The End of Two Legends.

Today I read with dismay, heartache and a whole range of sadness that my online Snarkstress pals Missie and Robyn are retiring their blog. I only discovered them last fall through a link in another blog, and enjoyed their romance snark and observations of daily life so much I visited nearly every day to check up on them.

They are lovely, poetic, and wickedly humorous ladies and I shall miss them greatly. So much that I may have to search out a bad novel cover/title here and there just to keep the snark flowing. Hmm... but what to call those posts? Noxious Novels? Drama Disasters? Lousy in Love?

Hmm... not doing so well on the creativity department this morning. Suggestions?

THIRTEEN (MORE OR LESS) BUMPER STICKERS

You don't see them as much now as you used to, but they're still out there, ready to make the road experience more entertaining than ever:

Yes, it's more like Thursday Nineteen, but I couldn't help myself.

THIRTEEN FAIR MEMORIES (or, stumbling down memory lane again...)

This weekend, the carnival is in town for the annual "Homecoming Days" or something like that. It's a tradition around here, and got me thinking of fairs I attended as a child. We called them "Fireman's Field Days" for some reason; I guess every town's fire dept. owned a field (yes, I'm a country bumpkin...). Anyhow, without further adieux, here's what I remember:

1. Eating steamed clams with drippy butter sauce--and one time getting one that was full of sand that squirted all over in my mouth when I bit down on it (eeuww!).

2. Getting 2 or 3 bucks from dad that should--and would!--last me all weekend.

3. Playing the duck pond game. I even played this with Son a few years back when we were back home during "Field Day" weekend. It's the stupidest game in the world, but it's my favorite.

4. The Whiskey Wheel. Oh yes, folks, our grand and resplendent poobahs (otherwise known as the Knights of Columbus) sponsored this grown up game for years until regulations got the best of them. You'd put your money on a number, they'd spin the wheel and if it landed on your number, you won YOUR CHOICE of a bottle of booze! Isn't that a trip? How times have changed...

5. The Cake Wheel. Same as the whiskey one, except you won cake. My mother always baked a nice cake for this game, and her cake was usually gone the first night. (She's a great cook.)

6. Meeting up with all my friends and going on rides together. This was such a thrill for me because we lived way out and I rarely saw friends once school let out. I can see them all in my mind's eye: The Rocket, The Roundup, The Scrambler, The Ferris Wheel... thrills, chills and spills galore and I loved every minute.

7. Cotton candy. Back in my day it was pink and came on a stick. No bags, no other colors. Just pink on a stick. And it was heavenly.

8. The parade. We'd have 5 or 6 fire companies, at least that many school bands, floats and cub scouts and auxiliaries and Highpockets--this was a guy who made a living as a balloon-sculpting clown on stilts. I remember one year our local fire dept. got called out to a fire shortly before the parade was to start. So we enjoyed the parade, and then pretty much everyone waited when it was over...waited... and there they came, our boys. Filthy and tired and the applause was deafening.

9. Speaking of parades my sister was in the marching band all through high school. She was in the rifles and did pretty cool drill while the music was playing. I can remember watching for her, and for my friends that were in the band as well. Okay, and I watched for boys I had crushes on, too. Happy now?

10. The crowd around the beer tent. When I was young I always skirted around it because it was a crush in there; you could never get through. When I got older and more daring, I would navigate through because there was a certain cachet to being seen there. Why, I don't know.

11. Checking people out. Not just who was dating whom, but who had broken up with whom, who was looking seriously fine this summer and who was not, all that important stuff to pre-teens and teens of my day.

12. The fire dept's chicken roast. Was it some special seasoning, or was it the rotisserie and open flames, or was it just being at the field days that made it taste so good?

13. Fair sounds. The rides grinding their gears, the 'ding' of the bell at the strongman game, the clickety-clack of the whiskey/cake wheels, the music of the carousel, the shrieks and the catcalls and, most of all, the talking. Everyone talked back then. There were no cell phones or emails or texts. People talked, laughed, argued, reminisced, for hours and late into the night.

Will I go to the 'Homecoming' this weekend? You bet. It's nothing like the Field Days of my youth, but the sights and the sounds take me back to a time I loved. And besides, it's right up the street!

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Cute Shoe Wednesday

I just had to. Simply had to.

Franco Sarto Retro Peep-Toes

They're not pink; they're actually a wine red color and totally hot.

Sigh... I think I'll wear them to work tomorrow.

Monday, Rainy Monday

Well folks, we're in for the Rain Olympics here in Northern Ohio this morning. And as you all know, the Rain Olympics is followed closely by the Flood Awards. Thank goodness our sump is working and, if we're lucky, we'll only have one narrow stream coming under the wall this time.

Enough water talk.

Here's a question for the universe: What is it about friendship that, while it is a joy and something to be valued highly, it can also be a royal pain in the patoot?

I have a friend who is a MicroManager. I love her dearly, but there are times when she gets on hyper-planning mode--and consequently on my nerves. Currently, hyper-planning mode is on HIGH because she's getting married in a few short days. Originally, I said "sure, I'll come", thinking this would be a fun getaway. Since that time--well, if any of you have a MM in your life, you know what happened. Plans got changed and changed again, waaayy too many details and plans and times and schedules... sigh.

Yesterday, I'd had enough. It wasn't just the wedding; there are other things going on as well and I just got to the point where a QLD (see 6/21 post) had to be made. I sent her a message and told her I could not come, apologized profusely, offered to pay for my room if the hotel wouldn't refund the money, everything. She called later in the day and left me a message that was, by turns, guilt-inducing and snarky.

Mind you, she's going to have her hands full with the other 40 or 50 guests that are coming. I probably would have spent, over the 48 hour period, maybe 30 minutes total in her company and the rest of the time on my own as I barely know her family and don't know her husband's family at all. And I wasn't staying for dinner because she changed the wedding time from morning to evening and I had a 5 hour drive home. And I'm not her best friend in the entire world. And this is her 3rd marriage.

I really feel the urge to tell my friend to quit the MM-ing, to get over herself and just fricking relax. Of course I won't, because I'm kinda nice that way. But thank goodness for blogs. I can vent, vent, vent and vent some more.

I feel much better now.

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WHICH BOOK ARE YOU?

Holy Tyrannosaurs, Batman! I'm...

You're Jurassic Park!

by Michael Crichton

You combine all the elements of a mad scientist, a brash philosopher,
a humble researcher, and a money-hungry attracter of tourists. With all these features,
you could build something monumental or get chased around by your own demons. Probably
both, in fact. A movie based on your life would make millions, and spawn at least two
sequels thatwouldn't be very good. Be very careful around islands.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Disclaimer: This test was so fun I took it 4 times. The first time I was Cat's Cradle, then I was Watership Down, then I was Sir Harold and the Boys, then I was Jurassic Park. So combine all 4 of these books, and you'd have... me!

Take the test! Take it more than once! It's fun!

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THIRTEEN THINGS I'D RATHER BE DOING THAN WORKING TODAY

1. Writing. Yes! I'm back in the saddle! I even entered a contest!

2. Weeding my garden. They've taken over like Devil's Snare; it's crazy!

3. Shopping. Believe it or not, because I usually hate to shop. But it's "Back to School" time and every year the bug bites.

4. Reading. Of course.

5. Going to the beach. It's not extremely hot here, but I'd love to go swimming. There's just something about swimming in the lake.

6. Napping in a hammock.

7. Sailing.

8. Going to our local waterpark. Again, being in the water!

9. Doing something artsy-craftsy. I'm feeling the urge.

10. Driving around with all the windows down and the radio UP.

11. Finding a cool restaurant I've never been to before that is on the beach or something cool like that.

12. Taking my dog to the park. I love watching him run.

13. Having fun sex with Sweetheart. Come on, you didn't think I'd leave it out, did you?

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'Sposetas

Yep, ever since I reminisced about childhood the other day, I've been thinking about all the 'sposetas of my life.

You know what a 'sposeta is. It's that thing, real or imagined, that you're supposed to do rather than do what you really want to do. 'Sposetas usually crop up alongside "it's for your own good" or "instead of" or "wouldn't you rather". They're those nagging little criticisms that mold young minds, that push the pushable into the direction the pusher wants, that cause legions of "if only" to sprout in middle age like crabgrass. Some people fight it tooth and nail. Some people give in after a token struggle. Some people don't realize it's even happening. But the worst is the person who sees it, recognizes it, hates it--but lets it happen anyway.

That was me. I wanted to get along. I wanted to make everyone happy all the time. I denied myself the path I wanted, told myself other paths were better, wanted open approval in the worst way.

I wanted to take art classes in high school but I didn't because my sister dropped art and my mother said art class was "a waste of time". I was 'sposeta take more serious courses and think of college--let me tell you, those two years of German really made a difference.

I wanted to take extra English courses my senior year, but being in AP English, I wasn't 'sposeta take regular classes. Two study halls a day was a thrill beyond imagining.

I wanted to be a writer. Bestselling, famous, all that. But I was 'sposedta have a "real" job because everyone knows writers starve. So I wasted years and opportunities galore and am no closer to realizing that dream today than I was twenty years ago.

I stopped listening to the major 'sposetas a couple of years ago. Since then my life has profited, for the most part. I'm living with a man I'm not married to and most days I'm okay with it even though I was raised on the 'sposeta get married mantra. I found a cool job that really has nothing to do with my past education and career path but that works for me and I love. I just started writing again after several months' hiatus and strictly look at it for the pleasure it brings me. Most importantly, I have a cool son with whom I am making a serious effort to limit the 'sposeta lectures with despite feeling gray hairs pop out on my head on a daily basis.

What are your thoughts on 'sposetas? Share!

School days, school daze...

My boss and I are 'kinda' the same age (all right, all right she's younger than me by 3 years! happy now??) and today we were reminiscing about school and these are some of the things I remember:

The bathroom stall doors had no locks on them. Most of them you had to hold closed with one hand while you took care of business. I remember avoiding certain bathrooms no matter what because all the girl 'heads' hung out in them and smoked and it was like walking into a fog.

Sitting down at a desk and feeling the grit of cleanser on the surface. Those janitors didn't have time to rinse, baby.

I once went into the boys bathroom because my sister heard something bad was on the wall in there about her and asked me to. I think it was some lame "if you want a good time" thing. I scribbled it out. No, I didn't get caught.

I remember fifth grade vividly, probably because we had 3 elementaries combine into one middle school and I hardly knew anybody anymore. One memory that really sticks out is being in the locker room in gym class and having two girls named Terry and Dorothy ask me if I was wearing a bra yet. This was serious in 5th grade--if you weren't wearing a bra you were a baby. I think I lied. I don't remember anything but feeling threatened.

Did any of you all get your bra snapped in middle or high school? I can remember boys talking away about it but they never did it. (Sweetheart just told me he remembers doing it 'a couple of times'. Probably more like a coupla dozen.)

I remember seeing my sister making out on the bus with a boy and being totally SHOCKED. I might even have gasped out loud. I mean, she was only in 7th! (I know, kids are practically grandmothers by 7th grade nowadays...)

I can remember a boy named Tommy Hubbard asking me to 'go with' him in 6th grade. I was like, hell no! Turned out he became Mr. Popular later on. If I'd only have known.

I can remember this high school guy named Bob who used to sit with me on the afternoon bus almost every day (they picked up the MS first, then the HS). He was nice and cute as can be but probably five years older than me, anyway. I got a certain cachet because "the cute guy" sat with me all the time.

What do you remember about those dear old golden rule days? Share!

AAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


What is it with Son? What is WITH him?

I swear, strangling just may be an option after today's little screw-up.

I'm sure all of you have been subjected, in one form or other, to school fundraising. Son had $10.00 discount cards to sell for the team this year.

Now, I abhor fundraising like nobody's business. In fact, I'm just about convinced that fundraising was started by the legions of Satan as an earthly torture device for parents.

Anyhow, despite my abhorrence, despite the fact that I don't patronize any of the businesses listed on the discount card, I did my bit as a mom, purchased two of them and sent the rest back to practice with Son this morning.

And then, the call comes.

"Mom, the envelope is gone."

Apparently he lost it at some point between going to practice and coming home from practice. He "doesn't know" whether or not the check was still in the envelope, besides.

Not having been blessed with the ditz gene, I can not understand how someone can be so oblivious of the world around them. How someone can repeatedly make the same mistakes, over and over and over and over and over and not learn anything.

I'm stumped. I'm flabbergasted. And I'm so fricking pissed off. Because if he doesn't find them, guess who is going to have to cough up the rest of the money AND pay to stop the first check I wrote?

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THIRTEEN WORK SHENANIGANS

This isn't a typical "The Office" type list. This is actual stuff that exists or has happened at my workplace. Oh, the things that make you go hmm...

1. Patron drops ten-year old child off FOR THE DAY. No supervision, not even a quarter to call home with in case of an emergency.

2. Strange man with fondness for ladies' lingerie seats himself opposite attractive younger girls and displays his collection for their admiration.

3. Woman takes purse to bathroom yet leaves her 3-year old child alone, unsupervised.

4. Incontinent man is dropped off at front door and not only doesn't make it to the restroom in time, he leaves his poopy diaper on the floor. Yes, a grown man.

5. Registered sex offender sits regularly at chair which is technically outside the children's area but offers a stellar view of said area.

6. Rebellious teen jerks off in the department bathroom and sprays his "stuff" on the floor, walls, toilet, mirror, etc...

7. Space cadet mother is so into surfing the web she fails to notice her toddler is heading for the exit. Alone. Unsupervised. Again.

8. Parent takes child to bathroom. Child pees all over the floor in front of the toilet. One of them decides that throwing a bunch of toilet paper over the spot will solve the problem.

9. Gentleman of questionable sanity "wags his weenie" at passers-by.

10. Dirty, odorous and homeless man turns soft chairs into toxic napping spots.

11. Older gentleman corners patrons and flashes swastika cards at them, whispering "Zieg Heil!" over and over.

12. Patron yaps endlessly on cell phone directly in front of the "No Cell Phone Usage" sign.

13. Parent allows child to run barefoot over carpet that has been walked, ran, peed, pooped, bled and vomited on in the past.

Are you going "hmmm..." yet? Can't believe all this stuff could happen in one place? It can, and does, at a place most people in the world would say is safe and wonderful. Can you guess where I work?

I work at the library.

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I've been reading Al Gore's "Assault on Reason" lately. It's a hard read, being non-fiction and kinda wordy. But it has me thinking. Thinking about things I've only heard snippets of in the past; thinking about topics I normally avoid, thinking again about suspicions/opinions I've long held.

In a way over-simplistic nutshell, the book examines how we the people are getting our voices stripped away, our choices made for us. The government, in cooperation with the media, is turning us away from being thinking, reasoning individuals that have a rightful say in the goings-on out in the world and herding us towards vacuous, non-questioning, non-thinking existences.

It's alarming to realize that the average american citizen, who used to be able to make his/her voice heard and facilitate change with h/h vote is regarded today as little more than a sheep to be led by the nose, a vessel for the media to pour its paranoia into, a commodity to be purchased by a 30-second backstabbing political ad.

Gore comes down hard on our Fearless Leader, charging that he used faith as a springboard to send us into war, to the point of telling members of Congress that he is "divinely guided" and that God does, in fact, take sides. Faith has become dogma, not to be doubted, never to be questioned unless you want to lose your job. Threats and coercion are the specials of the day in our nation's capitol, supported by the extremists of the political media who spout venom at
those godless "Liberals" who dare to stand up and speak out. Open discussion and debate over current issues appears to be AWOL; "My Way or the Highway" seems to have taken its place.

I don't consider myself liberal or conservative or even remotely political, but I have questions that I'd like answered:

1. What the fuck are we doing over in Iraq?
2. Has George W. Bush ever had a psych evaluation?
3. Did no one make any connections between Nixon's close staff members (Dick Cheney comes to mind) and Bush's?
4. How in the world can we make up for 3 or 4 TRILLION dollars' debt? Can anyone even conceive of that much money?
5. Why are there so many "haters" in the political media? Is it the person, or the job itself?

I haven't finished the book yet; I'll probably have more to rant on when I do. TTFN!

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Which Harry Potter Character Am I?

Woo Hoo! I'm Ginny!



Find out your Harry Potter personality at LiquidGeneration!

Okay, question of the week to send out to the universe:

What f***ed up individual out there decides clothing sizes???

Every store I go into, I fit into a different size. Some 8, some 10, some 12. Some S, some M, some L, and some XL. There are very few places out there where I can trust that if it says 10 on the label, it will fit like a 10.

Amazing. And seriously frustrating to be in the middle of a store, holding up an M that would probably be tight on a newborn, then trying on the L and having it hang on me. Has this happened to anyone else out there? Anyone else in the "between sizes" purgatory dressing room?

What kills me is the teeny sizes: size 0, for instance. How the hell can someone be a size NOTHING? Wouldn't that mean they'd cease to exist? I've heard that there are even negative sizes out there. (!!!)

Another killer is the backhanded compliment term Vanity Sizing. Who invented this, and for whom? I'm not vain, and I don't need to lie about my size, either. Probably the only people who feel the need to lie about their size are the size Zeros who really want to be size Negative Two.

I so totally don't get this rationale. I don't understand, and probably don't want to understand, either.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go pad my size 10 ass with some more chocolate.