good for? We need auto mechanics and computer technicians and nurses and teachers and day care providers. The economy isn't dying, it's turning inside out. It's adjusting itself like an itchy outfielder. It happens every now and then, it has to.

So the economy is in our hands. We're no longer pinballs in the big pinball machine of the pizzeria of life, carried along and directed by momentum rather than will. Every time we decide where to shop and which brand to purchase, we are making a choice that could make or break someone's job or business.

Sharper Image went out of business after Christmas, sticking thousands of people with useless gift cards. My favorite clothing store, Old Navy, will be history before the end of the year. Things aren't looking so good for Starbucks right now, which continues to grow too quickly and is facing multiple 9-digit class action lawsuit settlements. On-Star and Vonage are also in trouble. You sure won't see me crying for Vonage.

Each time I spend a dollar, that dollar could be the very dollar that saves one company, or breaks another for want of it. So I'm starting to think a little more carefully about where I shop.

In the following poll, I have a hard time choosing between Target, Starbucks, and None! Damn the man! I worked at Target for two years, and found it to be an ethical, generous, fun company. I would hate to see it die. Starbucks is newer, and I know some people really hate it, but they raised the bar for all types of businesses in a way that I as a consumer really appreciate. And I do like to buy a silly drink from them once or twice a year. Since many Targets contain Starbucks stores now, maybe I wouldn't have to choose?

So since April 3 is my birthday, buy yourself a silly drink in my honor. None of that sissy non-fat decaf stuff either.

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