Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Monday, December 21, 2009

Good intentions AND drama - it's a Christmas miracle!

I don't know about you, but I was the teensiest bit disappointed after the Detroit City Council election results were announced in November. I mean, sure, it was a big shake-up and the new members seem energized and intelligent and now it seems like there might actually come a day where you can mention that you're from a Detroit suburb without having to look embarrassed or have someone ask if Detroit is really "empty" but where is the fun in that? Where is the screaming, the name-calling, the lying and the bribing? What are we going to do for entertainment?

Luckily, Incoming City Council President Charles Pugh seems to realize that metro Detroiters need a City Council that not only has the City's best interests at heart but also a little bang for their buck and is publicly accusing Martha Reeves of not moving out of her office fast enough. At Christmas. When she technically doesn't have to be out until December 31.

Oh Charles. You had me at "Move out."

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Parting with appliances

Today I said goodbye to two appliances; the dishwasher, that I hated, and the waffle maker, that I loved.

The waffle maker was a wedding gift (wish I could remember who gave it to us) and back when we were newlyweds we would get up on the weekends and make waffles together from a recipe my mom gave us that includes club soda. The waffle maker got put away for a few years, then pulled back out again as my kids grew and waffles became the Breakfast Choice in our house. My daughter has been making waffles on her own for years. All with this same 16 1/2 year old waffle maker.

Lately, the waffle maker has been behaving like the dishwasher. Which is to say, sporadically. The last few times I've tried to make waffles I got more "waffle piles" than waffles out of it and today I had to give up and make pancakes with the batter.

Still, it sat on the counter for a few hours before I could make myself throw it out. Is it wrong to love a waffle maker? I don't care. My daughter has already moved on. She's requesting a new waffle maker with a "cool shape." The young can be so cruel.

Luckily, I have a new dishwasher to make me forget my appliance grief. It's stainless and big and shiny and I'm chomping at the bit to dirty up some dishes.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Sign of the apocalypse

Just wanted to warn ya'll that the world IS ending. I got a call yesterday to audition as ..... a model. I'm 45 years old, haven't worked out consistently since I herniated two disks three years ago, and yet someone is considering me to be a "fit" model for their clothes.

On the other hand, just think about how comfy those clothes will be for the skinny/fit people who end up buying them.

Monday, November 30, 2009

2 arguments in 10 minutes

Between my husband and I

"Why can't I go to the media party? I'm media!"

"That's right, sweetie, you're media."

"I AM! I'm on TV, and radio, AND in print."

"That's right, you're the Queen of all Media. You're like Howard Stern. Or Oprah."


Between my children

"Sheesh! What's a guy got to do to get some privacy around here?"

"You just showed me your butt. You don't care about privacy."

What is up George F. Will's butt?

First, let me be the first to say that I'm not the brightest bulb on the block (but I can mix a metaphor....right? Right?) but I have read George F. Will's essay in the latest issue of Newsweek no less than four times and I still can't figure out what the hell he's trying to say.... except that he thinks Barack Obama is a boastful snob.

He seems to take issue with Obama's statement that he (Obama, not Will) is "America's first Pacific President." calling it "an exercise in rhetorical grandiosity." He then goes on to admit that Obama did live in the Pacific for 14 years but that two Presidents lived on the Pacific and many others had really important things happen to them ....wait for it..... in the Pacific. So, basically, he's trying to say that Obama shouldn't get to claim the Pacific for himself.

I think.

He ends by saying that Obama spent seven days in Asia recently and that was what earned him the (self-proclaimed) title of the First Pacific President and "Such rhetorical inflation devalues the currency of words with which we think."

May I be the first to say WTF?

If Obama were the first politician to be guilty of rhetorical inflation then George F. Will would have something to complain about. Rhetorical inflation is practically a job requirement. If Obama wants to say he's the first Pacific President instead of the first President from Hawaii what the hell does it really matter?

By pointing his finger at this, the nerdy, pouty kid in the corner trying to show off his knowledge of history and his big vocabulary looks like a big baby and renders his essay .... in his own words....exquisitely meaningless.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

I wish I were more surprised

After reading the stories about her lawsuit against her former employer I'm a little upset with Lynne Woodison and her lawyer.

First, this quote: ""It is like that all the time, and it's difficult to stand up for it constantly and say, 'Please, that's uncomfortable for me. Don't do that,'" said Woodison.

It WAS like that all the time, and it WAS difficult.....blah blah blah. Past tense. You're no longer working there. Which makes me wonder, why didn't she file a lawsuit when she DID work there (from 2000-2008)?

Then there's this quote from her lawyer: "...her complaining ultimately resulted in her being fired," Gordon said.

Wait. Didn't they BOTH get fired? Why, yes, they did. I wonder what HE was complaining about? Was he complaining about all her complaining?

AND, if it was really so terrible working with him for all those years, she must have been really relieved to finally have the horror over with, right? Then WHY did she work with him again for a week this past summer on WOMC? And why is she suing the company and not him?

For some reason, radio is still a tough business for women to succeed in (A former agent told me "Women will listen to men but men won't listen to women" and doesn't every woman experience this in her house on a daily basis? "Really, you told me there was a meeting at the school tonight?") and if Ms. Woodison has indeed been sexually harassed then I am all for her getting everything that she deserves, but this just looks like someone who has realized she's never going to find another job and is going for the money and THAT is going to make it more difficult (rightly or wrongly) for all the other women who are trying to break into radio in this town because now the guys in charge have one more reason to be scared of hiring them.

I'm not trying to choose sides; but I've been there. When I was starting out in my little radio career a male co-worker said to me (while I was eating a banana): "There's no ladylike way to eat a banana." He said plenty of other mean, suggestive, and otherwise inappropriate things too and while I was forced to work with him I certainly didn't socialize with him and I didn't work with him again by choice after he left.

And I never once met him for coffee.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Raising a pessimist

I readily acknowledge that I am ridiculously optimistic. Sure, I have my moments of doubt and I'm an Olympic-level Second Guesser but, generally, I believe that people are good and the world is meant to be a happy place.

I married a man with an incredible moral code but no belief system. He is a true Atheist. I, being the Optimist I am, believe there's room for everyone - believers, atheists, doubters, etc. Actually, he does have a believe system, but his belief is what he can see is all there is. I'm more inclined to believe in powers beyond what we can explain, or know we have, or what we can even understand.

Which brings me to my daughter - who is like me in SO many ways but so like her father in so many others....including her beliefs. So, last week, when she lost her iTouch in the school parking lot all our beliefs came crashing into each other. She believes it's over - that she will never get it back and I say if that's what you believe then THAT is what will happen. I believe in a world where someone who takes something (especially something expensive) that doesn't belong to them just can't live with himself and eventually does the right thing and turns it in.

"But I go to school with a lot of idiots," she says. And she does. And maybe one of those idiots found her iPod. But maybe that idiot has a friend with a conscience who is pushing her to turn my daughter's iPod into the office.

My daughter believes that if she never expects anything then she can never be let down. I believe that if you never hope for things you can never help them happen.

I'm so sad that my daughter lost her iPod, which she loved. I'm even sadder that she already believes she will never see it again.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Corruption begins at the bottom

Today my son is running for President of his 3rd grade class. I'm not sure what honors being Mother of the 3rd Grade Class President will bestow upon me (should he win), but I will gladly accept all responsibilities and ribbon-cutting opportunities made available.

This morning, as he was copying the key points of his speech onto note cards ("I will help get the class get more pennies." Pennies being the form of currency the teacher uses to let the kids earn class parties) he said "Oh, mom, when Brian* was running for President last time he brought in suckers that said Vote for Brian* on them! Can I bring in suckers?"

Really? Is this necessary? The "term" of Class President is only eight weeks and yet this mother felt it was necessary to take the time and effort to create and afix stickers that say Vote for Brian* to 20 sucker sticks for her kid to bribe the class so they would elect him? I think it's a great thing that 3rd graders are learning about the Democratic process but Brian's mother is introducing a whole new level of politics that kids really shouldn't become familiar with until at least high school ("Why are you voting for Dan for Junior Class President?" "Dude, he throws, like, the best parties.")

Though maybe these kids are smarter than I think; Brian* did NOT get elected.

*Name has been changed to protect the innocent boy and his not-so-innocent mother

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Wanna make some clothes and some money?

Dear Clothing Designers, Manufacturers, and Sellers,

I am here to tell you how to double your sales and decrease your costs.

Fire the extra tall, boy-hipped, surgically enhanced models. Yes, your clothes look great on them. Everyone’s clothes, from Gautier to Wal-Mart, look great on them. You’re not saying anything new. Hire some real women to model your clothes. I know what you’re thinking “But you buy our clothes because they look so good on the model that you think they will make you look good too.” You’re half right. I used to buy your clothes for that reason, but I have a learning curve and I have finally made it over the bell or out of the dip or whatever you’d like to call it. I have finally realized that I will never be 5’10” (or sadly, even 5’5”), I will never – barring serious illness – weigh 110 lbs, and I will never look as good in your clothes as the models.

I am also armed with something besides knowledge. I have money. I have money to spend on clothes that flatter my figure. I know there are clothes out there that flatter the average figure; I’ve stumbled on a few pieces while on extensive shopping expeditions. But you could make it easier for me to spend my money if you simply show me your clothes on a variety of figures. I will immediately be able to see which items will look better on me and I can give you my money much, much faster. It’s win-win.

Perhaps you should visit with some shoe designers; they seem to have already figured this out. Sure there are a few styles that only look good (but probably aren’t comfortable) on long, narrow feet, but most designers are making all kinds of cute shoes in size 9 and 10 and C and D widths. Those of us with a wider foot and second toe that is longer than the big toe (you know that’s a sign of intelligence, right?) know exactly who these designers are and our closets are filled to bursting with their shoes, boots and sandals.

A special note to lingerie designers: my husband also has a learning curve. He has finally realized that no matter what he buys, the minute I put it on he and I both realize – but definitely do not say out loud - that it doesn’t look nearly as sexy on me as it did on the mannequin. It probably looked sexier on the hanger than it does on me. Show lingerie on real women with poochy tummies, cellulite, and back fat. Imagine the loyalty you will create when I try on a gift from my husband and we both see that it is MORE flattering on me than on the model. You’d have to pay us to stay out of your store!

Perhaps that is what you would like to do – keep me out of your store. You work hard on your clothes and maybe you just don’t want to see them on less than perfect figures. That is certainly your prerogative, and there seem to be women who are willing to starve and carve their bodies to look good in whatever you design. I have a feeling, though, that even they have a learning curve.



Tuesday, November 3, 2009

For Lisa, with thanks

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the first 90 seconds of a conversation on a cell phone with a woman over the age of 65 will consist of the woman telling you A) how she didn't hear the phone ring at first, B) how she eventually did hear the phone ringing but could not locate it, then C) the odd place she finally found the cell phone.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

How to get an extra dessert

A conversation between me, my husband, and my son about a job interview I had this morning:

Husband: So, how did it go?

Me: I thought it went fine, but I might not be what they're looking for.

Husband: Of course you're what they're looking for!

Son: Yeah, mom, you look pretty.

Me: Thank you. Let's hope they're looking for someone who looks pretty.

Son: You're lucky they're not looking for someone who looks stupid!

Thursday, October 22, 2009

The driveway

You may recall that I scared away the driveway resealers last month. They came out and did the resurfacing about a week and half ago and I have noticed that there were some rather big, unsealed splotches all over the driveway but I was not about to say anything because I'm already the Crazy Lady who slammed the door in their faces the first time they showed up.

But a few days ago my husband came home and said that the driveway resurfacing company had called him because our neighbor - who is about 110, lives alone, and was convinced her house was going to cave in on her because she found a crack in the pavement of her garage - had also had her driveway resurfaced on the same day by the same company and was not happy with her results. They informed her that the day long rain right after the resurfacing was to blame but that they would come out reseal the deal (so to speak.) She THEN informed them that they would probably be hearing from her neighbors (Us!) because our driveway looks like crap, too. How about that?! She's sitting over there looking for cracks in the concrete and JUDGING our driveway!

So they're supposed to show up yesterday and the finally do show up yesterday but it's early evening and I'm working on homework with The Boy and getting ready to host a meeting in my house and when they show up I just say "Yeah, yeah, great, whatever" and don't realize until about an hour later that my car is in the garage.


In the garage.

I waited as long as I possibly could before I had to leave this morning but there is a tell-tale tire track down the driveway from the garage.

Still. It's not splotchy.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Why can't you just follow the rules?

I will admit that I, at times, operate under the assumption that it is easier to ask forgiveness than it is to ask permission. However, most of the time I am a big believer in Following the Rules.

The older I get the more I believe that The Rules are there to keep the majority of us safe and comfortable and unoffended...and to keep things fair. And I'm having a harder and harder time with people who think that the rules don't apply to them.

For instance....there is someone in my neighborhood who walks their dog with the requisite plastic bags in hand (so I don't have to walk out into my dog-free yard and step in something I am not prepared for) HOWEVER - and really, I have never seen anything like this in my life -- they LEAVE the full, knotted plastic bag lying in the street OR in some one's yard.


Do they think there is someone who goes around the neighborhood picking up these little goody bags? Because there's NOT - they are just lying there - or WORSE - getting run over and squished in the street WHERE I AM TRYING TO WALK.

What kind of insane person does that? It's like if I tied up the garbage from my house nice and neat but left it lying anywhere around the neighborhood any day of the week - not in front of my own house on garbage day. I realize that it is most likely NOT fun to walk around the 'hood carrying a plastic bag of warm poo and I have a solution for that -- DON'T HAVE A DOG!

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Shameless self promotion

This coming Saturday (10/17) I will be reading my children's book, The Fairy Painting, at the Metro Detroit Baby and Kids Expo (in the Livonia Radisson Hotel) at 12:15 pm because, apparently, there is nothing I won't do to sell a few more books.

The Expo runs 11 am to 6 pm and even if you have no interest in me or my book but you do have kids (or are expecting some) you should check out the event. Admission is just $3…one dollar goes to March of Dimes. The Livonia Police Department will be there doing free kids finger printing. There will also be cupcake decorating, and if you can't find me at reading time hunt me down near the frosting. There will be representatives from Buy Buy Baby, CVS (free samples!), Mad Science, Baby Bliss, Goldfish, Providence Hospital, MESP, Moss World, Children’s Orchards, Thorton Photography, Borders, and more.

I will be selling (and signing!) books after my reading. I believe I've already pointed out that I am shameless.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Lesson learned

My daughter was NOT happy when I told her I was going to be a chaperone at the Homecoming dance. And though even my husband does not believe me I really had no interest in observing what was going on at the dance, the school needed help and I volunteered.

But my volunteering days are over.

I worked the check room at the dance last night - the teens turn over their coats and shoes and cell phones and anything else they don't want getting in the way of the grinding (not dancing) and I have a few questions for some of my fellow high-school-student-parents:

Didn't you look at what your daughter was wearing before she left the house?

Some of the dresses were SO short that the members of the Pussycast Dolls wouldn't wear them, lest they accidentally reveal too much. And I was flashed no less than 4 times as some High School Hussy lifted her leg a little too high for the crotchtacular (thank you Fug Girls) dress she had on to try and remove her 4-inch heel bondage shoes. It was like watching Britney Spears try to get out of a limo.

I'm sure there are parents who think they have bigger issues to deal with than what their daughter decides to wear and I am going to tell you that you are wrong. This is a pretty big issue. Actually, it's a pretty tiny issue. I don't care if this is how your daughter chooses to express her individuality (and really, she's not all that individual or unique if she's choosing the micro dress like everybody else). Your daughter looked like a tramp. And she was grinding on the dance floor. And there were rumors that she was even having sex...on the dance floor. She's not dressing like that because it's "cute."

Be a parent, get a backbone, and buy your daughter a whole dress next time there's a dance.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Nothing to see here, move along

What is the opposite of a hypochondriac?

Maybe it's because I'm getting older and things could be starting to go wrong with my body, or maybe I watch too many medical shows, or maybe there's just too much medical information out there for a regular person to deal with.....whatever the reason, I've turned into that person who doesn't go to the doctor because I don't want to know what's wrong.

It started a few years ago when I realized that my back had been hurting, badly, for months so I finally went to see the doctor and was convinced that he was going to tell me to stop being such a wuss but instead he sent me in for x-rays and mri's and next thing I know I'm diagnosed with a herniated disk.

I wasn't prepared for that. Or for the months of physical therapy and all the other crap that goes along with it. I'm like George Costanza on that episode of Seinfeld where the show "Jerry" has finally been picked up by NBC but George notices a white dot on his lip and reluctantly goes to the doctor and all he wants to hear is "That's nothing!" but instead they take a biopsy. All I want to hear is "That's nothing!"

But lately, it's always something.

This morning I forced myself to see my doctor after dealing with on-again-off-again symptoms (OK, I thought I had a urinary infection. I just don't like saying it.) What I WANTED to hear was "Oh, here's a prescription to clear that right up." but instead I heard "Hmmmm, no infection. We're going to take some blood and check some other things. Just lie low and drink clear liquids for now."


I don't NEED any more scary medical stuff this year, thanks. The Red Cross took care of that earlier this year when they blackballed me for life. Right now I just want someone to give me some antibiotics and tell me to stop being such a wuss.

Friday, October 2, 2009

The price of fame

Conversation between my son and I at the bus stop this morning.

Son: Who do you think will die first, you or dad?

Me: I have no idea. (Your father, of course)

Son: I think it will be you.

Me: WHY?

Son: Because, you know, people shoot other people who are famous.

Me: I'm not famous.

Son: You seem pretty famous to me.

Me: I'm not famous enough to be shot.

Son: Well, sometimes people just shoot other people for no reason.

Me: Yeah, but that could happen to anyone.

Son: It'll probably happen to you.


Son: Would you rather die by being shot with a gun or being eaten by a shark?

Me: Uh, I'm gonna say gun.

Son: Me too. It'd be over with faster.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Running from the law

I just found out that I'm a criminal.

Apparently, eight years ago when I felt bad for the neighbor girl who was attending Kindergarten with my daughter and insisted that she come hang out at our house instead of staying in the before-and-after school programs because her parents both worked I was breaking the law.

Thankfully I have nicer neighbors than this woman, because she is basically doing the same thing - helping out some parents and some kids - and one of her neighbors alerted the state that she was operating an "illegal" day care in her house.

What kind of nosy, no-life-of-their-own, I'm-miserable-so-I'm-going-to-make-everyone-around-me-miserable asshole does this woman live next door to? If this neighbor saw something "suspicious" why didn't he/she trot over next door and ASK what was going on instead of googling which State Agency should receive the complaint?

Hey, Mrs. Kravitz, put down your binoculars and leave those kids alone.

And the story goes national......

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Please don't comment on my food

I met a friend for breakfast this morning; since I've become vegan breakfast out has become an interesting challenge. If you look at a menu you find that most breakfast items can be directly traced back to a chicken or a cow. So I ordered fried rice.

When our food arrived a woman at the next table grabbed the waitress by the arm and said "Is that fried rice?" Now, this is one of the cozy little seats-20-people-who-are-still-sitting-on-top-of-each-other establishments (which only lends to its charm - and the food is TO DIE FOR) so this woman was practically sitting across from me and could just as easily have asked me because I'm pretty sure I would have known what I ordered but instead she and her companion accepted the waitress's affirmative answer and sat there ogling my breakfast. When she finally did deign to look directly at me she gave me a little wink like "Aren't you the ballsy one, eating fried rice for breakfast!?" (Yes, that wink conveyed A LOT. In fact, it conveyed so much that I knew if I offered her some she would have demurred and said "Oh, I could NEVER eat fried rice for breakfast but good for YOU!" like I was performing karaoke or something.)

I was a little self-conscious after that. I don't like people commenting on my food normally (it's a THING, OK?) and this was just a little weird but then I started eating and I was just happy.

Another thing about this restaurant though - it is sooooo small that one entire wall is glass which does make it look bigger but if you end up sitting across from the glass trying to talk to the person sitting across from you you find yourself in the uncomfortable position of trying to look at them WITHOUT catching sight of yourself making strange faces and trying to catch vegetables that are falling from you chopsticks with your tongue. It's a little disconcerting.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

What's the matter with kids today?

My daughter has been asked to Homecoming twice already.

Well, kind of.

One boy kept texting her and she finally texted back (and I really can't believe I'm using the verbs "texted" and "texting" in a blog post) "Why do you keep telling me this stuff?" to which he replied "Because you're my BFF" and then "And because you're going to Homecoming with me."

(I remind you that I am not a fluent in teen texting and have probably spelled words correctly that were meant to be misspelled. My apologies.)

She texted back that she was NOT going to Homecoming with him.

THEN she told me about the boy who she doesn't really know but she does know his sister and she's not even Facebook friends with him but, nevertheless, he sent her an email through Facebook that said "I know we don't know each other all that well but you seem like a really nice girl and I was wondering if you want to go to Homecoming with me."


(Warning: Old Person rant ahead)

All this technology is keeping our kids from learning how to socialize. These boys don't really like my daughter, she's just one more girl who might say yes. ( In fact, I told her to tell Facebook Boy "Um, I don't know what list I'm on but please take me off it.") They don't have to care about someone - or care about getting to know someone - enough to risk personal embarrassment, they can just send out mass emails and see who responds first! And it's not any better for my daughter. She was more polite to Facebook Book than I would have been, but still....she's not learning how to let a boy down gently while watching his heart break. These kids aren't acquiring any skills. They might as well match themselves up by what they're wearing. "Cute brunette with red dress seeks Freshman boy who will coordinate colors for Homecoming. Powder blue need not respond."

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

I'm a "10"

That's not my hotness (hotness? is that even a word? good grief it's early) score, that's my scariness score. I scared away a crew of driveway repavers who were hired by my husband.

In my defense (OK, I really have no defense) I was on the phone and my doorbell rang and since I live in a pretty little subdivision with lots of old houses in need of various repairs my doorbell rings frequently during the day and I have listened politely while someone explains the service/deal/UNBELIEVABLE-never-to-be-repeated-get-it-now-or-it's-gone-forever-BARGAIN detailed on the flyer they are forcing on me because I know times are tough and every one's just trying to make a living and, really, we probably do need to fix up our chimney sometime soon. But, as I said, I was in the middle of a complicated discussion (and had forgotten to put the repavers on my calendar, if I'm being honest) so when the doorbell rang and I saw a work truck and about 5 guys I just said "I'm on a phone call" and shut the door.

I had completely forgotten that my husband told me the repaving company was coming out that day and I did not remember until we were sitting at dinner and he said "I thought that repaving company was supposed to come out today." and I said "Oops." Then I told him the story. Then I said "Come on, I'm not THAT scary."

Apparently I AM that scary. He sent me an email yesterday that said...

The paving company is coming back on Tuesday.
Apparently you did scare them away when they knocked on the door.

Sunday, September 20, 2009


It's like they're sitting around trying to figure out ways to make Stacey spend more money.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009


I have a thing for charming British men who portray cranky Americans. There. I said it. But a few years ago I had to break up with House.

I really enjoyed the show until nearly two years ago when I experienced my own medical mystery. On a Saturday I developed a headache so bad I couldn't even lift my head and my husband finally realized it wasn't going away and got me to the doctor on Monday morning. They took an x-ray and asked my husband a few questions (I couldn't even answer at this point - I was reduced to incoherent moaning) then I heard my doctor say "I want you to take her to Beaumont emergency, tell them she needs to be tested for...." and then I heard him start listing things that didn't sound very good at all. Things like meningitis. And even though I'd done nothing but moan for 48 hours, my ridiculously overactive imagination immediately took me to a hospital room where I was hooked up to every machine possible while a House-like group of doctors tried test after test only to keep getting it wrong and watching me nearly die and bringing me back miraculously then shaking their heads sadly at my husband and telling him to "prepare himself."

(It was at this point that I grabbed my doctor's arm and told him about the epidural injection I'd received three days earlier which turned out to be the problem and I was "cured" and back in my own bed by that afternoon. Whew.)

I found myself unable to enjoy House after that. I just couldn't watch it. I don't know what made me watch it last night. I was flipping channels and kept running into the final episode from last season and it was just so well-written that I found myself watching despite my discomfort and now I'm pretty sure I'm sucked back in. Plus I loved Cameron's wedding dress. Apparently good writing and a pretty dress can cure anything.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Why I'm not coming to your Tweet Up

Someone I follow is hosting a Tweet Up. I followed the link to the web site and was dismayed to find such poor grammar and bad writing that not only can I not - in good conscience - attend the Tweet Up, I may have to Unfollow the individual.

Really, if you are going to claim to be Michigan's Best Whatever, be sure you use the mandatory apostrophe. You are NOT Michigans Best Whatever.

I guess if I were really as snarky as I think I am I would supply a link to the web site and we could all check it out with our mental red pens. This is what I find so disturbing about the Internet, and blogs, and Twitter - anyone can post anything. (Yes, I realize I am probably proving my own point with this pointless little blog. I am perfectly capable of recognizing irony, thankyouverymuch.) And it's not that people with bad grammar can't have good opinions; many of them do. But you would think they would also be able to recognize their lack of grammatical ability and find/hire someone to handle that part of the business for them. There are plenty of perfectly good English majors out there waiting tables, folks. Find yourself one and put him/her to work.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

How much I LOVE my son's new teacher!

A week or so ago my son received his "Welcome to 3rd grade, I'll be your teacher" letter in which the teacher asked him to bring in his parents' email address because "they will be receiving lots of information throughout the year."

I haven't been too worried about my son, on this first day of school - though there was a little reluctance this morning to actually head out the door - but he has been on my mind: I sent his favorite cookies with lunch - pink lemonade cookies made by my friend Jill ( - but did he get teased for eating pink cookies, no matter how delicious they are? What if the teacher doesn't "get" him? Is that Obnoxious Kid from first grade in his class this year? What if he gets stuck sitting next to him? What if he forgot where his locker is?

My email account has been open all day and that guy said "You've got mail!" and I recognized the teacher's initials and the school return email address with an re: first day.

Uh oh. Apparently I haven't been worrying enough! What could have gone wrong? Why didn't she call? Is he still searching for his locker? Does she think that Son may do better in another class?

And the email said:

you were rite today was great! love [son]

Monday, September 7, 2009

You think I suck? OK

Someone called me today to tell me off. I haven't had someone do this in QUITE a long time so it took me a while to figure out what he/she was doing. When I did figure it out, I just laughed. And if you laugh at someone while they're trying to tell you off they get REALLY pissed off. And they talk......a LOT.

It's funny. This person is bitching me out about something I'm doing AS A VOLUNTEER. I have no personal investment, except I want things to work out for everyone. (I'm a big win-win person). So, say what you want. My motives are pure, I want nothing out of this for myself. And I know WAY more about you - and your motives - than you think I do.

If I could have this reaction to every problem in my life, things would be so much simpler.

Friday, September 4, 2009

I Just Took My Kids For Their Physicals and Now I Need a Drink

I'm incredibly grateful to have two healthy children. However, should two healthy children be THIS high-maintenance? This is what drove me to drink:

1. Watching my son have to Turn His Head and Cough for the first time.

2. Watching that procedure take 7x longer than it should because Son could not stop giggling.

3. Listening as Son gave Dr. essay-length answers to every question - even the Yes or No questions.

4. Having the nurse come in and tell me that she couldn't draw blood from Daughter because she was crying. (Daughter is 14 but has a very real phobia about blood; last time she cut herself she fainted).

5. Walking in Daughter's room after exam and having her shriek "I feel violated!" (Dr. is a woman, btw, and did nothing undoctorlike).

6. Holding Son while he cried through blood being drawn from his finger.

7. Being told that Daughter needed two shots. She gets so worked up about it that I told Dr. not to tell her until the shots were ready. When I went in Daughter's room she asked me if she needed shots. I couldn't lie; but did only tell her one instead of two. (She actually did fine during the shots AND getting blood drawn but by then I was a wreck.)

Monday, August 31, 2009

Hello, pervs

Yesterday I was cleaning up my website and realized that the link to an essay I had written for MetroParent years ago no longer led to that essay but did still lead to some comments which have left me a little comments I don't ask for tend to do.

The essay was about my then-six-year old son and his tendency to go through periods of insisting that we would - eventually - be married. I CLEARLY STATE in the essay that I am aware this is a phase, even if it did seem obsessive at times (my son tends to get obsessive about things) but that it also led me to an awareness of why Mother-in-Law's get the bad rap they do...(and I'll just sum it up for you here) because even though you WANT this boy to find someone and be happy the fact that SHE walks in your house with that proprietary attitude like she knows him better than you ever will just makes you want to pull her aside and repeatedly tell her stories of how he used to propose to you, his sister, her friends, and ALL HIS BABYSITTERS SO DON'T' BE SO FRICKIN' SMUG!

So that was my essay. And it was all in good fun. But the comments....well, the comments were from freaky women with freaky friends who sons can't let go and are all Oedipal and yeah, it's great that you're able to recall your high school literature classes but please don't be making those comparisons to me and my innocent little boy.

And, NOT because I feel defensive but because I feel CREEPED OUT by these commenters and the people they hang out with I would like to update anyone interested.

Has my son become a freaky little Momma's Boy?

Um, no.

I was told years ago not to kiss him in public, then last year not to touch him in public. This morning I was informed that he no longer needs to be tucked in at night. Apparently 8 1/2 is the magic age where it is no longer cool to love your mom.

Sigh. I'd put up with all the freaky comments for one more kiss goodnight.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Why did I laugh at the giant scary booger?

I have started to suspect that my family isn't normal. Today we all went to the movies, but Daughter and her Friend saw one movie, Husband saw another movie, and Son and I saw Shorts. We even drove two cars because Shorts started 25 minutes after Post Grad and I didn't feel like waiting around with an 8-year old who tries to make me discuss what Cheat Codes I would come up with for Final Destination (or whatever video game he's currently obsessed with) whenever we are alone but there is nothing else to distract us.

Yes, I'm a bad mother.

Shorts was just OK. Without giving too much away, one of the scenes involves a kid picking his nose and the booger growing ridiculously large and mean and attacking the kid and his friends. Here's the thing; the booger was too realistic. Even at its normal size. And then when it started growing...well, you couldn't help but laugh because you just knew where the movie was headed and it was so disgusting and even my son - who has never heard a fart joke he doesn't like - was saying "Sick!" while he was laughing and then made me cover his eyes because the giant booger was just that disgusting.

And I laughed. Though it did put my off my popcorn and Raisinets.

And then I remembered the "Booger wall sign" section of

And now I can't stop thinking about boogers. Ugh.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

All I want is a little QWERTY keyboard

I admit: I had no idea I would actually use the texting capability of my phone. That is why, when I bought my new phone in February, I put 0 emphasis on a QWERTY keyboard and a lot of emphasis on a flip phone (because I have an aversion to constantly hitting the unlock key and especially to butt/purse dialing. I am still scarred by the time my husband came home and played me the message from when my cell accidentally called his while my then-three-year old daughter and I were in the car and the message was 2 1/2 minutes of us singing The Wheels on the Bus at the top of our lungs).

But...the GPS/Internet plan I wanted for my pretty new phone in February also came with 200 texts per month which I started using, because my daughter was carpooling to Plymouth twice a week and she would text me when it was time for me to pick her up or when she was running late and it actually came in quite handy that I could reply to her.

So I got in the habit of texting.

And people started texting me more.

And then I started Tweeting - which can also be sent to your phone as texts.

And then Daughter turned 14 and we upgraded her Text Message Plan as her gift and realized a month later that it's really not enough and we upgraded again (and then ended up upgrading AGAIN) and got unlimited texting for me as well and more and more people started texting me, which I like, but it takes me forever to respond so I started to check into getting a new phone (even though I still love my pretty red phone) with a QWERTY keyboard and...

ATT&T you have totally let me down.

I've called. I've visited your store (more than once). Your lame-ass sales guy (who was wearing TOO much cologne, btw) tried convincing me that I REALLY need an iPhone and when I told him that I've done my research and I really don't WANT an iPhone he (and every other salesperson) started ignoring me and told me I could "look around if I wanted" and then when I told them I know I'm not eligible for a free upgrade but maybe we could working something out as I've upgraded my plan three times in the last two months I was told "No. You're not eligible. Go home."

So now I'm home. But as you can see I'm still a little pissy. And I still don't have a QWERTY keyboard.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

What made me ever think that public school was free? (or paid for by my taxes)

Today is school paper work day. I'll get the usual complaint right out of the this age of computerization AND trying to be "green" WHY am I filling out the same 10 pages of paperwork - per kid - EVERY YEAR when they are returning to the same damn school? (Even if it's not the same building, it's still the same school system).

This year begins our Adventures in High School paperwork and now I see why some of the people that live around me have no problem with paying to send their kids to private school. There's really no difference, financially.

Student Handbook/Planner (they give you the handbook in your packet but you have to pay if you want to keep it -sneaky) ...................................................$5.00

Activity Ticket (This is basically your Student ID embossed with a special insignia so you can get into sporting events and social activities. WHO is going to force their kid to flash the ID around at school every day WITHOUT the "special insignia"?)...............$40.00

Yearbook (with the warning PRICE WILL INCREASE LATER IN THE YEAR!)...................$55.00

PTSA Booster Membership (includes directory)..........................................$25.00

PTSA Student Activity Grant Donation (suggested)......................................$25.00

Parent subscription to student newspaper (really?).....................................$35.00

Class Dues (Now, the only payment above that is really required is the $5 if you're going to keep the planner, all the rest are optional. But on the Explanation page you can read things like "students that pay the class dues get a Spirit Week T-Shirt at no extra cost" and who is going to let their kid be the only one walking around without a Spirit Week t-shirt during Spirit Week?)...................................$25.00

There is also a Family Pass available for $100, yearbook photos (so your picture is IN the $55 yearbook), parking permits (for older students), extra copies of the directory (why?), the walking-into-school fee, the walking-out-of-school fee, and I've yet to find out what it's going to run for art supplies and sports and gym clothes. And of course there's the cost of my time spent filling out the paperwork and the time spent bitching about it.

Monday, August 17, 2009

As if High School Weren't Hard Enough Already

They sent us the wrong schedule.

Oh, I've had the right schedule hanging on the bulletin board since May but I tend to look at things as I need them (i.e. right before I walk out the door) so when I recently received the postcard from the school with all the dates for Freshman Transition and Registration and The Branding of the Freshmen I dutifully jotted them down on the calendar and then panicked when my boss asked me to work this week. I informed Husband he would have to get Daughter to Transition Day and then take Son to work with him until I was able to pick him up and rearranged the whole frickin' week ONLY to find out today when we picked up the Registration Packets that they sent us postcards with LAST YEAR'S DATES ON THEM!


NOW I get to rearrange next week's schedule.

Meanwhile, Daughter is in a tizzy because she's not supposed to have to take the two state-required gym classes because being on the skating team fulfills one of them and she was going to wait and take the other gym class during the summer one year but they put her in gym instead of foods & nutrition and will I pleeeeeease call her counselor to see about getting them switched?


(I have a feeling I'm going to be saying that a LOT this year.)

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Drunken Frat Boys at Baseball Games

I wish I knew if his name is Benny or Bernie. Not that it really matters, but I heard "Shut up Benny!" or "Shut up Bernie!" so many times at the Tigers game last night that you would think I would have been able to figure out what the drunken frat boy's name was. Although I never learned his true identity I DID learn a few things about him:

A) He is loud

B) He was drunk

C) He "loves his Tigers."

D) Shoes make him walk like a chicken.

This idiot started yelling at the start of last night's game. He was two or three rows behind us but might as well have been screaming into a megaphone right into the back of my head, THAT is how loud he was. He was also throwing around a lot of "F**k that!" and "F**kin' Tigers!" which I did not appreciate because my kids attend a lot of games with my husband and there were other children in our section. When he started yelling the woman to my left sighed and flinched (Really, it is nearly impossible to describe just how LOUD this guy was) and I said "I say we all pitch in and buy him more drinks until he passes out." Until the Tigers got up to bat he was merely annoying. Then he turned Ridiculous. "Leeeeeeeeeeet's goooooooooo, Graaaaaaaaaaanderson! Leeeeeeeeeeeet's goooooooooo, Graaaaaaaaaaaanderson!" I wanted to tell him to shut up, we were in section 314, and there was no way Granderson could actually hear him except that he was SO LOUD that he probably could. And just when you would think that Frat boy couldn't possibly have any lung capacity or voice left, he'd give an even louder "Leeeeeeeeet's gooooooooo, Graaaaaaaaaanderson!" Our row was slightly relieved when he hopped out of his seat and stood on the stairs to continue his cheering only because his loud voice was no longer hitting us in the back of the head. Then he skipped down (barefoot, why?) to the stairwell where the Security Guys stand and started doing an Operatic version of the cheer - holding out the final syllable of the players name with one hand in the air and the other on his chest like a Diva wearing a hat with horns. (We all had to admit that it was impossible not to admire his lung capacity.)

But then....the Security Guy whose post he had usurped reappeared and sent him back to his seat where he insisted to his buddies (who seemed to be sitting suspiciously farther and farther away from as they yelled "Shut up Benny!" or "Shut up Bernie!") that they should dare him to run out onto the field and that he was going to "F**kin' WILL the Tigers to victory" all by himself. There were a lot of F-bombs and one guy eventually yelled "That's enough." Nothing stopped him, though, including the chastisement from Tigers Security because a few minutes later he was again standing at the post he'd been forced out of and the Security Guy was sending him back to his seat. He put up a bit of a fuss and Security Guy put in the call for back-up.

He scurried back up to his seat and when the Security Duo approached him he stared straight ahead like "maybe if I don't look at them they won't know it's me." They told him to remain in his seat. "But I can cheer, right?" he said. They agreed that he could cheer, but no more profanity. "I NEVER used profanity!" he said and at this point my husband turned around and said "You most certainly did!" and the guy stuck his lower lip out and gave my husband the boo-boo face like "Dude! Why would you tell on me!"

We got up and left. There happened to be two vacant seats along the rail and we sat there, waiting for this idiot to get himself thrown out of the game. He did eventually walk out with his buddies, who had apparently forced him to put his shoes back on. They did not look happy. He looked like a drunken chicken.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

More Adventures in Shopping

(Note #1: I am not paid to endorse any of the mentioned stores.)

I'm pretty sure I have spent more time shopping in the last few weeks than I spent in all of 2008. This morning I took Son to camp then Daughter and I hit the mall for jeans (that she needs for school) and tennis shoes (because she has to babysit all weekend and I'm a Soft Touch.)

We started out at J.C. Penny because my daughter, the bargain shopper, found that they carried the exact shoes she wanted for $15 less than everyone else which would have been big kudos to you, J.C. Penny, if the shoes were actually available. Not only were they NOT in the store, but we had to wait through a tedious process of giving all our information and enduring the saleswoman training three other employees (not her fault, I know, but how about starting them off on an easier transaction?) only to find out at the end of the process that the shoes are on back order. The Very Nice Saleswoman said she was Going to the Back to find out when they would be available at which point I said we were Going to Finish our Shopping and would Check Back on our Way Out. (Note #2: Saleswoman bemoaned the store computer process which doesn't give out info until the very end of the transaction and was incredibly apologetic when the shoes weren't available AT ALL. (Note #3: Thus, my Tweet earlier in the day about J.C. Penny putting merchandise on their website that they CAN NOT sell you!))

Daughter went off to do her own thing and I searched out Sephora for makeup to hide the wrinkles. Sephora has the BEST customer service! I was offered all kinds of options, they tried all kinds of things to see which would work best, they sent me out into the mall with a mirror to really the check the results, and - most importantly - they did not Suck Up or Judge. I really don't need the "Oh My God you look great for your age but let's just head over to the Spackle aisle!" speech. (Note #4: Again)

Next, Pottery Barn. I love the Classic Pint glasses and, as my dishwasher goes on a killing spree once every few months, they are cheap enough to replenish without feeling guilty. At least they USED TO BE cheap enough. Today they were twice as much. $4 instead of $2. I bought them anyway and when I was unpacking them at home found that a few of them had $2 price tags on them. When I called the store the saleschick asked me for the number on the tag then said "When I, um, input that, um, number, it, like, rings up as $4. I guess you could, um, bring them in and my manager MAY give you a credit for the difference on those ones."


I am now researching new suppliers of pint glasses. Luckily Pottery Barn does not have the market cornered.

And then....the market. Which I will not name because I really like the manager. But I ran in there on the way home from an appointment because I wanted to make green beans for dinner but didn't have sunflower seeds and I guess I COULD make green beans without sunflower seeds but really like the combination and the store was right on my way home. So, I find the sunflower seeds, and a few more things, and wait in line and when I check out the clerk sees that the sunflower seeds have a sticker that says $3.49 but they rang up as $3.99 and she asks another (apparently more experienced) employee who does NOT say "Just ring them up as $3.49" but instead MAKES ME WAIT while she goes to check on the price.


And when she (finally) comes back and says that they are $3.49 the clerk (who I've been sympathetic to up until this point) rings up my order $3 short but instead of, perhaps, realizing that I've already spent twice the amount of time that it would normally take to purchase sunflower seeds and dried cranberries (an EXCELLENT combination, btw) she makes me RE-SWIPE my credit card to charge me the $3.

Needless to say, this market is now For Emergencies Only.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Creeped out

Within the last week I have been shopping a few times with my daughter and have noticed a disturbing skulking around the women's departments. Perhaps this has been going on forever and I didn't notice until I had a pretty teenage girl with me but I still have not showered enough to get the "Ew" off of me.

On Saturday we visited DSW. My daughter and her friend hit the aisle with tennis shoes (thankfully) while I hit the high heels (that make you stand up straight while on camera). There were several men in the aisle with me, not only skulking ...but shopping! WTF! It was so disturbing I wanted to ask for a Fitting Room just to try on shoes. I couldn't help but eavesdrop when one of the Pervs got into a discussion with a female shopper about why he was there. Apparently he buys high heels on sale and takes them to women's shelters because "a good pair of shoes gives a women confidence."

I'm guessing that a confident woman in high heels also gives him a boner, but that's just a theory.

Today we shopped at TJ Maxx. I like a bargain as much as the next girl but from now on am willing to pay a little more to avoid Freaks loitering near the Fitting Room entrance. Especially since, no matter how long they "waited," no woman EVER came out to ask EVEN ONE of them "Honey, how do I look in this?" If all I'm overpaying for at the mall is a more competent voyeur, I really don't care. Being openly gaped at is a day-trasher.

Monday, August 3, 2009

It's on like Donkey Kong

So, there's "this boy."

He and my daughter are just friends, but he's been popping up quite a bit lately - on her phone, texting her, at the park - and I am not really allowed to discuss him OR even really supposed to mention his name because .... "Mom!" Apparently I embarrass her. She's never embarrassed when she wants money, though. Anyway, "this boy" most recently popped up on AIM (which I didn't know people actually use). I got home from work one day and AIM was open on the PC in our office. Daughter has a laptop in her room (yes, I know) so when I sat down to work and "Wassup?" appeared on AIM from "this boy" I politely responded "This is not A. This is her mother."

Not being fluent in AIM I didn't know that if she also has AIM open on her laptop upstairs (which she did, of course) she could also see - and respond - to his plaintive "Wassup?" and, indeed, did, to which he replied something like "OMG I said wassup and your mom replied it was so funny!" (He probably didn't use the word "replied" but I'm also not fluent in 13-year old boy except, of course, for leaving out any kind of punctuation.) So I typed

Yeah, I'm hilarious.

Next thing I know, Daughter has materialized by my side with her laptop in hand to show me exactly how I am ruining her life by responding to these IM's which isn't really fair because my original intention was just to be polite and let him know that he wasn't talking to who he thought he was talking to so perhaps he shouldn't be saying anything he wouldn't want someone's mom to know.

You would think that would be the end of the story. But last week Daughter informed me that "this boy" thought the whole episode was SO FUNNY that he snapped a pic of our IM exchange and posted it on his Facebook page.

But I'm not supposed to say anything.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Birthday cards

Last night, on the way to a birthday party for one of my husband's friends, I noticed the envelope of the card wasn't sealed.

"Are you going to seal this?" I said.

"Go ahead," said my husband.

And then I saw the card.

My husband had taken the party invitation and refolded it inside out then written Happy Birthday on it. "What the hell is this?" I said. "I have birthday cards in the house."

"Guys don't give guys birthday cards," he said.

Now, my husband used to be this guy's boss. They are both respected professionals. Yet I am supposed to believe that it is unacceptable for one of them to give the other one a greeting card but it's totally all right to hand over a gift card inside a homemade-recycled-badly folded "card" with T-MAC! scrawled on it in ballpoint pen.

"Did you sign my name on that 2nd-grade art project?" I said.

Of course he did.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009





I can't make plans to go out at night because I don't know if I'm working mornings this week. I can't make plans to get my daughter to skating because I don't know when the movie wants my son to come in for wardrobe. I don't know when I can pick up my nieces who are coming to visit for a week because I don't know when I'll be working or driving to skating or anything else and I'm sitting here in my pajamas unable to make ANY frickin' plans for the week because everything is contingent on everything else but nobody knows that - and I'm sure they wouldn't care if they did - and NOBODY is telling me anything!

Saturday, July 18, 2009

I crack myself up

So, on July 13, Neal Rubin invited us to enter a contest.

So, I did. I like a good contest. And I like Detroit. Sometimes against my better judgment, and sometimes in spite of myself, and sometimes in spite of all the CRAP that I have to read about every day.

And sometimes in spite of the fact that it's usually difficult to READ about what's going in Detroit because I don't get the paper delivered every day....and can't even read it online when my power goes out....but I digress.

Anyway, if you're not a link-clicker, the contest is to come up with a motto/slogan for Detroit. The column is really about David Lewis, who coined the slogan "Detroit, where the weak are killed and eaten" and I acknowledge that will be incredibly difficult to top. But, here are my entries. I think any of them will look great on a t-shirt.

Detroit - It Tastes Like Chicken!

Detroit - If You Seek A Disappointing Public Official, Look Around You

Detroit - If You Can Make It Here You'll Probably Find A Much Better Job Somewhere Else

Detroit - At Least The Unemployment Isn't As High As The Dropout Rate

Yes, I realize they're all derivative and childish and ...whatever! My favorite is still #2. Really, don't we just have the market cornered?

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Thank you Alicia at ATandT

Yesterday my daughter told me that her cell phone has bad-to-no service inside our - and everyone else's - house and has been like this since we bought the phone. In March. March would have been a better time to tell me this, I say, and call customer service. I just like to buy things and have them work. I don't like to call four months later and try to explain that something hasn't been working for four months and that I am just now getting around to calling. It makes me look lazy. Or delusional.

Alicia, however, couldn't have been nicer (though she did suggest that perhaps part of the problem could be that we have too many trees around our house. "We don't live in the forest," I said while I was thinking 'And what if I WAS in the forest? Is cell phone service too much to ask?')

Today we head down to our local AT&T store to get a replacement phone and I wanted to write this now in case it all goes to hell and they try to force me to spend extra money to replace a phone which should have worked in the first place.

No matter what happens, Alicia, you were a doll. And you deserve a promotion.

Monday, June 22, 2009

My husband's crappy birthday

In the 17 years that I have known my husband I have only managed to throw him one decent birthday party. His birthday is two weeks before our Anniversary, so when he turned 30 it got lost amidst all the wedding plans. Then, 4 days before he turned 32 our daughter was born and his birthday was destined to be upstaged for eternity. Add into the mix the fact that Father's Day usually falls on or in between their two birth dates and by the time his birthday rolls around we all groan at the sight of one more cake.

Also, there's never anything he wants. He buys himself whatever gadgets he's into, and his only hobbies are golf and rock concerts. He buys his own clothes and needs no help picking them out.

The real problem: he's SO much better at birthdays than I am. I've had surprise parties, trips, and gifts I didn't even know I wanted but were so perfectly me. HE is the one who plans the kids' parties - and they are always fabulous. He even gets the stuff for the goodie bags. He's thoughtful and detail-oriented and I'm.....about to go make a cake because that's all I can do. Did I mention our son has a swim meet tonite, so there won't even be a dinner out? Oh, and the cake is from a mix (and my daughter is making it). And none of us woke up this morning before he left for work so he had to open his two small presents alone in the kitchen.

Happy Crappy Birthday, hon!

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

A Prayer for Monica

If you're not praying for Monica Conyers then you are just adding to the problem. That's what this self-proclaimed Child of God told the viewers of her weekly TV show yesterday. "The problem" is the fact that the FBI wants her to take a plea deal for accepting bribes in the Synagro scandal.

I'm not sure that I'm "adding to the problem" by not praying for Monica, but I do believe that she is, indeed, in need of prayer. So let's all take a moment.....

Dear God,

Please help Monica Conyers realize that she is A) not above the law, B) not "chosen" by You to be on the Detroit City Council, and C) one of the worst examples of Public Servant that the City of Detroit has produced.


Friday, June 12, 2009

Summer, Day 1, I'm already screwing up

I signed up to contribute brownies to sell at Son's swim meet tonight before I realized that Son has a baseball game and, therefore, will not be attending the swim meet but couldn't cross my name off the Contribution list because there were other Swim Team Moms standing around the list at practice last night and I did not want to look like an ass. Daughter has agreed to bake brownies in exchange for permission to avoid baseball game and go to a friend's house.

Conversation from two minutes ago:

Daughter: Mom, I can't make brownies. We don't have butter.

Me: Fiiiiiiiiiine. I'm going to the store in a minute to get butter.

Daughter: Can you just pick up some brownies while you're there?

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

The Bachelor open casting call

As I was sitting here praying for creative inspiration this email popped into my inbox:

Open Casting Call for ABC Bachelor Show: If you want to appear on ABC's next season of the Bachelor, either as the one lucky man or one of 25 lucky ladies, you're in luck.

First, I'd like to say "Thanks, God!" You're obviously a much better listener than I've been giving you credit for lately. Second, well, I'm pretty sure there's not enough spackle-like concealer and constricting/uplifting undergarments that could disguise me enough to even get in the door for this (Oh, and before I forget, I AM happily married, so I really don't need a Bachelor) but then I started thinking "How is it fair that only young, hot women get the opportunity to live in a fancy house with no responsibilities and (apparently) all the booze you can drink and go on incredibly lavish dates that involve adventure and fine dining?" So now I'm thinking I need to go to the audition as the Goofy Aunt character (like Lisa Kudrow's character's character in The Comeback) or as some sort of snide I-know-I'm-not-hot-but-honey-those-looks-won't-last-forever-is-THAT-what-you're-wearing-perhaps-you-should-consider-a-real-career bitchy old "bachelorette" who isn't trying to win but sabotages every one else because isn't that why we all watch in the first place and I could really use a vacation.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Not a fan of the bathroom fan

My BFF's husband is a handyman. No, he is more than that, he can do anything. (She can too, I should point out). When we moved into this house he was here for over a week overseeing the removal of paneling, the installation of wood floors and tile, and doing a lot of other work (rewiring, putting in a brace above the kitchen when it turned out that the guest room on the 2nd floor was being supported by the pantry we had removed, putting in a new kitchen ceiling, etc). He is the guy I call when anything breaks or stops working.

Which brings me to the fan in my master bathroom.

Years ago, BFF and I were talking of home improvement (her house is constantly being improved) and she was in the midst of a bathroom re-do. One of the things she was putting in was an exhaust fan/heat lamp. I immediately went into Jealousy Mode. I, too, wanted to get out of the shower and stand beneath a warm red light like I was staying in the poshest hotel on the Vegas strip. But Husband, with his firm if-it-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it mentality stood firm. Unnecessary. (And don't think I haven't thought about sabotaging that fan. If I were certain of being able to do it without electrocuting myself it would be done by now.)

The fan has always sounded like it is working somewhat reluctantly but now when you turn it on it sounds like The Blue Angels are flying over my house. I give it a month before it dies completely.

All hail the Air King!

Monday, June 1, 2009

Husband socks

Can someone PLEASE help me understand this?

Just inside that open door is the laundry chute, which will give those socks an exciting little ride down two stories to the basement where they will land - PLOP! - in a soft pile of their friends and relatives.

So, how did they not make it into the chute which is pretty much right at hand level for my husband, especially since the door is ALREADY OPEN! There is absolutely NO work involved here.

OR - if my husband didn't drop his socks on the floor right in front of an open laundry chute (because that would be insane, right?) it looks like the socks tried to make it out of my bedroom, down the hall, and into the laundry chute on their own and, after struggling valiantly all night to FINALLY get the door open, collapsed from sheer exhaustion a mere three feet from their destination. It looks like the closer one died first and that the far one is still screaming in agony at the injustice of it all.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Shut the Clay up

Whose turn is it to pay attention to Clay Aiken? Because you are NOT doing your job and he's resorted to blogging all sorts of contradictory statements that the "media" is "reporting" because any real news - like GM declaring BANKRUPTCY - is apparently not as important as a former freaky reality-show-contestant's opinions on a current freaky reality-show-contestant (BTW, Adam, I know your freakiness is totally contrived and I'd love to have a beer with you sometime. Do you drink beer? Probably not. I make a great pomegranate margarita, how does that sound? If I gave you enough of them could I get you to play Rock Band with me?)

Anyway, in his latest missive Aiken "apologizes" for his comment that Lambert's rendition of Ring of Fire made his ears bleed ("I just happened to be piercing them, again, while I was watching Idol") but now says that the show is "different" and that when HE was on folks made it because they were "real people."

(Excuse me. Cannot. Stop. Giggling.)

Oh, Clay, you've got your GLAAD endorsement and your baby, can't you just leave Adam alone? We like Adam! He made us long to see Queen live again! What did you ever make us long for, except a hay ride and a diction coach?

Monday, May 25, 2009

2 lbs of potato chips

Last week I visited Costco to prepare for a family joining us for an after-baseball cookout on Friday evening and I came across these

and bought them in the 2-lb size.

Now, normally I am a local chip-type gal (Better Made, my heart belongs to you) but these chips are like the hot guy who is visiting your college campus for a weekend and you know you will most likely never see him again so you give in to temptation and totally overindulge and even though a small part of you thinks he is SO delicious that you're kind of hoping you run into him again you know he is NO GOOD for you and he totally makes you ignore all your friends AND your homework and that any kind of relationship will end badly and while it was fun while it lasted you're also a little glad it's over.

In other words: it's Monday and the bag is nearly empty.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Mr. Handyman

Yesterday I found myself behind the Mr. Handyman van and now I can't stop wondering....

Why is the guy who is coming to fix my shelves so dressed up?

Look at him. At first I just noticed the top hat, but then I realized that he is also sporting a cummerbund and bow tie. I don't know what to make of this. Should I be wearing a ball gown when Mr. Handyman arrives at the door? Must I serve champagne? What if the broken shelf is just for my trashy paperbacks - not even the hardcovers? Is that beneath him? Will he only tighten gold-plated faucet handles?

Is this logo really working for them? In the movies when you see a guy in a tuxedo and some kind of weapon he's either a spy or a bad guy. When I see this I think Mr. Handyman is either going to kill me or tap my phone.

And if he's so good, why can't he fix that tilty H?

Monday, May 18, 2009

I'll have the wheat toast and a cup of mercury

Yesterday morning someone in Hazel Park called the police to report a cup of mercury in a business parking lot. First, I had no idea it was illegal to park in a cup in Hazel Park. I feel like I've dodged a bullet. Second, Ok, exactly how did that conversation go?

911: Emergency, how may I help you?

Caller: Um, I'm in a parking lot in Hazel Park and I'm pretty sure there's a cup of mercury parked right next to me.

911: Is the mercury armed?

Caller: I don't know! Wait! It's moving!

911: Someone is on the way. I'm going to stay on the line with you....

Caller: Thank you. OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.

911: Do you see the the officers yet?

Caller: Noooooooo! Hurry, please. Please!

Where do you get a CUP of mercury? I remember in science class when the teacher showed us this "scary new life-form" on the overhead projector that seemed to float and eat other life-forms and then it turned out to be mercury. I still don't understand why he showed us that, unless he had some unfulfilled desire to be a magician and this was his one opportunity. Now that I think about it, he WAS wearing a top hat. But he had only the smallest amount of mercury and he kept it under lock and key and I don't think we even knew then how very scary mercury is. So how does someone get a whole cup of it? If you're working at a hardware store and someone buys 400 thermometers wouldn't you file that under suspicious? Wouldn't that be the point where police would be contacted? And why keep it in a cup? It seems like it would be more fun in a Ziploc bag.

And if you've illegally obtained a cup of mercury, how do you accidentally leave it in a parking lot?